#this idea came from me listening to this song on a loop for fifteen minutes in the parking lot before work and crying before going in to wor

[yikesharringrove]

It’s a book Steve’s actually read.

Well, Nancy kinda mostly read it to him. Which really just makes the whole thing hurt a little bit more.

His speakers were crackling and he had turned the bass up high enough that the song was distorted, vibrating through his car.

It was embarrassing. Scream-singing to Kate Bush while sobbing into your steering wheel in the high school parking lot.

He’s just got a lot of feelings, and Nancy dumped in that alleyway, he can literally see it and Heathcliff, it’s me, I’m Cathy. I’ve come home, I’m so cold.

Which, it’s all just bullshit. Pardon the word.

Because, Catherine and Heathcliff don’t even fucking end up together. There’s something about family difference and he remembers Nancy saying socioeconomic like that word meant anything to him and Catherine winds up dead of bad brain-itis and Healthcliff is a dick so they never should’ve been together anyway.

But, whatever.

He’s feeling very much like Catherine right now. Standing on the moors with a broken heart.

Because fuck Heathcliff. And fuck Nancy.

Kate Bush is the only one he can trust anymore. 

Her and her red dress and Steve’s insides feel like that red fucking dress in a way he can’t explain and Heathcliff, it's me, I'm Cathy. I've come home, I'm so cold. Let me in your window-

He just about jumped out of his skin when the passenger door opened.

One too-tan hand reached out to crank the volume down on the song, and a too-pink tongue slid across too-white teeth and

“Harrington, I’m obligated to tell you that you’re acting like a pussy.”

Hargrove.

Y’know, he’s the top of Steve’s Fuck List. Right there with Nancy and Heathcliff, and everyone else who sucks shit and makes people feel bad.

“Can it, dickhead.”

To be fair, Steve was ugly crying to Kate Bush by himself in his car, but he’s allowed to be a pussy by himself in his car.

Hargrove just gave Steve a look that Steve’s pretty sure meant I’m resisting the urge to punch you in the face right now, but was undercut by that stupid fucking tongue of his lolling around like some kinda hyper-sexual golden retriever.

Meanwhile, Kate Bush was still singing and Steve was still Cathy on the moors.

“I’m fucking sad, or whatever. Let me be a pussy.”

“Oh, come on, Harrington. You really this cut up about some prissy little princess? She’s not even the best this town has and that is saying something.”

“Y’know, for a guy that’s constantly calling all the girls in town ugly, you sure do fuck a lot of ‘em.”

“At least I’m getting some. When was the last time the princess put out, eh? Or was she savin’ it for marriage? I could see her bein’ one of those types.”

He said those types like he wasn’t wearing a saint’s pendant around his neck. Like Steve didn’t see his family all sitting uncomfortably silent together in the diner after mass every single Sunday afternoon.

It was weird, seeing Billy in a nice shirt. All buttoned up properly with his hair looking all respectful. Especially since Steve was usually high off his ass and slurping down a strawberry milkshake with cheese fries like he’d die if he didn’t.

“I’m not gonna talk about my sex life with you, Hargrove.”

“Aw, why not, Harrington. Don’t wanna compare body counts? You embarrassed or something?” Billy was grinning that shitty sharp grin of his, still waggling his fucking tongue as he leaned closer to Steve. “You still a virgin, King Steve?”

The song ended. Steve rewound the tape. It started up again.

He needed Kate now more than ever.

“Of fucking course I’m not. I’m just not some gross asshole that goes around telling everyone who’ve I’ve fucked. It’s called being a decent guy.”

“It’s called being a prude. Now, c’mon. Tell me who’ve you fucked. Maybe we’re tunnel buddies.”

Steve wanted to throw up. Kate was on the moors again.

“You’re disgusting. Tunnel buddies. How gross can you even get?”

“I hope that’s a rhetorical question.”

“I don’t know what that means and you’re a shithead.”

Hargrove tossed his head back and laughed, showing off those teeth that looked like they could take a chunk out of Steve’s flesh if Billy got close enough to try.

You had a temper like my jealousy. Too hot, too greedy.

“Seriously, though.” Billy had stopped laughing. “What is this shit?”

“She’s Kate Bush and she speaks to my heart.”

Billy just stared at him.

Yeah, that was a pretty pussy thing to say.

“I just got fucking dumped, dude. Let me be sad about it,” Steve backpedaled.

And then Billy did something very unexpected.

Well, he did something very normal for his character, and then he did something unexpected.

He lit up a cigarette.

And then passed it to Steve.

Steve filled up his lungs with a thick drag of smoke. He held it for as long as he could.

Which was really long.

Swimmer’s lungs. And that.

He blew out the smoke. Heathcliff, it's me, I'm Cathy. I've come home, I'm so cold. Let me in your window.

“Is this fucking song based on Wuthering Heights?”

“Yeah, you dumb dumb. It’s fucking called Wuthering Heights.”

“Okay, dumb dumb, I clearly don’t even know this song.”

“Maybe you’d be less of an ass if you did. Dumb dumb.”

Billy lit a cigarette for himself, letting the smoke trail out of his mouth like he was some kind of dragon.

Billy probably fancies himself a dragon. Thinks he’s this big scary creature that just goes around breathing fire and ransacking villages for their gold.

Ooh, it gets dark, it gets lonely on the other side from you. I pine a lot, I find the lot falls through without you.

Really, he’s probably like a dog of some kind.

Domesticated.

“You’re staring at me.”

Yeah. Steve was staring at him. Watching him smoke while Kate Bush played loudly. The speakers still sounded like shit even though Billy had turned down the song considerably.

Steve didn’t know when he had stopped crying.

Probably right when Billy had let himself into his cave of self pity, but his face was still wet.

He wiped it off, not pointing out that Billy had been staring at him too.

“Why are you here so late? Practice ended like, an hour ago.”

Billy shrugged lamely. He kinda looked like a little kid.

Heathcliff, it's me, I'm Cathy. I've come home, I'm so cold. Let me in your window. 

“Bored. Didn’t feel like being home.”

“So you came to sit in the break-up mobile with me. How nice.”

“Mostly I just wanted to make fun of you for listening to this garbage. I could hear it across the lot.”

And sure enough, Billy’s car was parked a good ways down from Steve, about as far away as their two cars could be from one another.

Steve doubts Billy heard Kate all this way, but what’s he gonna do, bring that up?

No. He’s rather sit in this weird silence that settled between them, feeling awkward about himself and his body and listen to Kate.

I'm coming home to wuthering, wuthering, Wuthering Heights

“She’s not worht it, y’know.”

Steve had to do a double take to make sure it was still Billy sitting in his passenger seat, and not some cheap imposter wearing a Billy-suit and saying almost nice things to Steve in a not-mean voice.

“What’d you say earlier? Plenty of bitches in the sea?” Steve would’ve laughed at that comment when Billy made it if they weren’t naked together.

There’s something things you don’t do while naked with another guy, and laughing just isn’t one of them.

Plus, he had been a little too focused on figuring out why Billy’s nudity had given him that same hot feeling that nearly seeing Rob Lowe’s dick in The Outsiders movie gave him last year.

“I mean, it’s true. Don’t sweat this break-up. She seemed like an uptight bitch anyway.”

“Hey.”

Steve was still a little too sore, a little too fresh from the split to trash talk Nance like that.

“Whatever. Get high. Look at some porn. You’ll be fine.”

Ooh, let me have it. Let me grab your soul away.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Silence again.

Kate was back to the chorus.

The song was almost over.

“You could always go on the rebound. get her out of your mind with someone that’ll actually put out.”

Hargrove had barely even said it before he was yanking Steve forward, giving him no time to prepare as their mouthed smooshed together in something that was very very awkward, and very very sloppy.

Steve still had tears on his cheeks, and his cigarette was getting dangerously close to the filter, threatening to burn his fingers, and Kate was still singing, and Billy was kissing him, and dear God Steve’s at least a little bit gay.

Heathcliff, it's me, I'm Cathy. I've come home, I'm so cold. Let me in your window. 

They drifted apart from one another just in time for Steve to rewind the song again.

“So, uh, yeah,” Billy said, and his cheeks were this wonderful shade of red, and Steve couldn’t stop thinking about Kate’s red dress and that fucking kiss and he was on the moors again, but this time he and Billy were making out in the grass and oh fuck, oh fuck-

“Yeah. Good.”

“Good?” Billy raised on of those dark eyebrows at him, his cheeks still burning.

“Good. Very good.”

Billy nodded a few times, sucking on his cigarette. Steve suddenly remembered he had dropped his on the floormates and tried to stamp it out before it got singed to bad.

“Okay then. Good.” Billy opened the passenger door, stepping out and flicking away his cigarette. He seemed to think for a moment, before turning around, leaning his upper body into Steve’s car.

Steve thought they were going to kiss again.

He was ready to go for it, ready to let his eyes close and maybe let it lead to more. He was Cathy and he was ready for some action.

But Billy just grinned again.

And skipped the song.

[impala1967dwinchester]

Dean Winchester: Brandy

*Credit to the gif owner*

Pairing: Dean W. x Fem!Reader

Pov: Deans

Warnings: Drinking, drunk texting, bad dancing, having to rescue Dean, Friends to loversish, Believing in destiny kinda.

Summary: Dean spends the whole night at the bar, tryin' every bottled drink. Ends up drunk texting Y/n and being completely honest with her

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: (Based on the song Wine, Beers, Whiskey by Little Big Town)

Dean Winchester Master List

Main Master List

I sat at the bar of the old bar. It reminded me of Harvelle's. The old smell, the plaid-up men and women that I noticed came walking in through that door.

It was amazing. I was a drinker, always had been. The first drink I had with my dad, I was fifteen. A beer we shared, that should be an amazing moment for father and son, but it was ruined for the simple fact that we had no home, and my father and instructed me to take care of my younger brother.

I grew up, mostly without my father after that. He prioritizes hunting and saving people over me, and over his youngest son. Everything was always secrets. So many secrets, that it's started to become how Sam and I live.

There were certain things that I had learned from my father. How to protect, how to be anger almost all of the time, and how to handle my liquor.

So I sat at the bar, my hand around an iced cold glass of beer. I sipped and watched people. I wasn't in the mood to hook up with any. I mean yeah sure there was probably someone out there that was meant for me, but that's getting into destiny shit.

You know how bars, almost always have music playing. Well being in the good old state of Kansas, so pretty much any place you walk into is playing music more specifically country music.

It started to come through the speakers. I had already been here for what seemed like hours, I had enough beers, that I had switched to drinking something harder.

Something like a whiskey.

"My friend named Jack"

"He's got my back"

"He always seems to know right where I'm at"

Well, this is definitely a song I could get used to listening to. I don't think anybody else was listening. All having their own private conversations. The barmaid was a beautiful young lady, but even still with her crop top of a shirt and the cleavage that was burst out of her shirt.

I wasn't interested in her. Every time she'd come over. "You need anything else sweetheart." Bending halfway down to try and have me look down.

I waved her off. Maybe I should try something else. Waving her back over, I asked "Do you have something stronger?" she looked at me sideways, before saying "If it's something stronger than you want I've got you" and then she walked away.

When she returned with the rest of the bottle of Jose. A half left standing in the clear bottle. "Here's something stronger, forty percent." She said taking my empty beer bottle and empty cup that had been holding the recently downed Jack Daniels.

"My friend Jose"

"He likes to play"

"He's always up for anything I say"

I downed the rest of the bottle, not even needing the new glass she had bought for me to use. Slamming the bottle down on the countertop. She snapped her head around, our eye making contact before she grabbed something off the shelf.

"If that's the type of night you're having you should have said." She said handing me a half empty glass of crown apple. "Thanks, I can handle my liquor so no need to worry about me," I said as she left to take care of other people sitting at the bar.

I sat alone. Like I always have, it was the best way to number one people watch, but it also gave me a reason to think. Nobody trying to pull my belt out of my jean loops. No need to save someone this was my safe haven sometimes.

Alcohol was my safe haven. It's always been that way. It's always been able to understand me ten times more than Sammy. Well I mean there was always Y/n, she lived with us, but she was my friend, my best friends. There is something that she just doesn't need to know.

I took a swig, drinking down most of the bottle.

"Little bit of red, lotta bit of crown"

"Don't matter what it is"

"I'm gonna drink it down, down, down"

Was it just me or was this song getting better by the second. Maybe, It was just me. I looked around me, couples stood dancing to this song, some sat with clasped hands. And the older men sat at the bar, I was an older man sitting at bar watching like a creep.

"The wine, the beer, the whiskey"

"Are the only things that fix me"

"I'm not saying it's a problem"

"I can stop it if I wanna"

"But the wine, the beer, the whiskey"

"They always get me"

Wow, I'm started to get the idea that I can relate to this song. The lyrics are right you know. Liquor is the only thing that can fix me, calms me down and then I sleep it off. It's right the lyrics I can stop if I wanna. But do I really wanna stop?

"Here," The young lady said, handing me a made drink "Here's a gin and tonic." Walking away yet again to take care of other patrons. A gin and tonic, not a drink I was every ballses enough to try.

Taking the little green umbrella out, I took my first sip. "Shit that's actually really good," I said more to myself than anyone else. I looked up from my gin and tonic drink, looking at the glass wall.

It held so many drinks that I hadn't heard of before. Like a new drink called "Screwball", "Kingfisher". Odd brand names but they all looked like awesome drinks. But of course, there was the regular drinks, the brandy, sherry which is a wine, and Jim Beam

"My friend named Gin"

"She's got some friends"

"I'm talking Brandy, Sherry, and their brother Jim"

"Hey, so it sorta looks like we're going along with the song, so I'll grab you a shot of rum, Captain." She said pulling a tiny shot glass out and pulling the bottle off of the shelf.

She slides the small glass across the table, I caught some rum tipping out and falling over my thumb. 'I wonder what Y/n would do if she was here with me? I wonder if I would have her pushed up against the wall, kissing down her neck.'

Shaking my head; stop thinking of her that she... She doesn't think of you in the same way, you are an idiot. Taking my rum-filled shot quickly. I pulled out my phone.

'Don't do what you're about to do'

"I'll be fine," I said to myself. The room was starting to spin. Or maybe I was just spinning. 'Stop thinking about Y/n. She doesn't need to deal with your drunk ass' "Oh come on I'm not that drunk" I was still sitting at the bar, but people were starting to look at me.

>Y/n, you know I've just gotta say. YOu're beautiful.

Dots played at the bottom of my screen.

>Dean that's very nice.

Minutes pass, so I send another message.

>You know I think I'm falling.

Immediate answers came

>Falling?? What do you mean?

>Winchester? Where are you?

She asked, she only ever called me Winchester when she was pissed off, but I was too worried about telling her the truth.

>Y/n, I've spent the past forever fawning over you. I spent it, wanting, yearning for you. I guess after years of wanting you, years after having nobody in my bed. Wishing and hoping that it was you.

>Dean send me your current loca!

>We can talk more tomorrow

I was able to send her my location, she pulled up in a rather crappy car. Walking in distress, her black night shorts, a pair of slippers on, and my red and black plaid shirt on.

She came over, apologizing grabbing my arm, and wrapping it over her head. "Dean, let's go, now," she said dragging me out. "You smell so good Y/n," I said going to pet her hair. She rested me up against the side of the baby.

"Where are your keys, Dean?" She asked her voice starting to become more worrisome. "In my.." I stopped talking and just reached for her hand, shoving it into my jacket pocket. "Right here!" I said I let go of her wrist and she looked up at me.

She got me into the car, somehow. I rested my head against the back of the front seat. "I felt and heard the rumble of baby engine. "Dean, what were you doing?" I looked over at her. "I wanted a drink."

The rest of the drive was quiet, she helped me out of the car after shutting the loud engine off. The sound finally stops bouncing off the cinderblock walls. "Dean. Couch, bed, or table?" She asked.

"Couch, comfier," I said breathing in more of Y/n's scent. I've never been this close to her, for this long. she smelled like a garden of flowers and honey. she smelt of summer. She looked like summer half the time.

"Are you a god?" I blurted out. Her eyebrows creased, licking her lips. "No, Dean I'm not a god," Y/n said reaching around behind the couch and grabbing a blanket but not before untying my boots.

She tossed the blanket over my body and went to walk off. "Y/n?" I asked. "Yes, Dean." She said with a sigh. "Can you get me a water, so I can maybe explain myself?" I asked.

A pleading look on my face, the puppy dog eyes I had learned from Sam. "Fine Winchester, but you've five to explain yourself." She said stomping off into the kitchen, and back with a tall glass of ice water.

She stood next to me. "Can you sit? Please Y/n?" I begged. I sipped on the water, trying to regain any sort of control of myself. She sat crisscrossing her legs. Her exposed legs, my eyes drifted from her legs.

My eyes came back up to hers. "Start explaining Winchester, you've got four minutes." I shook my head, clasping my hands together. I cleared my throat.

"I've sat here for the past few years, wondering why everything seems weird. It's hard. y'know because that song was right in the bar. I don't want to be alone not anymore, I don't wanna watch the couple dances anymore, I wanna be one of the couples, that hold each other hands."

I said, looking at her. She broke our eye contact when she started to fidget with the bottom of my flannel. "You know that's my flannel?" I asked grabbing her hands.

"I want you, I want you in my bed. I want to drink with my girl. I want to love you because Y/n that's really the truth." I said, "I love you Y/n" We sat in silence for a few, "Y/n please say something?" Now I'm begging her, this entire night has been a fucking mess.

"What are you waiting for you dumb Winchester? Come kiss your girl." It only took a few moments for the words to click in my mind. I grabbed the back of her neck and she fell into my lap.

It wasn't like fireworks or lighting coming down. It just fit so well, it was more like finishing a puzzle, puzzle pieces just fitting together so well. A missing part of me found filled and always there for you.

"Dean? Y/n?" I heard Sam said and properly say "Nevermind." And leave. I felt Y/n's lips leave mine. Realizing that I needed air, my lungs burning but in a good way.

"That was something," I said, catching my breath. "That's was awesome!" Y/n said kissing chastely. "Did you hear Sam?" I asked her, she giggled she rolled her. "I bet he's in there going I just knew it," Y/n said. I laughed and hugged.

"My feet hurt, I think I may have blacked out and started dancing by myself," I said, flexing my socked toes. "You dancing!?" Y/n questioned, "Oh we've gotta go back to that bar and get that tape, for FBI reasons." Y/n said.

My mouth gaping open. She laughed more, and she started to have a few tears. "You know Y/n. I'll you back for that, now come on. You'll love the memory foam bed." I said, Whispering closing to Y/n's ear "It remembers you Y/n." My hand landing on her lower as we walked to my room.

Completed on: 05/12/2021

Posted on: 05/14/2021

Dean Winchester Tag List: @akshi8278 @deanswaywardgirl @hit-meup69 @fofisstilinski @doctorlilo @wonderfulworldofwinchester

[starrywhump]

Another game for the whumpee to play with the caretaker. Live hangman, always stopping before the whumpee dies, but only to do it over and over again, the caretaker at the brink of collapse before *finally* getting it right and bringing whumpee home. Only for one day for another friend to suggest the game to pass the time.

I love this idea thank you so much for submitting it!  I hope the few small changes I made are ok, and I hope you all enjoy reading it!

Tw: Flashbacks, panic attacks

“Please don’t do this!” The caretaker begged, pulling against their cuffs.  A short length of chain held them from getting to the whumpee, from helping the whumpee.

“Since you refuse to cooperate I guess you just don’t care about them,” the whumper ran a hand through the whumpee’s hair.  

The whumpee was on their knees.  Their head was pulled taught by a chain looped around their neck hooked up to the ceiling.  They were struggling to stay conscious.  After hours of torture and days of sleep deprivation, they were so tired.  The lack of oxygen was almost too much to bear. 

The whumper yanked the whumpee’s head back by their hair.

The whumpee yelped.

“Maybe I should just put them out of their misery if you aren’t going to try to save them,” the whumper pushed the whumpee’s head forwards.  They turned and pulled at the other end of the chain, yanking the whumpee up so the chain pulled against their neck.

The whumpee gasped, grabbing at the chain to try and loosen it.

“No! Stop it!  Stop please, please!” The caretaker yelled.

“If you won’t play there is no reason to keep them alive.”

“No no please!  I’ll play, please don’t kill them!”  The caretaker cried, jerking away from their restraints.

“Excellent, this will be much more fun!” The whumper released the chain.

The whumpee crumpled to the ground as soon as the tension of the chain was released.

“Ok six letters, make a guess.”

“I- uh,” the caretaker’s mind was blank.  They couldn’t think of anything.  This was the most important time to be able to think and they couldn’t think.

“I-I... please don’t, please.”

“I?  Is that your guess?”

“No please-”

“Incorrect.  No I in this word,” the whumper grabbed at chain again, pulling down on it so the whumpee was once again held up by their neck.

The whumpee let out a strangled cry.

“No, please!  Please stop you’re going to kill them!” Tears flowed down the caretaker’s face.

“I’m simply playing out the rules of the game.  I am being perfectly fair,” the whumper smiled.

“Stand up whumpee, please.  If you can, please, it would be better, you could- you could breathe if you stood up, please!”  The caretaker pushed forward, trying to get to the whumpee across the room.  They pulled so hard that the cuffs cut into their skin.  Blood trickled down their arms.

The whumpee’s eyes were panic-filled, they didn’t register what the caretaker said to them.  They seemed to be on the edge of unconsciousness, kept awake only by adrenaline and terror. 

“Ok second guess, go,” the whumper looped the chain around a hook on the wall behind them, holding the whumpee in place.

“Please let them down!  Let them down and then I’ll try again, please.”

“That isn’t how it works.  Make a guess.”

“Ok, ok uh let me think.  Ok uh, um... e?”

“E!  Good job, very smart.  E is the fifth letter, now guess the other ones.”

The caretaker breathes a small breath of relief, they just needed to keep this  up “Ok uh...a?”

“Nope!”

“Wait-”

The whumper pulled the chain down again.  

“Ngggh- ‘lease,” the whumpee choked out a plea as they were lifted off the ground.

The whumper smiled at the whumpee’s struggle. 

“Whumpee, stand up, please.  Please,” the caretaker begged.

The whumpee scrambled to get their feet under them.  After a what felt like an eternity of struggle the whumpee managed to stand.  They gasped for air, holding the loop of chain around their neck.

The whumper looked disappointed that the whumpee was able to get up, their sick grin quickly returned to their face as they looked back to the caretaker. “Next guess!”

“Give them a second please!” tears flowed down the caretaker's face.

“Guess,” the whumper’s tone was dangerous.

The caretaker sobbed, “please stop this.”

“Don’t make me ask again.”

“Ok, ok, I- uh, is... is, uh... what about T?”  The caretaker’s breathing picked up, they couldn’t breathe.  The whumpee dying, right in front of them, and there was nothing they could do about it.

“Sorry no T,” the whumper grinned  

“No don’t!” The caretaker’s voice cracked as they yelled. 

The whumper ignored them.  They pulled the chain, more than usual this time, forcing the whumpee up onto their feet so they could just barely touch the ground. 

The whumpee pulled at the chain around their neck, the sound of choked gasps filled the room as they desperately tried to take in enough air.

The caretaker sobbed harder at the sight of them, “Please!  I’ll do anything, please stop!  Do whatever you want to me just let them go.  Let them go, please!”

“All I want is for you to play the game,” The whumper circled the whumpee, enjoying as they became more and more desperate to breathe, as the panic and fear grew in their eyes.  

“Ok I will, I will, just... can I have a hint or... or something?  Please?” The caretaker focused on calming down, they couldn’t help the whumpee if they broke down. 

“Hmmm a hint,” the whumper looked between the caretaker and and the whumpee, pondering, “I suppose a hint couldn’t hurt.  Alright here it is: the word you need to guess is what my dear whumpee is, and always will be,” the whumper smirked, confident that they succeeded in making the caretaker even more confused. 

The caretaker squeezed their eyes shut, desperately racking their brain for the right word.

Five, no six letters, six letters, the fifth letter is e, six letters.

Six, six minutes, would the whumpee live another six minutes?  How long could they last without being able to breathe-Focus!

Oh god oh god, focus!  

E is... six letters, five, e, focus, six-

“You have your hint, make your guess,” the whumper broke the caretaker out of their spiraling thoughts. 

The caretaker nodded tearfully, “is there a, um, h?”

The whumper grinned, eyes lighting up with glee, “Nope!  Wrong again!”

The caretaker’s heart fell, “let me try again, please!”

“You will try again, as soon as I dole out the correct punishment for your mistake this round,” the whumper walked back to behind the whumpee and slowly pulled on the chain.  They took their time, watching the whumpee’s feet lift of the ground.

Horrible, spluttering, almost-silent, gasps came from the whumpee, they weakly kicked their legs, trying to find purchase on any surface to relieve their pain and let them breathe. 

“No!  Please!  Please please stop!  Please!” the caretaker screamed, wrenching their hands away from the chain, thrashing to get to the whumpee.

“Next guess, and I suggest you hurry.  I’d say you have at the very most fifteen minutes before your friend here is dead.  Five if I’m lucky.”

No! Nonononono they had to focus they had to ok, ok they could do this just... just FOCUS.

The caretaker was hyperventilating, they could barely speak, they forced out a guess, “N?!”

“Hey!  There is an N!  Who would’ve guessed?  Well I guess you guessed,” the whumper laughed at their own joke, “N is the last letter, that means so far you have: something, something, something, something, e, n.”

“Ok ok, I uh,” the caretaker let out a sob as they glanced back at their friend, the whumpee wasn’t kicking anymore, their eyes were squeezed closed, but they continued to gasp weakly.

“Tick tock, time is running out,” the whumper spoke in a sing-song tone as if talking to a young child.

The caretaker shut their eyes, they couldn’t look at the whumpee, they needed to think.

Focus.  It is what the whumpee is and always will be.  Or what the whumper thinks the whumpee is and always will be, e, n, e, n-

Their eyes shot open.

“B!”

“Oh?” the whumpee seemed surprised by their guess, “that was luck-”

“B!” the caretaker interupted!

“Fine yes, correct, don’t be so-”

“R!”

The whumper’s face fell, knowing the caretaker had figured it out.

“O, k, e, n.  The word is broken!”

The whumper rolled their eyes, “I never should have given you that hint.”

“I guessed it let them down!  You have to!  Please!”

“Fine, fine, don’t be so pushy it’s rude,” the whumper moved as slowly as they could towards the whumpee.  Then in one quick motion they unhooked the chain, sending the whumpee slamming down onto the floor. 

The whumpee didn’t move from the position they fell to, crumpled in a heap, with their face pushed into the ground.

The caretaker hoped, prayed that they were just unconscious. 

 The whumper riffled through their pocket pulling out a small key.

The caretaker recognized it as the key to their cuffs, was the whumper really going to let them go?

“I am nothing if not someone of my word,” the whumper sighed, and dropped the key on the ground, “find a way to get that and you’re free.”

The caretaker took in a shaky breath, the key looked outside of their reach, but maybe they could get it with their foot, or maybe they could wake up the whumpee?

“See?  I am not a sore loser,” the whumper grined at the caretaker, “I look forward to our next game.”

Without giving the caretaker a chance to respond the whumper turned and walked out of the room.

********

“They’re going to be alright, really, they just need rest,” A doctor stood before the caretaker, they were writing something on a clipboard.  The caretaker couldn’t remember their name, they hadn’t been listening when they introduced themselves. 

The only thing they had been paying any real attention to is the whumpee.  The caretaker sat on a chair next to the whumpee’s bed, holding one of their hands with both of theirs. 

The caretaker’s wrists had been bandaged, but other than that they hadn’t needed much medical care.  The whumpee on the other hand was hooked up to so many tubes, the caretaker couldn’t count them all. 

The caretaker wasn’t sure what all the different tubes were doing, part of them wanted to rip them all out, to stop anyone from ever touching the whumpee again.  But the rest of them, the logical part of them knew that the doctors were helping the whumpee.

The caretaker flinched as the doctor laid a hand on their shoulder. 

“Are you alright?”

The caretaker noded stiffly.

“Well as I was saying, when they wake up we want to try and engage them, so we could use your help.  We need to observe them speaking and moving to do a final check that everything is working as it should.”

“O-ok.  How can I help?”  The caretaker tore their gaze from the whumpee to  look up at the doctor.

“Just speak to them, act naturally.  Maybe play a little game with them, something simple like tic tac toe, or hangman.”

The caretaker’s breathe caught in there throat.

The doctor didn’t seem to notice, they continued to speak.

The caretaker didn’t hear the rest of what the doctor was saying.  Dread was building up in the pit of their stomach.  

They couldn’t breathe.  

Panic filled up their head.

They squeezed their eyes shut.

nonononono please don’t, I won, you can’t do it again please.

Their eyes flew open and suddenly they were back in that horrible room.  In front of them the whumpee hung, thrashing and gasping for air.

“NO!” the caretaker screamed, pushing forward to get to the whumpee.

Hands were on them, holding them, grabbing them.

NONONONO.

“STOP STOP YOU CAN’T DO THIS!” the caretaker screamed as loud as they could.

This isn’t fair I won!  I played your game!

The hands pulled on them.

The whumper pulled on them.

Pulling them back away from the whumpee.

The whumpee was dying and the caretaker couldn’t reach them. 

Someone tried to say something to the caretaker.

It was the whumper, they couldn’t listen to them, they swung their arm towards the voice. 

“STOP STOP”

The whumpee spluttered in front of them, they stopped struggling.  

Red streaks of blood started to ooze from the whumpees eyes.

The caretaker screamed.

The whumpee was dead, they couldn’t save them.

“NO NO NO NO!” the caretaker’s voice broke as they yelled.

A sharp pain lit up the side of the caretaker’s neck.

The hands became more aggressive, forcing them to move. 

Dark began to creep around the edges of the caretaker’s vision.

The caretaker sobbed.

They didn’t fight the hands, or the dark, they let them take over.

If the whumpee was dead there was nothing left worth fighting for. 

[weasleydream]

Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain

Hi guys! Hope you’re okay!

We’re up for some Georgie imagine! It’s short, it’s cute, just how we love it!

You can notice the title is from a fucking good song of Lana del Rey (i have to admit i’m quite obsessed with Born to die and I think it won’t be the last time i’ll use it)

Just for information, I think the next imagine will be a Charlie one!

I just have to wish you all a happy pride month and to enjoy this!

Masterlist

There was a time where I used to help Fred and George with all of their pranks. I was their helper: I would watch Filch or spread the rumor that something was going to happen in front of the Slytherin common room. However, things changed as soon as I started to date George. The twins didn’t ask for my help anymore, obviously preferring to be alone. I didn’t understand why, all of sudden, they didn’t accept my presence anymore, but I never really asked them. My fault, I suppose. 

Today was one of those off days for us where our favourite pranksters would annoy random people in the castle. I had told them I would be in the common room, but all the students that stayed in there were way too loud and I couldn’t be focused. The afternoon was almost over when I decided to go to the library and I was joined by Lee on the way. Lee and I had always gotten along pretty well, except maybe when he had put his tarantula in my hair. I had never screamed louder than this day. However, our friendship could seem strange to whoever watched it: always false-flirting with each other, winking and making embarrassing comments. That changed too  when I started dating George. But we were still friends, and currently racing in the corridors in order to go to the library. Little did I know my boyfriend was hiding with his twin in a nearby cupboard, waiting for their next victim to receive a bucket of Bubotuber pus diluted enough to not be painful on the face. 

I was slightly in front of Lee when something slimy with an awful smell covered my face. I screamed, more in surprise than pain, but I had a very strange sensation and when I touched my face, I felt plenty of blisters. Lee was checking on me, both worried and laughing. 

“You look pretty with that Y/N.”

“Shut up!”

I was looking for them. Of course I knew who was behind this horrible prank, and I was right because soon George arrived, followed by his brother, an irritating guilty look on his face. 

“Y/N, I’m sorry, are you okay?” 

I grumbled something while looking at my parchment, when my potion essay was almost finished and completely burnt. George took his wand and my essay was as good as new. He also applied something on my face and a pleasant sensation of freshness made me sigh slightly. 

“I’m sorry” he murmured, “but you shouldn’t have been here and -”

“So it’s my fault now?” I was a bit angry.

“No, of course not, but you told me you would be in the common room and I didn’t expect you to move.”

“Well, if you had told me about this poor excuse of a prank maybe I wouldn’t be here!” 

That was the point of no return. I was frustrated, he was hurt, and soon we were yelling awful things to each other, things we didn’t even mean - for my part, anyway. The only truth in all my mean words was that I was hurt he had rejected me when it came to the pranks. But George, did he really mean it when he told everyone thought I was cheating on him with Lee? I had never heard of such a thing, and by the look and the latter’s face, it seemed like he was in the same position as me. 

“Nothing happened, mate, I prom -”

“Shut the fuck up!” 

George was infuriated. In fact, I had never seen him like this. He was always the calmer twin, the slightly more reserved one, but right now, he was very angry. I was now silent, only listening to him, catching a few words in his speech. Cheating. Your fault. Selfish. Mistake.

I had heard enough of this. It took all my will to stay silent and turn tail, but when he grabbed my wrist telling me he wasn’t done, I lost it and slapped him. George was shocked, I was shocked, Fred and Lee were shocked, and if the situation hadn’t been that awful, it would have been funny, but I just ran without asking for my rest. I considered heading straight to the dorm and sleep until the end of the year, but I didn’t want anyone to bother me. Plus, I would have to cross the crowded common room and someone would see my tears. No, not a good idea. I decided to hide in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. I locked myself hidden from the others’ view and let my sadness invade me. The worse thing in all of this was that George was right. I was a horrible girlfriend, and all of this was my fault. My tears were rolling and soaking my shirt, and my sobs echoed Myrtle’s ones in a heartbreaking melody. Exhausted, I eventually fell asleep. 

When I woke up and noticed the morning sun, my very first thought was for my sore back, and the second one was for the Quidditch match that was going to begin at any moment. I ran to the field. The team was anxiously waiting for me and Wood urged me to slip into my Quidditch robe. I felt George’s glare on my back and the tears slowly made their way back, but I couldn’t let them fall. Not before the match, not in front of George. I swallowed and followed everyone, waiting for our entrance behind the twins because I was a chaser.

I didn’t know what I expected from George during the match. Being a beater, his job was to protect us from the bludgers. After what I had done to him, I thought he would have ignored me, or sent me himself a bludger in the face. I deserved it, really, but he didn’t do anything like that. Instead, he stuck around me, letting Fred ensuring the others’ security alone most of the time. Even if I tried to not listen to it, I found out Lee’s comment was boring. No jokes, no funny comments, no insults towards the Slytherins, nothing. If I could have watched, I would have seen that even McGonagall was looking at him in disbelief. 

The game was foul, as usual when we played against Slytherin, but things hardened when a pouring rain started to fall. We couldn’t see anything around us. The twins couldn’t see the bludgers anymore and while I was heading towards the adversary’s loops, I received my third one in less than fifteen minutes. It hit me in the shoulder and, gasping in surprise, I let the Quaffle go. Worse, another bludger, or so I thought, arrived immediately after the first one and hit the back of my head. Everything went black as I was falling from my broom. 

When I opened my eyes, I saw plenty of faces above me, but I couldn’t identify who was who. I caught a glimpse of red hair and murmured:

“George…”

“Wrong one, Y/N.” Fred answered. “Georgie is beating up the guy who hit you with his bat.”

I immediately tried to stand up, but four pair of hands maintained me on the floor. Fred told me I had to wait until Madam Pomfrey’s arrival, but first, the mud was freezing, and second, I could now hear George shouting and the typical noises of a fight. I ignored the people surrounding me and stood up. Fred caught me when I faltered and whispered into my ear:

“Go see him.”

He let me go and I stumbled towards George. He was, indeed, on the top of a Slytherin beater and punching him constantly. No one dared to approach him, no one except me. I kneeled behind him and put my hands on his shoulders. George immediately stopped and got up so quickly that I fell on my arse. He helped me and looked straight into my eyes while holding my hands. None of us spoke. I had plenty of things to tell him, the first one and more important being that I was sorry. Sorry for being awful and selfish. Sorry for the slap. Sorry for everything. But I couldn’t say it, because I was worried he wouldn’t listen to me or reject me. 

I didn’t expect him to kiss me, but he did. A passionate kiss, angry and loving all at once. We were soaked because it was still raining, but we didn’t care. My hands were in his hair, tenderly pulling them. George was moaning lowly, and I joined him when he bit gently my lower lip. This kiss, it was our way to say sorry and I love you. 

This time, I heard Lee’s comment.

“It was about time! Look at them, cute, aren’t they? Yeah Georgie, grab her -”

“LEE!”

“Sorry professor.”

[peantbutter-honeycombs]

The Hollowing Series: Part I

Title: Prelude

Word count: 2,980

Characters: The 11th Doctor, Amy Pond, ocs

Warnings: Platonic fic not romantic. Crappy writing?

Notes: So three? I want to say three years ago this idea came to mind. Well not this one. But I worked off that idea and came to this. I like the idea of the Doctor being around children. They’re just so innocent. But then I though what the hell let’s torture 11 and the kids and this was born. I’ll explain more later but for now Spoilers. I reall have worked hard on this it’s my first Doctor Who fic. It’s been in my head and notes for years so please be kind and enjoy. I’m going to try, try to break this in to only 4 parts. But hey I’m a detailed writer.

Special Thanks to my college buddy B, @mirkwoodshewolf, and @underskaro​ for tolerating my ramblish rants and beta reading the chapter.

———

Down the road aways, pushed against the hills, stood a cobblestone farm style home. The front lawn was messy, jagged and uncut. From the muddy earth sprang up wildflowers and weeds, northern marches, poppies, and heathers. It was all very wild. The pedestal of a concrete birdbath was cracked and lopsided, with vines wrapping around the very base.

A trike was tangled, hidden in the tall overgrown grass. It felt out of place among the weedy garden. The bike in contrast to the exterior of the old homestead must have been brand new. Green and black, the trike was just brilliant enough to be noticeable through the thrush.

Visible from the left lower window appeared a boy, no older than 14 but no younger than 12. He reached out toward the edges of the frame, grasping at the sangria red fabric. In one swift motion, he drew the curtains closed.

“There,” the boy said, standing back to admire his work.

The four windows of the well-sized sitting room. The warm golden light that once flooded through the glass panes, faded, leaving room to feel somewhat dark and empty.

Stepping backward, the young teen collapsed over an armrest onto a sofa. The sofa’s cushions sank under the weight of him, creating a spot perfectly tailored to the shape of his body. The sofa had seen better days. The brown leather fabric was worn, torn in some places and had a great dark stain on the Center cushion that the boy couldn’t remember ever not existing.

Dragging his legs over the armrest, he moved himself so he was in a sitting position. He stretched his right hand out, leaning his body so he could reach a drawing book on the right end table. The silence of the sitting room hugged him like a security blanket, his muscles became jello, all the stress of the day just melted off him. Being the man of the house was hard.

He became lost in his own world. He didn’t utter a word for the next fifteen minutes and barely moved from his spot for a full thirty minutes. His left hand carefully looped and curved over the blank sheet of paper, no longer blank. Every now and again he’d spin his pencil around in his fingers in deep thought, or wildly erase a thoughtless mistake. He hummed along to the song blasting through his one right earbud (the one thing he’d moved to retrieve.) nodding his head in time with the 60’s melody.

The sound of creaking floorboards overhead pressed through his exposed ear, carrying him back to reality. He could hear gentle feet beating against the wood. They were almost unnoticeable over the music. Almost.

There was a lull in the footsteps, creating silence.

They must be at the stairs, he thought, beginning to set his drawing tools away.

They always stopped at the top of the stairs and the base. The stairs of the old farmhouse were criminally steep, with each weirdly a different height than the last. They were enough to give anyone unfamiliar with them a headache. If his mother had gotten them carpeted, maybe the stairs wouldn’t have been so nauseating, but she’d wanted to preserve the house’s history as best she could.

Thump, thump, thump.

He could just imagine the little human, the footsteps belonged to crawling down the stairs. Moving down them one by one, on their knees. Sort of in a reverse way of the puppy conquering the stairs in Lady and the Tramp.

“No, go away,” he called, pressing a pencil down into its colouring box. When there was quiet he looked over his shoulder, everything from the waist down just sitting there on the steps. The figure's upper body was obstructed from his view.

“I was kidding, you can come down.” He turned back to his tidying. He heard the little feet happily stomp about, then thump, thump, thump.

Focused on organising his things, he looked up only when noticing the pair of dust stained white socks out of the corner of his eye. He blinked, somewhat irritatedly, staring at the little girl who now stood across from him.

With a great sigh, he said.

“You’re really annoying sometimes, you know that?”

A child no older than four stood before him. Her brown eyes, earthy hues of the soil after rain or bark on a walnut tree. They gave him a look that was of youthful innocence. Bright auburn hair reached down to the middle of her back, slightly covering the sides of her cheeks. Her pale skin was dotted and marked with a surplus of freckles — Sophia.

Sophia frowned, taking a step back. This made the older boy quietly snicker.

He smiles in a reassuring manner, “Hello, Soph-a-loaf.” He teased goofily pronouncing her name. The slightest smile tugged at the corners of the ginger's lips. He brought Sophia onto his lap, letting her sit on his thighs. “What’s up ducky?” He asked, brushing some of her hair back behind her ear. Sophia scrunches her mouth to one side, making a few murmuring noises. “Oh really? Sounds like you’ve had a day.”

Sophia nods. She rests her head on Oliver’s stomach, looking up at him with her sweet doe eyes.

“What?”

Her eyes darted off toward the window.

“No. No.” Oliver shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. Sophia tilted her head to one side, training her attention on Oliver’s. “Seriously the park now?” Oliver whined, backing into the cushion.

He reaches for a throw pillow and covers his face with it.

“I’m sleeping,” he murmurs from behind the fabric. Sophia fusses lightly, pressing at his stomach. Oliver grunted, but kept the pillow pressed against his face. “I’m dead,” he tried.

This time Sophia head butted him in the gut. Oliver pulled a face, bringing the pillow down.

“Bleh!” He mocked, tongue lolled out of his mouth. Sophia squeaks, swatting her palm against Oliver’s arm. “Hey, we don’t hit. Sophia, I don’t want to go to the park.” Oliver said leaning down so his forehead was against hers. Sophia kindly taps her temple against his. Oliver chuckles softly, giving her forehead a sweet peck. “Sophey Tophie.”

He lifts Sophia off his lap, setting her on the floor in front of him.

“I suppose… it would be nice to get out of the house.” His eye drifted to a calendar on the interior sidewall of the sitting room. He couldn’t remember when he circled that day. Sophia excitedly bounces up and down. “What are you a rabbit?” The little ginger doesn’t respond, bouncing her way to the front door.

Oliver rolls his eyes. Upon realisation, he sprang up from the sofa.

“Sophia, you need a coat!”

-

The two children squinted against the hazy Yorkshire rain. The rain was cool against their exposed skin. It felt nice, refreshing even. It ran through their hair, smoothing out Sophia’s auburn waves, mopping Oliver’s ash brown locks. It plastered small individual strands to each of their faces.

Oliver chatted away as they went down the muddy, winding path. Chatting isn't quite the right word as Sophia never spoke. It had only taken him two minutes to go off on a tangent about something or other.

Sophia, only kind of sort of listening, pedaling her hand-me-down trike. His voice disappeared into the white noise, allowing her to quietly enjoy the English landscape.

The countryside stretched and weaved as far as the eye could see. Rustic English cottages and cobblestone farm houses dotted the grassy hills. The land gently rolled up and down the valley, merging with the uneven, mist filled moors half way up the emerald green mounds of earth.

Dew, white and clear, decorated the damp droopy grass the land glittered, sparkling under the orange purpling sunlight.

The houses of the humdrum sleepy town were few and well spaced out. One could walk a good half a mile before reaching their neighbours' property. Those closer to the center of town were flats, pushed together in neat lines, occupying the space over the small, often family owned shops.

Oliver and Sophia arrived at the park in twenty minutes. Sophia having to struggle, pedaling through the mud had set them back. However, neither of the children seemed to care. Sophia hopped off the trike and clicked off her helmet, abandoning both on the pavement. She couldn’t wait to explore the soggy park.

For the next 20 minutes they hung out at the park, Sophia wandered the grassy playing field picking at wild flowers while Oliver practiced his kicks. In the following ten, Sophia ran up the stairs then went down the slide. She’d dust herself off, then go round again. The next five minutes she sat still, a bit tired, content to watch the villagers while Oliver puttered around.

“Oi! Sophia, I’m goin’ to the loo. I’ll be back right back!” Oliver shouted from the far side of the futbol field. The park had no bathroom, so he’d have to walk clear cross the road to Brews Brothers’ Pub. The popular bar had an outdoor side restroom reserved for the public.

Sophia watched Oliver leave until he became nothing more than a speck in the distance.

The quiet times brought a certain comfort to Sophia. It was the perfect time to watch people revel in the coolness of other humans’ lives. Usually the park was a buzz with townsfolk, mostly children. They melded together and dotted the public lawn like A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte. But now there was little life to distinguish the little village from Oradour-sur-Glane, France.

The night air, though cool, had a biting sharpness to it. No thanks to the rain. Sophia sniffs through her nostrils, inhaling the almost intoxicating spring air. Sitting on the bench, her little legs swung over mud coated grass. Misty rain was still falling steadily, and the temperature had dropped considerably.

Sophia wasn’t bothered though.

Reaching for a short stick she traces some shapes in the ground. She nods her head, humming a tune she couldn’t quite place.

“You know, sometimes I wonder if you actually know how to fly the TARDIS.” A voice, female with a thick Scottish accent, said.

Two foreign voices cut through the cold silence. Her eyes dart down the path. From where she sat she could hear them, the voices, bickering. About what, she had no clue.

Out of mist in the distance strode what appeared to be a young couple. The man seemed tall. His dark brown hair was long, stuck to his forehead in a droopy fashion, much like Ollie’s. Despite looking like a young man, he wore clothes that reminded Sophia of one of the town retirees; a Donegal tweed sport jacket with elbow patches, an off white dress shirt, rolled up deep blue trousers and… and bow tie?

Bow ties are for Sunday, Sophia thought, eyes narrowing at the approaching pair.

His partner appeared to be much more put together. Auburn hair, just a smidge less vibrant than Sophia’s framed a pale Scottish face. An irradiated cross expression dominated her features. Her voice wasn’t high nor low, it perfectly suited her in an indescribable way. And unlike the man to her right, she wore clothes appropriate for her age.

The pair stopped in the middle of the path, continuing to argue.

“Of course, I know how to fly the TARDIS sometimes she- she just has a mind of her own.” The lanky man argued, earning an eye roll from the ginger.

“We’re supposed to be England,” She grouched. “What about Churchill? This looks like— are we in Scotland?”

Sophia scoffed, shaking her head, tourists. She watched as the man licked a finger, held it against the wind, then popped it back in his mouth.

“No, no. I’m sure we’re in England.”

The finger crossed her arms over her chest in a cool way.

“Shouldn’t there be I dunno fighters, soldiers, something? I’m getting sheep.” She said looking round the area. She wasn’t wrong there were sheep, white puffs mindlessly grazing on the hills. When she looked back at the man, he was squatting. In his right hand he held a good chunk of mud.

“Wha—What are you doing?”

“Definitely in England. Westerdale Yorkshire, to be more precise. Right country wrong period. Does something seem off to you?” He asked, running a thumb over the mucky mud, cautiously examining it.

His partner snorted indignantly.

“Something or… someone? No don’t eat the—”

Sophia quickly pushed her head down, crinkling her nose. Adults are weird. She turned her attention to her dirt scribbles. She didn’t understand what they were on about, anyway. Hopefully they’d be on their way soon. They didn’t belong.

There’s a weight increase, bending the planks of the bench. An electric chill ran up Sophia’s spine, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. The reaction wasn’t from the cold. There was a weight increase bending the planks of the bench.

“Well hello there, I’m the Doctor. What’s your name.”

Surprise was never an emotion Sophia handled well. Her shoulders went rigid, her entire body defensively readying itself. Her sweet eyes become stoney. Her breathing felt as if it was becoming more shallow with each breath. The guarding alarms inside her mind we’re going crazy halting the thinking gears of her brain.

The man held his hands up resignedly. “No, no, don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you.” There was a gentleness to his tone, a kind of concern. Sophia couldn’t be sure. No matter something about him. She let her shoulders go loose, but the rest of her still felt tense. “Would you mind? I have a few questions.”

Sophia allowed herself to relax a little more, not completely but more.

“Doctor!” The scot’s voice rang up briefly, sending Sophia back into defensive mode. “You can’t keep talking to children you don’t know.” She sounded like a mother chiding her young child.

Her comment sparked a minor argument between the pair.

Sophia took the time to lean back and take the pair in full, particularly the man. He was a little more normal-ish looking up close. Normal enough. There was something about his eyes she couldn’t quite describe.

Sophia observed the two curiously, unaware that the fear, once crushing her chest, was steadily subsiding.

“I introduced myself this time. Oh yes,” the Doctor swiftly turns to Sophia, “this is Amy.”

“That’s not how it works,” Amy grumbled.

Her partner ignores her, keeping his attention on Sophia. “There’s something… something about this place. Don't know. I think-" He spoke fast, flaggishly moving his hands about. “Well I know it’s something. Too many ideas. Head’s bit cloudy.” He knocked on his temple.

Sophia, though a little behind, shifted uncomfortably.

“Need to narrow it down…” he trailed off. Sophia, her left palm on her thigh, absently traces along each finger with her right index. He observes Sophia with a kind, sort of calculating, gaze.

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?

Concurrently, Ollie was on his way back from the toilet. He dribbles across the park, knocking a futbol between one foot and the other. “He’s going for the full court folks.” He deepened his voice, trying to mimic the vocals of a proper sports announcer. “He’s at the 75 marker, will he go for the assist?” He sped up, using a lace touch to control the ball. “He passes to,” Oliver knocks the ball clear cross the field.

“No one.”

He’d get his ball back tomorrow. The silence made his blood as cold as the icy waters of a polar plunge, as he strode across the park to where he had left Sophia.

Everything was still hazy and cloudy from the English rain. Billions of trillions of icy drops dripped down his neck and fell off the flaps of his slicker. In this de-focused world, he could just make the outlined silhouette of Sophia.

“Sophia. Sophia?”

He goes taut, stopping in his tracks. For a moment his brain glitches. His eyes went wide, mouth falling slightly ajar. Although he was staring at Sophia, he was seeing more than he expected.

“Sophia, what do you think you’re doing?” His voice was steady, but had a sharpness to it. “Talking to strangers?” He holds a hand out, which Sophia compliantly takes within seconds.

“And you lot.” The ginger seemed taken back by Oliver’s frigidity. A tween scolding two strange grownups, one of them a Scot, bit startling. The gentleman, however, seemed off in his head, silently mouthing the same word over and over. “You can’t just be talking to people you don’t know, numpties.”

“Oi, watch it.”

Oliver’s eyes sourly narrow. “You’re not from around here, are you?” He deadpanned.

“Just passing through. Hello, I’m the—”

“You should keep passing,” Oliver interrupted. Stepping between Sophia and the pair. Sophia could only watch as Oliver spoke to the two adults. “Leave town before it gets dark.” He warned, picking Sophia up, holding her on his hip.

“Is everything okay?” The gentleman asked, stepping up from the bench.

Though his expression held a casual indifference, his skin goes colourless. He let out an understated sigh, bowing his head and turning to leave. “I have to get Sophia home. It's almost supper time.”

Sophia beats her head against Oliver's shoulder, hitting it just hard enough to make the older child wince. He rolls his eyes, but turns back to the pair. “If you are going to stay… it’s only fair.” He sounded like a toddler forced to apologise.

“I must warn you.” He let his face fall in seriousness.

“Beware what lies in the mist of the Moors.”

[revisionaryhistory]

Three Days ~ 71

~*~Emma~*~

For the rest of the trip, we relaxed listening to music. Before Sebastian had asked, I’d not thought too much about what I was going to do. Further limiting my time was a given, but I hadn’t thought about what that would look like. Talking about not waking up at “home” with my mom, dad, twin sister, and niece should have bothered me more than it did. That it didn’t, tells me it’s the right decision. One of the side effects of putting up with shit too long is once you decide to stop it’s not that big of a deal. Something inside has been moving in that direction for some time. What Sebastian had said about not sacrificing myself was on target. That I would do what it takes to take care of my sister isn’t in question. It’s been proven.

I texted Angie from the Uber to Sebastian's apartment. We were going to start up at Chelsea and Union Square with Aritzia, Anthropologie, and Free People. Those were sure thing stores, but not always original. We'd weave our way through Chelsea and into Soho. That shop Seb and I found would be last. We'd stop for lunch when we got hungry.

Angie hopped on the subway and headed to Union Square. It would take her thirty minutes and me fifteen from Sebastian’s place. Plenty of time to relax and watch Sebastian gather what he needed to work on. I saw a script, notebook, and a couple of real books. I think I'd find it fascinating to watch his process, but more importantly this time I wanted him to know I had friends and could amuse myself. I didn't care that he needed work time and I wasn’t going to need something from him for ignoring me. Doing things independent of your partner was important.

I grabbed a bottle of water for my journey and made my way to where Sebastian sat. He moved the items in his lap, making room for me to sit down. He supported my back and rubbed along my leg. "What are you shopping for?"

"Whatever I find." I smiled sneakily, "Especially if find something for Paris, our first date, and our live music fun tonight."

Sebastian’s hand made it to my ass, "When I think of live music I picture short, revealing, sexy."

"I love how you think." I ran my fingers through his hair. "Can I bother you for five minutes?"

"Sure" His eyes held questions.

I pulled his head closer, pressing my lips to his until he caught on and joined in the fun.

Our little mini make out session was going to make me late. Assuming Angie left as soon as we texted, walked straight onto a train, and there were no delays. None of these were likely. She'd forgive my lateness anyway. I looped my crossbody bag over my head, "I'll text if it's anything other than seven."

"Ok." He ran toward the kitchen. "Hang on." I heard a drawer slam before he reversed direction and came back. Sebastian held up a key, the slightest smile appearing on his face, "In case I'm in the shower or something when you come back. You remember the code?"

"Yes." I'd punched it in when we got here less than half an hour ago. He was nervous. I admit I had to focus to keep my hand steady as I took his offering. "I love you."

Sebastian opened the door and gave me a quick kiss as I walked out. "Love you, too."

I was a couple of steps away when I heard my name.

"Emma, put it on your key ring so you don't lose it."

The door closed before I could reply. I guess that eliminates any question if the key was a temporary just in case he was in the shower today sort of thing. What made me smile the most was the lack of conversation. If he'd overthought the decision, he didn't feel the need to talk it through. No discussion about what it meant or didn't mean. He may have been nervous, but he wasn't uncomfortable. I seriously doubt he's in the habit of giving out keys to his place, so nervous but not uncomfortable was good.

Angie was leaning against the building when I walked up. We hugged like we hadn't seen each other in months. "Sorry, I’m late."

"Were you having sex? I'll forgive you if you were having sex."

I grimaced with a shake of my head, "Making out."

My best friend huffed out a breath, "Close enough." She held the door open for me, "I got here like two minutes ago."

Aritzia, Anthropologie, and Free People were right in a line. We'd hit them in my favorite order. Aritizia was more comfort clothes for me. Their clothes were more staples than fun. But today I found a gorgeous Sicily sweater and cardigan in a soft heathered cashmere. A pair of tie front pants in purple plaid would look awesome for wandering museums. Anthropologie gifted me with a sequined tunic dress for a night out. A simple black midi dress, a grey-blue fringed and a textured cardi, and a long black wrap jacket. Free People had a colorful mini dress, a definite statement Hyacinth dress, and a fun floral dress. Assorted other things went into my bags too. I went a little crazy, but in my defense, I hadn’t been shopping in a long time and my best friend was egging me on. Plus, there was someone to appreciate what I wore. I had all sorts of cute clothes, but dressing for a boyfriend was different. Especially one who liked to look. I knew what he liked and indulged.

Conversation while we shopped was mostly about the shopping. It's good to have a friend who'll not only tell you something makes your ass look fat but also say, "You look amazing but where the fuck are you gonna wear that more than once?"  Part of the fun was trying on horrifying things. Those things you don't understand how they were ever made. We'd mix those in with good stuff and laugh until we cried. We had a long-standing tradition that whoever found the most "exquisite" outfit was treated to lunch. We were pretty even and had pictures for documentation. Today I would be buying lunch.

"We’ve got a table at two. Alissa's going to meet us."

"That'll be fun. Are she and Will coming tonight?"

"I don't think so. They've got a family thing."

I nodded and we headed toward Chelsea, stopping at the Guitar Store for strings and a capo. We had plenty of time so we stopped anywhere else that caught our eyes. Walking was more private and so was our conversation.

"Anything I should know about before I see you tonight with your boyfriend?"

I sighed in relief. Finally. I bumped her hip with mine, "I love him."

Angie put her arm around me, "This is not news, Emma."

We shared a laugh. "I wasn't sure until I was in the cab leaving his place. Georgia solidified it. Sebastian was so good talking me through all their shit. He and Eli have more in common now. They both hate my parents."

"Eli doesn't hate your parents."

I pulled away, looking at her with raised eyebrows and clear disbelief written on my face. "Try again."

Angie spoke through our laughter, "Eli tries not to, but they make it truly hard. I think he'd be more forgiving if you didn't have us and your Seattle family. Eli loves you like a little sister, best friend, and some weird second wife he's never fucked. He’s protective. He and Sebastian are going to have to figure out how to share."

"They'll arm wrestle or something. Then maybe you'll become Sebastian’s little sister, friend, and second girlfriend. Ooo, we could use you to confuse the fans. If we're out and get seen we can trade off and kiss each other’s dates. Set up a different narrative."

"Good idea.

“It'll be more fun for you. I have kissed Eli, but you don't know about Seb."

"I doubt anything will become so severe that making out with Sebastian is the answer." She smiled, "Not that I would mind."

"You would not mind. He's one hell of a good kisser."

She backtracked, "Who said it first? How did it happen."

"He surprised me showing up early from Canada, watched me cleaning up my classroom for a minute, then told me the song I was dancing along to was about sex. I turned around and he had on those ears. He looked so adorable. He looked at me with his mouth and eyes open wide and said, “Fuck, I love you."

Angie slapped her hand on her chest, "He didn't know until right them." She gasped, "He came in wearing those ears to be cute and winds up telling you he loves you. He is adorable.” She glared at me, "And you said it back."

I nodded, “In Romania."

"What's up with learning Romanian?"

I trusted her with everything. "It's his name. He prefers it in Romanian. I've been learning just enough to add it to his name. It has a very nice effect on him.” I remembered the wall and shook myself out of the memory. “Plus it makes him happy.”

"And you’re happy?"

I nodded, "Incredibly. All the reasons we talked about are still going on. He adores me and it's clear by how he treats me. And I love taking care of him." I knew she’d understand what I meant.

"There is nothing better in the world. I'm so happy you have someone. It had been so long I thought you were intentionally keeping everyone away."

“Just waiting for the right one."  I pulled out my key chain. "I do have a new key."

Angie snatched it, "He keyed you!"

"Looks like it."

"Do you worry this is going fast? I mean it is going fast."

"Yes. It is going fast. There is a risk that maybe this time next year we could be married, have three kids, and signing our divorce papers." I barely made it through without laughing.

Angie snorted, "Sign a prenup so you don’t have to pay alimony when his mid-life crisis tanks his career."

"I talked to Trevor about Sebastian. He knows about my parents, Amy, rehab, and how shitty they can be to me, but he doesn't how about what happened." I stopped walking and looked at her. "I'm starting to feel ashamed for not telling him. That's never happened before." Relationship or friendship. It had never happened. I looked at the most recent member of my secret club. "I don't want to."

She understood, "Why?"

"I don't want him to change the way he looks at me."

Angie smiled, "He won't. You don’t know that yet. It's only been a month. When you know, you'll tell him, and he will look at you just the same or better than he does now. It'll be fine."

"How do you know?" It wasn’t a smart assed clap back. I sincerely wanted to know her reasoning.

"Because he feels different to you and about you. You’re both sharing things neither of you share. That’s the glue for your relationship. You’re adding a little more glue, letting it set up, then adding more. It's getting stronger and eventually, you'll both tell the big secrets and it will be like a layer of epoxy around you that will make you near impossible to break.”

"I like that."

"I speak the truth."

We beat Alissa to the restaurant and ordered a pitcher of margaritas. I was still rearranging and shoving bags into bags under the table when she got there. Angie jumped up and they hugged. I took a step closer, but instead of hugging me, Alissa looked at me warily. “Is it ok for me to be here? Angie said it would be.”

I looked at Angie then back to Alissa, “Why wouldn’t it be?” Oh, what the fuck was going on? I just wanted a nice drunken late lunch with friends after a successful shopping expedition then go home and make out some more with my hot boyfriend.

Alissa grimaced, “I’m sorry for saying all that about Sebastian.”

“Oh!” I laughed and put my hand on my chest. Relieved. I pulled her into a hug, “I’m not upset. Between you and Kirk and the shit Eli told him, we had a somewhat uncomfortable, but really good conversation.”

“Good.” We sat down and Alissa kept talking. “I didn’t mean to be negative. It was just strange. How he was acting and the things you were saying. In a good way. It didn’t come out that way.”

Why is she still . . . oh. “Sebastian said something.”

She cringed, “More of a small group WhatsApp with me and Kirk.”

I laughed again. “Sounds fun.” I sort of wish he hadn’t done that, but I understand why he did. In the end, it was a good thing, but they couldn’t know if I would be scared off by their words.

Angie jumped in, “There’s no way Emma didn’t talk that through.”

Alissa didn’t know me well enough yet to know I wouldn’t let the conversation fester. “Especially with us being a thousand miles apart for the next two weeks. Why is that distance makes time seem longer?”

“I don’t know, but it does. Seb was right to be angry. We could have screwed things up. Neither of us realized how important you were to him. He was worried. That’s more like Seb. Kinda. He’s confusing.”

I think I know what she’s going for. It’s very like him to be worried, but not so much calling out a friend about a girlfriend. From what we’ve talked about and what I learned on that post he’s not had a history of defending girlfriends. I could be wrong, but I don’t think so. I wasn’t willing to go into that here. I changed the subject. “And then he goes and tells Will to post a picture of us.”

Alissa nodded, “How’d he react to the comment saying he was going to propose?”

Angie started laughing, “She’d say no.”

“I told him not to. He’d need a good reason. Like he’s actually not a citizen and needs a marriage green card. Or maybe health insurance. I have good health insurance.”

That was the end of that and we went on to other topics. Alissa and Will were having dinner with family but would come by Bowery Ballroom if they were done early. Keaton and Eli’s bands were friends and often teamed up to fill a bigger hall and split the money. They usually made more that way than in one of the smaller halls. Both did a full set and even though Keaton was the bigger name they would trade off who opened. Tonight was Eli’s turn.

We split up outside the restaurant. Alissa going back home and Angie and I heading to the boutique by Sebastian’s.  It wasn’t a horrible walk, but we had a lot of bags. In the cab, Angie gave me a look. One I could read perfectly. She wanted to know what I’d avoided at lunch. I like Alissa and I’d say we’re friends. She’s also married to one of Sebastian’s best friends. I didn’t know what the line was. Not for Sebastian. He’d tell me to do what I wanted. The line was mine. Will and Alissa were still enough strangers to me that I wasn’t comfortable with too much information flow between all of us. I wouldn’t think anything of it with Angie and Eli and I was confident that given some more time it would be the same with Will and Alissa. Also, I didn’t know how intimate of conversations Sebastian had with his friends. I’d need to be around more to know.  

I’d told Angie about our conversation after the party. In general. With what Alissa had said I went into a little more detail, filled in holes, and answered questions. I watched her thinking. I knew what was coming and was glad for it. “Are you worried? I’d be worried. Maybe not worried. Concerned. It’s like being a rebound. You’re the first after something else, only the something else is personal growth. You don’t know if he’s going to go back. You know what I mean?”

I did. “If he wasn’t so forthcoming with talking about it, I would be concerned. He’s laid it all out there. What he’s done, not done, feels bad about. He doesn’t act like that with me. If he starts too, I’ll know what's going on.” I told her about the conversation on the deck where he did want to shut down and how we got through it. “Struggling with change doesn’t bother me. All the girlfriend stuff.” I shook my head and shrugged. “We’re going to have to figure out what both of us are good with. I think I’m going to be able to not get sucked into comments or let them get to me, but I don’t know for sure. I know private is ok, but I’m not ok with being denied. I’d feel like a dirty little secret. I could change my mind. Could be next week. No idea.”

Angie took my hand, “I still get hate from Eli’s fans. We had to figure out how to deal. You guys will too. The rest, I think you’re right. If he’d gotten pissy and refused to talk about what Alissa and Kirk had said it would be a problem. Everybody gets a chance to do things differently. I don’t for one second think you’re going in blind or overlooking things because you want a boyfriend. You’d walk away if he wasn’t treating you right.” She got the look she gets when she’s about to tell me something I don’t like. I know that look, because I have the same one. “I’m one hundred percent not saying now. Way too soon. You’re already started to feel ashamed and that’s not going to get better. Might not get worse, but it’s not going to get better. You are the bravest person I know. Don’t let being afraid of your past ruin your future.”

[jonismitchell]

hey!! i haven’t talked to you in forever i hope you’re doing well. idk if you’ve answered this recently, sorry- top three on every album (totally put why if you want to, i love hearing people’s different opinions on this)

ahhh hey! i’m doing okay (as well as can be considered given the state of the world). i have not answered this question since folklore came out, so here’s a short opinion piece by yours truly. (under the cut because i never learned to shut up)

debut:  - our song: listening to taylor swift sing from the “man’s perspective” for the first time is something that can be so personal. i’m pretty sure that this is also the first taylor song i ever heard (in 2012) so i have some degree of emotional attachment to it.  - invisible: cause i just wanna show you! she don’t even know you! visceral flashbacks of playing this on loop while watching ever after high and harry potter videos in, like, fifth grade. truly describes my pining for every single person i’ve ever liked oops - should’ve said no: she’s so righteously angry and i love it. also the country accent is so strong here and i am absolutely obsessed with that.... legends only. anyway this is your reminder not to get back with your scumbag ex.

fearless: - love story: this is a classic! this is literally a classic. god the forbidden love, the happy ending, this implications of this being one of the biggest hits of her career.... it is The Ultimate Taylor Swift Song and we all just have to respect that. also a healthy dose of “the man’s perspective.” she SAW that film before and she changed the ending!! i cannot :) - come in with the rain: her vocals on this song are so dreamy and the song is really sweet. i think it manages to be lowkey and straddle how fucking dramatic being a teenager is with a lot of class that most of fearless doesn’t access. it’s a good song! - you belong with me: hey it’s the lonely hopeless romantic anthem! yes i know i’m citing the two biggest hits from fearless... they got popular because they’re super good okay! i would argue that the songwriting here is very classic taylor and it’s also super sweet :) 

speak now: - last kiss: ugh this really is an amazing breakup ballad. it’s full of amazing one-liners like “you can plan for a change in the weather and time but i never planned on you changing your mind.” i can’t believe how brilliant the whole song is and it’s even more impressive when you remember she wrote it alone. cannot wait to hear the updated vocals but the shaky breaths in the original are perfection <3 - enchanted: okay this is actually my favourite speak now song but i thought i’d shut up about being a lonely romantic for more than five seconds! anyway i have projected this onto so many people... it’s so relatable and yet it’s super general and YET it makes no sense when you think about it... that’s my style of taylor swift song  - the story of us: i love how blatantly unhinged taylor was while writing speak now it really speaks to me. i didn’t really like this one so much before but i went through a Thing and binge listened and now i am obsessed. love love love the lyrics and i think the production suits it well too 

red:  - holy ground: this is my ALL TIME FAVOURITE taylor swift song. i genuinely think these are the best lyrics she has written in her whole career.... “we blocked the noise with the sound of you and for the first time i had something to lose?” no one is doing it like her they simply aren’t. this song is absolutely perfect.... i don’t really have words to describe it i just need everyone to appreciate my taste for a minute - treacherous: gay little taylor swift. the whole idea of forbidden love crops up again here and i have to say i love it. i swear to god the vibes... the quiet confessional on the verses that explodes into this huge ranting bridge? that’s it that’s it that’s one of the best songs of all time man miss swift is an icon - state of grace: love is like a religion, perhaps. this contains such a wonderful extended metaphor and utilizes a bunch of different writing tactics so well. i sound like a broken record at this point but this is a good song! and yes i project it onto lucas (i’m fine to say that no one is reading this much)

1989:  - wildest dreams: oh just say you’ll remember me! it’s the songs about doomed love that always get me, something forbidden, something you have to keep private for fear of it being destroyed. side note, everyone who thinks a song as good as this is about harry styles can fight me. taylor pulled this out of my personal diary in sixth grade and it hasn’t stopped being relatable since - wonderland: oh you guys know i love a literary reference and wonderland is so good. haven’t you heard what becomes of curious minds is also really gay so the song works well for me. oh and a special shoutout to everyone who removed a tattoo because of this song, i hope you’re doing real well - style: very happy that i never think of anyone in particular when i listen to this banger and instead just enjoy it like a normal person <3 i remember not understanding the hype until binge listening to 1989 one day in eighth grade and being like “oh i get it now” so there’s that (shoutout to this love for nearly being on this list)

reputation: - dancing with our hands tied: this is another one of my all time favourites! the pining, the gay vibes, the love that dies in secrecy... it basically goes through my list of how to be a good song and ticks my requirements off one by one. i love how anxious the production is and her emotion while singing it on rep tour. karlie kloss fucking fight me challenge. - new year’s day: this quiet subtlety of this love ballad gets to me... it was my favourite when i originally listened to reputation and hasn’t fallen out of the top three since. i think it highlights taylor’s songwriting abilities and her ability to make me cry, both very important aspects of music - delicate: this is another hopeless romantic pining song! how many are we up to now? i really think delicate is the essential crush song that describes basically every feeling i’ve ever had. and unfortunately, up to this point, it has all been delicate :/ at least i have the solace of sharing problems with a talented millionaire

lover: - cruel summer: this really is THE fucking song for me... it encapsulated my ninth grade year, it makes my heart hurt, it’s line after line of pain to me personally. i have no idea what miss swift is banging on about here (and i prefer it that way) but it really just means a lot to me! another song that sounds like my diary entry and is also completely inaccessible, i don’t know how she does it. - the archer: i love the moment where taylor swift decided that she was going to give those of us with anxiety a theme song every single album, and i think the archer is a definite highlight of her whole career. the subtle dreampop influences and the confessional vibes make it exactly what i wanted from lover, and also it hurts me emotionally in ways i can’t fully articulate.  - lover: see, i do have a heart! listen, i’m only fifteen years old but i know i want this song to play at my wedding. it is so quietly romantic and perfectly sure of its own goals. it does not seek to accomplish any other goal than being a love song. i started thinking about the lyrics while writing this and now i have to go cry in a corner. (shoutout to cornelia street for nearly being on this list)

folklore: - mirrorball: right on holy ground’s heels for the dubious honour of being my favourite ever taylor swift song, mirrorball describes my Whole Life so unfortunately i’m considering suing miss swift herself. i just think that it speaks to me in ways that would require a whole essay to explain.... let’s just not - august: here’s your mandatory hopeless romantic pining song. did i mention i nearly cried to this on the day of release? i think that she Gets It. i don’t know taylor and i don’t entertain delusions of her knowing me but man she really just plucked the core of my whole love life and said “here’s a song about it, will you shut up now?” back when we were still changing for the better... i need a minute - betty: definitely influenced by the stellar performance at the acms! or maybe i just love listening to taylor openly singing about girls.... i just have a lot of feelings about the emotional resonance about the grand romantic gesture this song builds up to! the key change! the storytelling! kissing on the porch in front of all your stupid friends! this is what taylor swift is all about (shoutout to illicit affairs, my tears ricochet, and this is me trying for nearly being on this list)

[somekindoftuber]

vld youtuber AU (klance, part 7)

hey so who’s up for some a n g s t

(content warning for this chapter: vomit)

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six

.

“Favorite color?”

“Red.”

“Cool, mine’s blue. Um, favorite subject in school?”

“....Math?”

“Ew.”

“Lance,” Keith laughs over the mic. “You said no judgment. I was good at math.”

Leaning back, Lance pops his back. “Yeah, okay, fine. Mine was history.”

“Ew.”

They’d been sitting in the Overwatch menu screen for at least a half-hour, Keith indulging Lance in a question swap. “You know,” Keith says after taking a drink of his soda. “When I said we should get to know each other, I sort of expected something more.... Organic than 20 questions.”

“What, my methods aren’t free-range enough for you?” Lance joked, and Keith laughed loud at that one. “Well, you should know, Keith, that I have this tendency to focus on things that I want, and I don’t give up easily.”

Keith went silent for a second. “Things you want, huh?” His voice was low.

Lance felt the heat rush to his face. “U-um.”

“Sorry,” Keith said. “Too much?”

Lance chewed his lip. “Is it too much for you?”

Keith’s tongue clicked through the headphones over Lance’s ears, and when he spoke, his voice was almost sultry. “Nah. Besides, I can be pretty driven when I want something, too.”

Dear lord, this man was going to be the death of him. Now that they’d gotten their feelings out in the open, Lance was discovering a side of Keith he never knew existed - a bold, fearless, self-assured side. And holy shit, was it hot, if a little terrifying. Whatever reservations Keith had about flirting before now were long gone, and it would still throw lance for a serious loop to hear Keith directing low key innuendo at him.

“Here’s one for you,” Keith said. “When did you first play guitar?”

“Oh!” Lance grinned. “I was nine. I had already been playing the piano for two years, but it sort of bored me. I couldn’t get it to make the kind of sound I wanted, if that makes sense? Then my dad got his old acoustic guitar out of storage and got it repaired and restrung. When he played it, I knew it was the sound I’d been trying to find.” His eyes went misty as he remembered the first time he plucked one of the steel strings. “It sounded like heaven.”

“Wow,” Keith said after a minute.

“Your turn. How’d you know you wanted to be a pilot?”

Keith hummed. “I was always sort of an adrenaline junkie as a kid. Raced go-karts, ran track, got in trouble, did some free running. I… spent a lot of time in and out of foster care, which was a pretty numbing experience, so I think maybe I was looking for something to make me feel alive.”

Lance had no idea what to say to that, so he kept quiet.

“I went on a field trip to an air force museum with my school when I was thirteen,” Keith continued. “There was a reconstructed Grumman F-14 Tomcat on display, and when I looked at it, I just thought, I need to be in one of those.” He let out a little laugh. “That’s also where I met Shiro. Or, well, he met me. When I stole his car.”

Lance choked, beating his fist on his chest to get air back into his lungs. “Excuse me?”

Then Keith laughed long and loud. “Told you. Adrenaline junkie. I was a brat with something to prove.”

Lance stared at his computer screen. This was intense, and he had a feeling that he was only scratching the surface of who Keith really was.

-----

October began, and Lance was officially panicking. Because Keith’s birthday was at the end of this month and he really wanted to do something special for it. Now that they were hovering in some bizarre “not boyfriends yet” zone, Lance figured it wouldn’t be too much to maybe go a little further than he would for a friend.

He got out his guitar, a notebook, blank music sheets, and a pencil.

——-

Lance’s channel was gaining followers rapidly. He was no stranger to having an online following, but he had to change his notification settings on twitter to keep his phone from blowing up constantly. He pondered making a separate, locked account for himself, something his friends could follow where he could drop the YouTube persona.

He was sort of envious of Keith’s anonymity online.

And speaking of Keith, there was also the issue of a potential move to Springdale. Lance had looked up schools in the area, and the local community college had a music education program that he could afford. He’d closed his browser and walked away from his laptop after he had that confirmation and spent the next fifteen minutes pacing around the living room, running his hands through his hair until it was sticking up all over the place. It hadn’t felt real until that moment; before that, the idea of going back to school and pursuing an actual career had been just that -- and idea. But now? Now he couldn’t really make excuses anymore. It was all very much within his reach. He just had to muster up the courage to go for it.

Easier said than done.

Lance ended up stress eating half a carton of butter pecan ice cream by the time Pidge came home from class.

Lance posted more Overwatch videos in the meantime, held some more streams. His content was slowing down because he’d taken an extra shift every week at the cafe to save up money. He had no idea what his living situation was going to be come January, but it was safer to assume he’d be on his own and have the money to support himself.

He talked to Keith almost every day. They’d started using facetime, and that did a number on poor Lance’s heart, to get to see Keith’s face while talking to him. Keith was still unfarily, stupidly, irrevocably attractive, even when he was flushed and sweaty from working out or covered in grime from the garage. One time Keith had called when Lance was wearing a face mask, and Lance would have been embarrassed, if it wasn’t for the absolutely hilarious confusion that crossed Keith’s face at the sight.

“I’m kind of big on skin care, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Uh.” Keith’s thick eyebrows pinched together. “I hadn’t?”

Lance smiled as much as he could with the mask drying on his face. “Well, get used to it. It’s a packaged deal with me.”

Keith gave him a little grin then, and Lance nearly swooned.

.

Another night, as they were messing around in Overwatch, the topic of tattoos came up. “Do you have more than one? Tattoo, I mean,” Lance asked while they scrolled through servers.

“Just the one,” Keith answered. “I kinda want more, but I’m not sure what I’d get. You?”

“None.” Lance hummed. “How big is that lion, anyway? I could only see the top bit at the beach.”

“Not that big,” Keith answered. Then there was some shuffling from his end of the voice chat, and he went quiet for a second. Lance thought he heard a click.

“You okay over there?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just - gimme a sec - there.”

Lance’s phone buzzed at his side. He picked it up, the motion completely automatic, to see a new text. He used his thumb print to open it, and the entire universe ground to a screeching halt.

Because on the screen was Keith’s lion tattoo, in its entirety, the dark red ink carved neatly into Keith’s exposed hip. At the bottom of the frame, a thumb was hooked into the hem of a pair of sweatpants, pulling them down and away, and at the top, a dark gray shirt was rucked up to reveal a toned stomach. Lance’s heart might have stopped. There was so much skin, all smooth and milky, stretched over a sharp hipbone, the sweatpants pulled down just enough to reveal the tiny beginnings of dark hair below. Lance’s mouth watered.

“You still there?” Keith was asking, a smile in his voice, but Lance.exe had stopped working.

“Jesus Christo,” Lance breathed. “You -- you gotta warn me before you do that.”

He heard Keith huff a little laugh. “Sorry.”

Lance had the distinct impression that Keith wasn’t sorry at all.

-----

Lance might have pulled a few all-nighters in the course of the month. But he was running out of time, and he wouldn’t be satisfied until it was perfect. This was for Keith, for his birthday, and Lance absolutely did not half ass things like that.

Pidge just rolled her eyes at him and went back to her thesis, heedless of Lance’s internal crisis as she tapped away at her laptop.

He was finally, finally ready to record on the 18th. It took at least four tries to get one good take, and then he had to record backup vocals, additional guitar, piano. It took three days to get the song right, and he didn’t even have a video. A blank screen would have to do.

He set the video to post at 8:00am the next morning, October 23. He really, really hoped Keith would see it, and Lance listened to the song one last time before he went to bed.

I was wondering through, I’d never heard your voice You were just an idea on a screen I was belly up, dried up, a fish out of water Pretending that I could breathe air

But then I met you, and my world burst into color Where was I going before you came my way I don’t know, I don’t care, and I don’t think it matters I’m just so glad that I met you

I had no direction, you handed me a map And it’s pointing me your way I hope that’s alright, ‘cause I sort of can’t help it, You’re drawing me to you, and I don’t want to stop

Because my world is all color now that you’re in it So bright and beautiful, just like your smile And no matter what happens, I want you to know Darling I am so glad that I met you.

In the description, Lance wrote “happy birthday” with a heart emoji, then clicked “schedule video” and let the fates have it. He went to bed with a nervous jitter in his veins.

The next morning, Lance was still anxious as hell, so he went for a long run through the brisk autumn air. After five miles he came home and made some coffee, as it was brewing, his phone rang.

Keith’s number was on the screen.

Lance cleared his throat and picked up. “Hey Keith!” he started, happy that the words only shook a little bit. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” Keith answered. His voice sounded strange. “I, um. I saw the video you posted.”

Lance felt his whole body flash hot as he bit his lip. “Happy Birthday, Keith.”

There was shuffling on the other end of the line. “That was for me?”

“Yeah.”

Keith was quiet for a long time. Then a sudden wet sniffle came through, and Lance felt himself panic. “Keith?”

“Sorry,” Keith’s voice cracked. “Sorry, I just--” he broke off with another sniffle, louder this time. “I’m not used to that. To people doing nice things for me.”

Oh god. Lance had made him cry. And the sound was so sad that Lance felt his own eyes sting.  “You okay?”

Keith laughed, the sound wet and strained. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. Just. Wow, Lance.”

“Get used to it,” Lance said softly. “I’m definitely the type for grand gestures.”

Another small laugh, then some more sniffling. “What did I do,” Keith whispered, “to deserve someone like you?”

Lance leaned against the counter top behind him, his heart hammering in his chest. “I ask myself that all the time.”

“Oh my god, stop,” Keith groaned, but Lance could hear a smile in his voice. “I have to go to work in an hour. How am I supposed to concentrate now?”

“You’re working on your birthday?”

Lance heard a grunt and the scrape of a chair. “I always do. My birthday’s never been a big deal to me. I think Shiro wants to barbeque tonight, though.”

The coffee maker beeped, and Lance poured himself a cup. “Would it be alright if I made it a big deal?”

Keith hummed. “If that’s what a big deal is to you, then I guess I’ll just have to get used to it, won’t I?”

“Yeah, I guess you will.”

-----

Pidge forwarded an email to Lance the next week. A science conference was being held in Charlotte at the end of the month, and she was going.

“I’ll probably be gone the whole weekend. I’m driving with some classmates, so you can have the apartment to yourself.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Or maybe have someone over.”

“Pidge,” Lance chided, rolling his eyes as she laughed into her coffee.

She was right, though. Lance could have someone over. Of course, there was only one ‘someone’ in mind - but would that be too fast? To ask Keith to come stay the weekend here? Alone with Lance?

His face went hot at the thought. A whole weekend alone with Keith.

They’d only been apart from each other for a little over a month, and facetime was nice and all, but Lance missed him. In person, Keith exuded this… energy that didn’t come through a phone line or internet connection. It was sort of intoxicating, making Lance want to get closer and closer. But would that be too much?

Lance mentally beat himself up for an hour before messaging Keith on discord about it.

LanceyLance Hey so Pidge is going out of town for a conference thing just after Thanksgiving. Would you want to come down here to chill? We can livestream or smth

Keith uh yeah I think that would be okay. what days

LanceyLance nov 28-30

Keith okay cool let me check some things and I’ll get back to you

Lance wondered if “almost throwing up from sheer nerves because I might get to spend a weekend alone with a hot boy” was a good reason to call into work. He went in for his shift anyway and was only slightly distracted. On his break, Lance checked his phone and found a new message from Keith on Discord.

Keith so that weekend looks okay, I put in for time off

LanceyLance cool!

Lance ruined the next three drinks, his heart in his throat.

Later that night, he got on a voice chat with Keith, his heart pounding despite him telling it over and over to calm the hell down.

“I was thinking we could do a livestream, maybe some Overwatch?” Lance said as he picked at a cuticle. “You could be my special guest.”

Keith did that little airy chuckle that made Lance shiver. “As long as you don’t ask me to sing.”

“No promises.” Biting his lip, Lance took a breath. He might as well ask. “You sure you’re okay with this? It’s not, like, moving too fast?”

Keith hummed. “No? I mean, I figured we were just gonna hang out… Why?” his voice dropped. “Did you have other plans?”

“No,” Lance squawked, cursing how his voice cracked. “No, I mean, you said you wanted to go slow, so I was just thinking we could just play some games, maybe watch a movie or go to the marina. That’s okay, right…?”

“Yeah,” Keith breathed, and Lance could hear the smile. “Yeah, that’s cool.”

A hot wash of embarrassment hit Lance, and he covered his face and groaned. Keith laughed a little. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Lance’s voice was muffled by his hands. “Yeah. I just -- jeeze. I must sound desperate or something.”

“It’s not just you,” Keith said softly. “I mean, same, I guess? I know I said I wanted to take this slow, but honestly, it’s turning out to be harder than I expected.”

The admission was unexpected and sent Lance’s blood pressure through the roof. He could already tell it was going to be a struggle to keep his hands to himself.

-----

One week until Keith’s visit. Pidge was packing her bag early and giving Lance absolute hell about it.

“Use protection,” she said, stuffing a shirt into a suitcase. Lance sputtered.

“Oh knock it off!” He shrieked. “He’s coming to hang out. That’s it!”

Pidge shot him a skeptical look as she folded a pair of jeans over her arm. “Sure, sure. Just do me a favor and disinfect any surfaces you decided to ‘hang out’ on.”

Lance threw up his arms in defeat, then went to his computer. He and Keith had already planned out their livestream, and decided it was close enough to make an announcement.

Lance! @lanceylance Hey everyone! Next Friday (11/28) I’ll be holding a livestream with special guest @k_redlion! Stream begins at 4pm eastern. Be there!!

.

Pidge left early Friday morning, and in the four hours until Keith was supposed to arrive, Lance did one of the most thorough cleanings of the apartment he’d ever done. He dusted, vacuumed, scrubbed and mopped, did laundry and the dishes, changed the sheets on his bed, washed the spare set of sheets for the pull out sofa.

Satisfied, he jumped in the shower and gave himself and equally thorough scrub down. He was all nerves as he dried off and dressed. He was admiring his handiwork in the living room when his phone buzzed.

Keith made it into town, be there in 10

Lance bounced on his heels and went outside to wait. After a few minutes, a dark blue sedan with Virginia plates pulled up and into a parking spot. The engine shut off, and the door opened to reveal Keith, in his leather jacket with his hair pulled up high.

“Nice car,” was the first thing that came out of Lance’s mouth. He internally groaned.

“Rental,” Keith said, closing the driver’s door and going for the back seat. “I love my bike, but five hours on it is a bit much, especially when it’s cold.”

Lance took Keith’s duffel bag for him and led him up to the apartment. He’d set up their streaming area in the living room where they’d be closest to the router.

“The stream isn’t for another three hours,” Lance said, setting Keith’s bag on the chair. “Wanna relax until then?”

Keith slipped out of his jacket, revealing a dark gray sweater that stretched nicely across his chest. “Sounds good. That drive is a little tiring.”

Once Lance had gotten them both glasses of water from the kitchen, they decided on YouTube fail videos, sitting next to each other on the couch, close, but not too close. Keith’s laugh was such a nice sound, and Lance couldn’t help but lean a little in his direction. After an hour’s worth of cats and people slipping and falling, Keith grunted, grimacing.

“You okay?” Lance asked.

Keith gave him a smile. “Yeah, my stomach’s kind of upset. That gas station poptart might not have been a good idea.”

Standing, Lance moved towards the kitchen. “I’ve got some pickled ginger in the fridge, would that help?”

Keith followed him. “Yeah, probably.”

As soon as Lance opened his fridge, horror dawned upon him. “I didn’t get us any stream snacks!”

“It’s not a big deal?” Keith said slowly. Lance handed him the jar of sushi ginger and shook his head.

“It totally is! We need proper junk food for streaming.” He pursed his lips and tapped his chin. “Are you okay if I hit the store? It won’t take long.”

Keith shrugged with the jar in his hand. “Yeah, I’m good. I’ll just hang out and rest.”

He showed Keith where the forks were, taking a little delight in seeing how Keith ate the ginger straight out of the jar just like he did, then grabbed his shopping bags. “I’ve got my phone, text me if you want anything!”

The drive to the store was short, and Lance sped through the aisles with a basket on his arm. Gourmet sodas, the nice veggie chips, lemon cream cookies, a package of fresh strawberries. He’d take Keith out for dinner, maybe Vinnie’s again. This weekend was going to be awesome.

On the way home, however, Lance got stuck in stand-still traffic - he could see just far enough ahead to tell there had been an accident. And there was nowhere for him to turn off to for another few hundred feet, so he was stuck. Frowning, he pulled out his phone and shot a text to Keith.

stuck in traffic, might be a little late

He put Pandora on his phone and turned up the volume, shifting his car into park.

By the time Lance made it back to the apartment, he’d been gone for more than an hour and a half. The living room was empty, but Lance went straight for the kitchen. The stream was set to start in 45 minutes, so they needed to start setting up. “Keith?” Lance called as he stashed the groceries in the fridge. “You good, man? We should get started soon.”

There was no answer.

“Keith?” Lance poked his head out of the kitchen. “You here?” He pulled his phone out of his pocket to see if he’d missed a text as he went towards the back of the apartment. Rounding a corner, Lance stopped. His phone clattered to the floor.

Just outside the bathroom, face down in the hallway, was Keith.

Lance slid on his knees towards him. “Keith!” Reaching for him, he turned Keith over, and gasped. His face was bright red, his eyes screwed shut. He was sweating profusely and burning up with a fever. “Keith!” Lance called again. “Hey, man, answer me!”

Keith’s eyes flickered. “L-lance?” he grunted, his voice weak. “It hurts, oh god Lance, it hurts so bad--”

Adrenaline was dumping into Lance’s bloodstream as he went into full panic mode. “What hurts? What’s wrong? Keith!” But Keith stopped responding, his breathing sounding wheezy and shallow.

“Shit,” Lance muttered, clutching Keith close to his chest. “Shit shit shit!”

His phone was five feet away. He should call 911. But who knows how long an ambulance would take and the hospital was five minutes away, he could get there faster on his own--

Lance had grabbed his phone and hoisted Keith into his arms before he realized it. And shit, Keith was heavy, making Lance stumble and lean against a wall more than once as he made it out of his apartment and to his car, where he dropped  Keith on the back seat.

He’d never driven so aggressively in his life.

Lance screeched to a halt outside the ER doors, and barely managed to put his car in park. He opened the back door and pulled Keith out, hooking one of Keiths’ arms around his neck and half-carrying him inside.

“Hey,” he called out. “Hey, I need some help here--”

At his side, Keith made a choking sound, then curled in on himself and vomited.

The whole world became too fast and too slow. Several nurses ran up to them, pulling Keith away. A clattering gurney was brought out. As Keith’s limp body was hoisted on to it, Lance barely registered someone talking to him, asking him what happened.

“I don’t know,” Lance’s throat was closing. “I don’t know, he was fine two hours ago--”

More questions, but Lance couldn’t hear them. All he could focus on was Keith, unconscious on a hospital stretcher, disappearing down a hallway as nurses ran beside him.

.

TO BE CONTINUED!!

(don’t worry guys, Keith is gonna be fine!! But Lance doesn’t know that OvO)

[kickstillkickin]

Klance Month 2020 Day 2 -  Coffee Shop

Keith had never been more exhausted in his life. The bar had kept him late because some asshole thought it was a splendid idea to throw up all over the bathroom and not tell any of the staff. Then Shiro had called him in a panic, because it was his and Adam's two year anniversary tomorrow and the dolt had forgotten to get a present. Cue a caffeine-fueled run to Walmart, accompanied by his dumbass brother, to purchase a photo album for all Shiro's spare copies. Upon finally arriving home, he discovered that his upstairs neighbors had been arguing themselves halfway to a divorce and seemed determined that the whole complex be made aware of it. He spent all of twenty minutes trying to fall asleep before he gave into his lesser self and took a couple doses of NyQuil. The medicine netted him a grand total of two hours of sleep. It felt more like negative twelve. He was completely awake when his alarm went off and felt like death.

The sun was too bright when he stepped outside the apartment, wearing a work shirt that had a stain and two different shoes. Keith wondered if it was because he hadn't noticed or because he hadn't cared. He pondered the answer during his commute until even rational thought proved too exhausting. Fifteen minutes later, he stepped off the bus in a daze and glared at the bright neon sign, declaring this hellhole of a location to be Beans N' Stuff, a local eclectic's personal venture into the coffee business. He didn't usually mind working there. Then again, he didn't usually show up looking paler than a ghost and more interested in digging his own grave than interacting with another human being.

A little bell rang when he opened the door. He paused a moment to glare at it, contemplating the consequences of ripping it from the door frame. Then thinking hurt too much again. He trudged into the back and collected his cap and apron. As he was signing in to the register, a familiar presence appeared over his shoulder. Ignoring it, he finished his task and moved past his coworker to the coffee machine.

Pidge didn't even have time to express their totally expected and completely warranted "you look like shit" before Keith flipped open his thermos, added no less than four shots of espresso, a 5-hour Energy that appeared out of thin air, and filled the rest with black coffee. He closed the lid and downed half the thermos in a few swallows. Pidge amended their statement. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Do not speak to me. I have seen hell and will murder anyone who speaks too loudly," he snapped.

"You know what, that's valid, but Matt isn't here and Coran says I'm not allowed to operate the register," they informed him.

Keith glared at his thermos. "If God exists, he is a cruel being. And as soon as I get some sleep, I'm gonna kick his ass."

"I'll be in the back," Pidge said diplomatically. They weren't touching anything about the situation with a ten foot pole.

Keith sipped his thermos and resigned himself to an eight-hour shift. He opened up shop, took orders, and answered customers' dumb questions like a good little employee. When his thermos was empty, he refilled the same order and chugged it again. To keep a poker face, he tried to think happy thoughts. Like murdering his brother, or maybe his neighbors. The longer he stood listening to out-dated pop songs, he added the owner of the damned shop to the list. Customers came and went in a blur. He thought he remembered Pidge asking if he needed a break, but couldn't recall his answer.

Then he walked in. The most attractive creature to ever grace the earth. A customer that was not quite a regular, but Keith had seen him more than once. He seemed to be nothing more than a harmless flirt, and someone who could only dish it out, at that. But those blue eyes were going to be the death of Keith's gay ass. Just, they were going to be the death of him tomorrow. After he died of exhaustion today.

"I'll have a salted caramel white chocolate mocha with whipped cream."

Though physically repulsed by just hearing how much sugar was in the order, he punched it into the computer and kept a straight face. "Can I get a name for the order?"

"The name's Lance," Handsome Almost-Regular said with what seemed to be a flirty undertone.

Keith nodded and typed the name in. "Your total is $5.67."

Lance paid and Keith informed him that his order would be ready momentarily. Pidge prepared it in record time, and even went so far as to nudge him rather aggressively with her elbow. Keith was both confused and offended. He took the cup to the front counter. "Lance," he called out in a dead monotone.

"You know, that's not how people usually call out my name," Lance purred as he leaned over the counter.

Keith was exhausted, barely functioning, and not paid enough to deal with things like this. He did not think about the words that came out of his mouth. "Sorry, I'll try to sound more disappointed next time."

The look on Lance's face was akin to that of the surprised pikachu meme. Pidge hung out the doorway from the back, shocked beyond belief. Unbothered, Keith handed him the coffee cup, mumbled something about having a nice day, and moved on to helping the next customer. It was not until Lance had left the coffee shop near tears, leaving behind a dumbfounded audience and an exasperated coworker, that Keith's lagging brain finally processed the whole conversation.

"Shit!"

"I think that was some kind of record. Most idiotic gay barista turns away interested party and gives him emotional trauma, all in less than five minutes," Pidge told him.

Keith had thoroughly and completely fucked up. Oh, and he needed a nap.

. . .

By the time he trudged into work the next day, Keith had come to the conclusion that God was not only real, he was also dedicated solely to fucking with him as much as possible. Despite having the night off from bartending, he'd hardly slept, too tormented by the idiocy of his own stupid actions. Pidge had texted to make fun of him no less than seven times, and had undoubtedly told their entire circle of friends about it. At the very least, Matt didn't say anything when he walked in looking like death twice over.

"You want the front or the back today?" Matt asked as Keith signed in.

What if Lance came back? Keith should be working up front so he could apologize. Then, a second, more horrifying thought occurred to him. What if Lance came back? He couldn't allow himself to be seen. Lance needed to think that he'd crawled into a hole and died, never to be seen by the general populace again. He would willingly go down in history as the world's dumbest and least functional gay if it meant never having to make meaningful contact with Hot Coffee Customer ever again.

"The back," Keith said solemnly, though it felt more like he was reading out his sentence then answering his coworker's question.

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea," Matt told him, patting him on the shoulder.

Keith resigned himself to a shift with this older, subtler brand of Pidge insults. As he turned to start prepping the machines, he caught Matt whipping out his phone. His coworker typed out, "u owe me 20 bucks" and hit send with a bit too much satisfaction. So Pidge and Matt had taken bets on his answer. Smart of Matt to pick the more cowardly option, he thought to himself as he washed his hands. Dysfunctional gays tended toward dysfunction, after all. He busied himself with cleaning out the coffee pots while Matt opened up shop.

As much as Keith tried to drive the catastrophic events of yesterday from his thoughts, he still flinched every time that damned bell rang. Matt greeted customers like a goddamn proper employee. Something Keith was apparently not. No, he just insulted them and moved on. But only if they flirted with him. Everyone else just got the monotone customer service voice. Lance? Emotional trauma for him, of course. The same train of thought played in his head on a loop as he prepared orders and sent them out. He tried to ignore the handful of female customers that flirted with his coworker and grit his teeth whenever Matt flirted back. Something else he was evidently incapable of.

Just a few hours into his shift, the strangest order came in. A salted caramel white chocolate mocha with whipped cream. Why was that familiar? Had an obnoxious white girl ordered it? Keith racked his brain and found himself drawing a blank. The only thing he remembered was-

Of course! Another look at the screen told him the customer's name was Lance. How many Lance's lived in one city, went to the same coffee shop, and ordered the exact same disgusting sugar-filled drink? Keith prepped the order, determined to make amends with the world's stupidest and most inept attempt at flirting: a bad pun on the coffee cup, written over his phone number. Matt took the coffee from him and handed it to the customer. He prayed to whatever deities were willing to listen that he hadn't just made the second biggest mistake of his life.

Matt found him like that a few seconds later when he stepped into the back for a moment. "Hey Keith, I think that was the guy insulted yesterday," Matt informed him. "Pidge's description was spot on."

"Was it? I had no idea," Keith said with a shrug, preparing the next order.

Disappointed that he'd failed to get a rise out of his coworker (and probably more disappointed that he had nothing to report to his gremlin of a sibling), Matt returned to the front and left him alone for the rest of his shift.

Keith felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Even if Hot Coffee Stranger forever hated his guts for his complete social ineptitude, he'd managed to apologize. Now, of course, there was plenty of room in his chest for anxiety over Lance's response. Would he text? Would he call? Would it be right away? Would he wait? Was he going to report him to the police and get a restraining order? It was truly a coin toss. At the very least, the unsettling feeling in his chest was better than the heavy knowledge of his own stupidity.

Closing came sooner than he expected. Keith waved Matt off as he walked the short distance to the bus stop. As he settled into his seat, his phone vibrated in his pocket. It was a text message. From an unknown number. Keith couldn't help the stupid grin that was stuck on his face all the way home.

. . .

Lance let out a huge sigh of relief as he exited the coffee shop. His plan had been to look for the barista through the front window. If it was the same asshole as yesterday, he would walk right on by and mournfully purchase his morning pick-me-up from another shop. He hadn't recognized the employee working, and didn't even see so much as a mullet-shaped hair of He Who Shall Not Be Named. Then, right as he went to take a sip of his delicious, precious coffee, he saw writing. 

I regret yesterday a latte

Call me?

XXX-XXX-XXXX

It was the dumbest pickup line he'd ever heard in his life, and some of the competition were pickup lines he himself had used. But it made him laugh. And, now that he thought about it, that barista had looked a little worse for wear. He was definitely cute enough to be given another chance. Any gay idiot who wrote bad coffee puns on a coffee cup was definitely someone Lance could spend some time getting to know. The barista didn't need to know that, though. He'd probably wait a few hours before texting him. And then a few more, just to make him sweat.

Lance took a sip of his coffee, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Maybe he'd even wait a few more after that.

[fromthedeskofelizabeththird]

On Bended Knee

True story, I named the doc for this Wakey Wakey Victor’s Nakey and in the end he mostly keeps on his clothes. I played myself.

Mr Love: Queen’s Choice | Victor x MC | Explicit

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

Victor liked to be in control, almost to a fault.

He read the business section twice a day, checked every ingredient in what few prepackaged foods he owned, organised his schedule several months in advance.

It should come as no surprise, therefore, that he was intrigued by the things he could not predict nor control. No matter how often he checked the stock market, he could not change the weather. He could bake his own bread and brew his own wine, but he could not change the thoughts and feelings of others. He could not unsend a text, could not undo a bad decision.

At most he could keep an eye on consistencies, uncomfortable in the knowledge that human beings were almost predictably inconsistent.

Up until now, for example, MC had been only too happy to take on board his advice, particularly when it came to company dinners. He didn’t blame her, of course. Most of her own employees were her peers whereas these men were older and richer than most, with expectations and etiquette far removed from common people.

It grieved him to think of MC as common, even if he never said so to her face. Instead he would sigh at her wide eyed expression at the initial invitation and urge her to promise that she would not embarrass him in front of his business partners. He would rub his temples at her attempts to double check conversation topics, feigning annoyance in favour of openly acknowledging that her enthusiasm was impressive even if her execution left much to be desired.

He insisted on going with her when she went out to pick up new dresses for the event, complaining at her lack of taste even as he put each one on his card. He always insisted she wear flat shoes; always ignored the form fitting and mature dresses in favour of ones that cast a light on her youth and innocence, telling her that she didn’t have much of a figure to show off in the first place when in fact the opposite was true. He struggled to think straight whenever she wore a skirt and was repulsed by the idea of any of his business partners doing the same.

He hated the idea of them fawning over her. He might have told her otherwise more than once, but she had a wealth of redeeming qualities, any of which might enchant a man with a discerning eye. The thought of another seeing past her innocence to the strong will underneath kept him up at night. His peers were different to hers, after all. There was nothing he could give her that they could not.

Teaching her a new way of walking and talking was as much of a shame as spray painting over a tiger’s stripes, but any sadness he might have felt at her demure dresses dissolved the moment they left each restaurant and she slipped off her mask with as much gusto as she did her high heels. She was a near perfect picture of elegance and refinement, but he liked her best after they left the table, as she raved in the back of his car about the price of dessert and diamond inlay on the salt and pepper pots.

For this night in particular he had pointed out a conservative blue dress and matching cardigan. MC had looked confused as she took in her reflection in the dressing room mirror, somehow still taken off guard by his choices.

He had chosen the dress for its high neckline and long skirt, leaving next to nothing to the imagination, which she seemed to notice, for she frowned as she gave him a twirl.

“Are you sure about this? Don’t you think it looks a little...frumpy?”

“Frumpy?”

“Yes...I think I had a dress like this in kindergarten.”

“Well in that case it’s perfect,” he smirked, “a true representation of what lies beneath.”

MC pouted at that, still defending her maturity long after they left the store.

The day of the company dinner, he picked her up at her front door as had become the routine. She was always five or six minutes late and had a different explanation each time, from smudged lipstick to forgetting her purse. This time around, she was a full fifteen minutes late and Victor spent the time wondering what her reasoning might be. The reality, of course, was the last thing he might have imagined.

MC stepped out in a bright red dress, worlds apart from the one he had chosen. It was carefully tailored to accentuate every curve and left very little to the imagination, with a plunging neckline, that left her collarbones and the swell of her breasts tentatively exposed. She had pinned her hair high above her head, drawing the eye to the jeweled necklace at her throat.

Victor couldn’t take his eyes off her, unable to do anything but stare as she walked towards the car.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said, sitting down next to him as she always did and reaching for her seat belt. “Kiki and Willow came over to do my makeup and got talking…”

Victor couldn’t tear his gaze from the curve of her neck; the way her necklace glimmered in the evening light. He was all too familiar with the scent of her perfume, of how she looked naked. He liked to be in control, to be ready for every outcome, and especially so when it came to himself.

“Are you okay?” MC ventured, that same undercurrent of satisfaction in her voice that he recognised from his own. He had never doubted it, of course, but this was all the confirmation he needed that she meant to take command and test him.

Naturally, he wouldn’t allow it. He leaned back in his seat, keeping his composure so well that no one, not even MC, would notice the slip in his facade.

“Did you forget the rest of your dress?”

“Don’t you like it?”

MC shifted in her seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs. Victor narrowed his eyes, knowing a challenge when he saw one.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

Dinner was rather more intense than usual, though not in ways that Victor was used to. He doubted anyone but he and MC noticed the silent tug of war. Every time MC leaned forward and cupped her head in her hands to listen intently to the other board members chat, Victor made a point to change the topic, asking MC her opinions and switching everyone’s focus back to her. She fiddled with her hair, he turned away to speak to someone else. She placed a hand on his thigh, he ignored her entirely.

With every new course, he considered a new way to take command. Perhaps he would invite her back to his home and leave her gasping between the sheets. Maybe he would book a room for the night and see how she looked in nothing but the necklace at her throat. Every idea was more depraved than the next and he half wondered whose victory that was.

In the end it was MC that made the first move. She leaned over to whisper in his ear while everyone around them discussed ergonomics.

“Excuse me,” she said, “I think I left my phone in my coat.”

She got to her feet and left the table, glancing over her shoulder at him with a smirk as she headed to the cloakroom. The message was loud and clear, though he wasn’t sure if he should accept it. Going to her would almost certainly stack the cards in her favour.

He debated leaving her there, wondering not only how long she would wait but how long it would take his colleagues to end their conversation long enough to notice. In the end he gave them a nod and excused himself with some muttered excuse about checking in with the chef.

He slipped a few notes to the man at the cloakroom door in exchange for a key and stepped inside, glancing around to take note of who was there while MC stepped out from behind one of the coat racks, wearing a shit eating grin.

“This is a dangerous game you’re playing,” he said, satisfied that there was no one else around and turning to lock the cloakroom door.

“I like games,” said MC, “especially when I’m about to win.”

“Oh?” He turned to face her, taking in every curve and exposed patch of skin. “What makes you so sure you’ve won?”

She took several steps backwards, towards a dressing table and leaned back against the frame. He could tell she was flustered, but giving it all she had. She didn’t usually put on a seductive mask, after all. Generally she blushed her way through foreplay.

He wondered how long she had been planning this; how many dresses and masks she had tried before this one. He took a step closer, keeping up his own facade of cool indifference.

“I just...I know,” she said, blush creeping across her cheeks. “You followed me here, didn’t you!”

“An interesting gamble,” he said. “What makes you so sure I didn’t come here because you’d been gone for too long?”

“I...I…”

Victor had come to know MC, from her measurements to her favourite song. He could tell she hadn’t planned for a scenario where she might actually come out on top.

He took a few more steps closer, planting both hands on the dressing table and leaning forward until he was close enough to smell her shampoo. By now she was a furious red and burning up, at a complete contrast to her prior confidence. 

He grazed his lips along her neck, all too satisfied at the way she gasped without meaning to.

“Are you sure you want to play this game, MC?”

She reached her hands out to his waist, looping her fingers into his belt buckle as she pulled him closer.

“I do,” she said, then, a second time, “I do!”

Then, as if the second confirmation was for herself, she fumbled with the zipper of her dress.

She stared at it for a few seconds as it hit the floor before kicking it aside, standing in front of him in nothing more than her underwear and heels. She popped open her bra with far less hesitation and her panties none at all. She reached down to his zipper but he caught hold of her hand, guiding it away and lifting her up onto the dresser.

Only then did he kiss her, hungry and demanding. He kissed her with the same force he usually reserved for when he was buried deep inside of her, stealing the breath from her lips with every nip of his teeth. He slipped his knee between her legs and spread them apart, feeling each and every touch so clearly that they all rippled through his body, his every instinct willing him towards her sex.

Before MC he had never understood the way his peers described women; as if they were almost irresistibly intoxicating. He had always prided his own self control and the notion of losing it was both frightening and uncomfortable. He understood it now, though, that just the scent of MC’s perfume was enough to leave him teetering over the edge.

She woke the parts of him he had forgotten existed; shattered chains he didn’t know he had.

He pulled away from her, looking her in the eye as he sank down to his knees. MC watched, blushing furiously as he reached up to part her legs even further and spread her out so that all of her was on display.

“Vic-“ she murmured, lapsing into a moan at the feel of his warm breath against her cunt.

He waited, listening out for any sound of discomfort before running his tongue over her clit, keeping a strong hold on her trembling legs.

They might be at a Michelin ranked restaurant, but she was the finest thing he’d tasted all day. He couldn’t get enough of her, burying his face in her folds and sucking her clit so hard that she dug her fingers into his hair. She was so gloriously wet for him, and it took everything in him to stop himself from taking her there and then.

He let go of her leg and rested it over his shoulder, slipping a finger from his free hand into her heat and leaving her little choice but to hold her hand over her mouth to stifle her moans. He ran his tongue over her clit and sank his finger into her, once and then twice until he had something of a rhythm, however erratic.

When she came he felt it against his fingers, her soft walls ripping against them and squeezing hard, as if the pressure had come from his cock and her body meant to milk him of every drop.

He slipped his fingers out of her and looked up into MC’s face, absorbing how utterly dazed from pleasure she had become.

He let go of both of her legs and got to his feet, laying a soft kiss on her lips and pushing aside the terrible joke spinning through his mind that she had come out on top in more ways than one.

“Here,” he said, easing her down from the dresser and turning her away from him. “Just like that.”

She bent over the dresser of her own accord, turning back to watch as he finally loosened his pants. She licked her lips when he lowered his underwear and allowed his cock to break free, beads of pre cum already gathered at the tip.

He took hold of her hip and gripped onto his cock, both of them hissing in relief as he guided himself into her. Her pussy was still pulsing with aftershocks of pleasure and he knew that neither of them would last long. He dug his fingers into her hip, slamming into her with such force that she fell forwards across the dresser. He reached to grab one of her arms and twisted it against her back to steady her as he thrust into her.

Neither of them were bothering to be quiet anymore, MC gasping at every thrust and Victor groaning at the tension in the pit of his stomach; a spring wound unbearably tight.

MC was already overstimulated and it took only a few rapid thrusts to leave her bubbling over again, looking into his face as she lost control. Victor glanced up at their reflection in the dresser mirror, taking in the view of MC’s breasts bouncing as their bodies collided and his own lust filled expression. He didn’t recognise himself and didn’t are.

He slowed down completely as his own release took over, sighing as his dick quivered inside of her and all of the tension left his body, pleasure washing over him like a hot bath.

He let go of the arm he had been holding and MC rested it against the dresser, each of them so content at being connected that time fell still.

In that moment, as the dust settled, it was only too clear to Victor that he had never been, nor would ever be, the one in command when it came to MC. While on a surface level it might have seemed like he pulled the strings and made the decisions, each and every one of his actions came from a desire to honour MC’s thoughts and wishes. Swords did not rule kingdoms and she was nothing if not a queen, even with her ass in the air and his dick deep inside of her.

His every action was an act of worship, an unspoken and implicit bended knee. He pulled himself out of her and watched his seed spill from her onto the floor-the only evidence that even just for a moment they had belonged to one another.

She straightened her back and took a deep breath, resting her head against his chest without a care if it smudged the makeup she had so carefully applied to the point of being late.

“I should get dressed,” she murmured.

“Yes,” he said, “I imagine we’ll get more than our fair share of second glances if you walk out there wearing nothing but a smile.”

“You could always go out with me...for moral support.”

“I don’t think so,” he said, straightening his tie. “The world isn’t ready for such a display.”

He waited for MC to get her dress back on before heading to the door, wondering if he might have to pay more for the restaurant employee’s silence.

“That’s one point to me, by the way,” said MC, reapplying her makeup.

“Oh?”

“Yep.”

“Hmmm…interesting.”

He said nothing more of it, instead smirking to himself as he returned to their table, knowing that his silence on the matter would leave her imagination running wild.

That point truly was hers, after all, even if she had no idea he had conceded it.

[wandererslyric]

YOGURT DREAMIES

((A story of pure silliness for my dear sister, inspired by the following prompts: ‘Soulmate AU: Where if your soulmate is listening to music it will be stuck in your head until they stop listening to it. Chloe and BTS haven’t met yet. Chloe is going through their emo phase and BTS is listening to bubblegum pop.’ And: ’Chloe and Yoongi meeting because they’re neighbors. Yoongi is singing in the shower at night, and Chloe comes to complain because they have very thin walls.’ Silliness to ensue. 😝))

Chloe wasn’t quite sure when it started. It was something that creeped up on her, the way that a particularly sneaky snake might creep through the grass towards its next victim. She first noticed it on a sweltering Tuesday, after she caught the bus from Starbucks. Noontime sun glinted from the windows whizzing past while Chloe rested in her seat, scrolling through her Twitter feed while ‘Car Radio’ played through a pair of lovingly-used earbuds. She was scrolling through a thread of epic dumpling edits, mindlessly mouthing the words to her jam when she noticed another melody growing her mind, contrasting the current one she listened too, growing louder and louder until she caught herself humming something far too cheery to be Twenty One Pilots.

It made her pause, and flip over from Twitter to her music player, glancing at the dull phone screen with furrowed brows. Sure enough, the song hadn’t changed. And yet another song was clearly stuck in her head. A song that was... cheery, with a beat that popped like bubblegum bubbles, contagiously catchy. The kind that felt as if you listened to it through earbuds sparkles would come pouring from the speaker.

Poom, Poom, Poomki, Bop-a-bop-a boongles

She mouthed mindlessly, confused, and then pressed replay and locked her phone with a click. The cardboard sleeve holding her matcha latte snug crinkled under her fingers as as she shuffled more comfortably in the seat. Maybe she just needed to hear ‘Car Radio’ again.

——-

A week later, and it became too noticeable not to notice.

“Poom, Poom, Poomki, Bop-a-bop-a boongles, Yogurt Dreamies, Wop-a-wop-a woongles

Shubble, shubble sunshine, just for you, just for you,

Meowgi mew mew, avocado sunshine, just for you, you!”

The song looped in her mind at the oddest of hours: when first she woke up every afternoon, when she was stepping past the boxes from the recently moved-in neighbor, and even now, as she strolled through the aisles of Whole Foods, the shopping basket leaving a mark on her arm as it grew heavier with the groceries she’d need for this week. Sometimes it would happen randomly and suddenly stop. And it wasn’t that the song was bad, she had to admit it wasn’t her style but it was clearly growing on her. But still it drove her near to madness. Intelligent and ever questioning, it was the lack of an explanation of it that bothered Chloe the most, but for now she passed through the soy sauce aisle and tried to distract herself from the conundrum that was this cotton-candy melody.

Soy sauce. That’s right. As she mindlessly scanned the labels on the glossed glass bottles, she remembered her neighbor, the one who she’d met when he first knocked on her door at 3am, politely but desperately asking if she had any soy sauce. He had run out and what had he said he needed it for? He was cooking... ‘kogi’? She remembered it because it sounded like her name. It was... a meat dish? For his new roommate? He truly seemed heartbroken and it tugged at her pity and generosity, so she gave him the bottle, telling him not to worry about returning it.

As she picked up a 64oz low-sodium jug of tamari, she thought more about her neighbor, who was indeed incredibly attractive, with a blindingly brilliant smile, charming beyond belief. And yet he seemed more wonderful to her as a friend and brother, and so the growing attentions he gave her, perhaps due to their shared love of cooking, she treated with nonchalance. Soon the flirtatious glances and teasing jokes he directed towards her seemed to respectfully subside, and now Jin was a neighbor she got along well with, and perhaps in time could call a friend. Sometimes, due to the incredible paper thinness of the walls, she thought she heard humming coming from his apartment, humming of -her- songs that she had been listening too through the week. But as curious as this coincidence seemed, she dismissed it. Music truly had been driving her to insanity. Oh no. It started again, softly but growing more insistent.

Shubble, shubble sunshine, just for you, just for yooooouuuuuu,

Chloe pressed her earplugs further into her ears and headed towards the produce section.

—-

Chloe had finished dinner. And it was fantastic! A plate of cucumbers, without the skin of course (certainly that is the unhealthiest part?!), some sliced like paper and others the perfect thickness to scoop the lemon hummus. The platter complimenting the garlic perfectly, along with fresh cherry tomatoes, carrots, kalamata olives... It was a -masterpiece-.

And yet she was unhappy. And ‘poom poom poomki’ was to blame.

No matter how many other songs she listened too, this one melody -never- left her head. It looped within her mind, like the repetitive clack of a rock caught in a car tire against the road; for months this had gone on, and it was enough to throw off her day. But more so was the confusion on how it got into her head in the first place. She couldn’t find it anywhere. She even tried Googling the lyrics to see what song they belonged too, but nothing came up. It was as if the song didn’t exist. And today was the one day it consumed the last ounces of her endless patience.

Her supreme mildness was tested and for once she simply wished for -q u i e t-, to hear her thoughts uninterrupted. Uninterrupted by the muster of a melody that made her crave Fagé yogurt with honey and blueberries every other day. So she had a brilliant idea: Meditation. The one thing that could calm her even when the sky was falling on the weatherman. So she settled on the floor in the middle of her room, cross legged, basking in the gentle tinkling of her malicious wind chime. Perhaps this soothing meditation would calm her. At last. Her mind was quiet. Calm. Tranquility. Soothing silence.

“JUST FOR YOU, JUST FOR YOU, OH OOOOOOOHHHHHHH!”

Chloe’s sea green eyes smacked open in horror.

“Just... for... YOOOOOOUUUUUU”

The deafening, (yet undeniably enchanting) singing rung clear through the cursedly paper thin walls. Shattering her blissful quiet. Ever patient, she closed her eyes and tried to tune it out. Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. By the time twenty minutes swung around, the camel symbolizing Chloe’s patience was crying. By the time thirty minutes had passed, the last straw... had been dropped. The camels back was broken. Poor camel.

She marched over to the wall and, wordlessly, pounded her fists of fury against it.

“SHUBBLE SHUBBLE SUNSHI-“

By the seventh knock the voice had waned to a quiet warbled, and then completely stopped. But the silence that followed brought more disturb than the singing had at first. Wait... the song he was singing...

Chloe’s eyes widened.

“Sunshine.” She murmured. “Shubble shubble... sunshine.”

It was the song, THE song, that had plagued her! At last! He was singing the song that had driven her to the brink of madness, yet was catchy enough that she had actually grown addicted to it, but hadn’t heard it anywhere else to relieve her ear worm.

Racing, she left her malicious wind chime to tinkle evilly in it’s wicked breezes and hurried next door, knocking politely but insistently. No answer. Another knock. Anticipation coiled in her heels, and by the time her knuckles hovered over the wood, ready to rap against the metal, the door swung open, revealing... oh my.

Chloe was blinded. Was it by the young man standing in the doorway, wrapped modestly (yet oh so temptingly) in a towel, with his damp hair pasted in his forehead, with his perfectly smooth skin and eyes that seemed to somehow hold the secrets of the universe? Was it by the disgrunted look in those very same eyes, eyes looking ready to set aflame and then stab whomever was bothering him at the moment? Was it by the pastey legs that clearly needed sun? Chloe wasn’t sure, she couldn’t tell. Where did the towel begin? Oh boy. That boy really needed some sun on them legs.

As she stood in shock, the young man, realizing a lady was standing at his door, flushed a deep shade of scarlet and blinked twice.

‘One minute.’

He mumbled, shutting the door swifter than it opened. Chloe was left in absolute silence, wondering when Jin has become so short and completely changed his insanely handsome appearance, but in less than a minute the door was opened again, revealing the same man fully dressed, hands in the pockets of his jeans, regarding the stranger quietly. Silence hung for a heavy moment.

“I’m guessing the music- Too loud, right?”

Stunned silence. He cleared his throat and glancing towards the ground continued, his voice mild, and carrying a low sort of rumble to it. “My roommate told me you were usually up late. Sorry, I didn’t mean for it to bother you.

“SUNSHINE.”

The stranger’s brow raised at the sudden quiet but very earnest scream. ‘SHUBLBLE SHUBBLE,” Excitement sped up and raised the pitch of Chloe’s words; if she were texting the words would have scrambled. Perhaps due to excitement. Most likely due to Autocorrect. But now as she spoke to the young man, she was practically breathless at this point; “Shubble, Shubble sunshine, avacado sunshine, just for you, just for you, AGGGGH.”

The stranger blinked twice, his head cocking ever so slightly to the side.

“What is that SONG?” Chloe screamed again, strangling the air with claw-like grabby hands.

His eyes widened at the earnestness, and his voice lowered a pitch, his words slow, “So you... heard it?”

“AAAH, I’ve only heard it like every day! It’s been on loop in my head for months and I have no idea where I heard it, it was just -there-, and I tried to drown it out with Twenty One Pilots, but nothing worked and then I heard -you- singing just now, and I just- AH.”

“Twenty One Pilots?” He murmurmed. He seemed to be drawn half into thought, regarding Chloe with a certain attentiveness behind his seeming passivity. What emotion was in his eyes? Amusement? Wonder? Confusion? Who could tell?

“It’s “Yogurt Dreamies” by Yoomburto Toomie.” He answered at last, “How did you... hear it?”

“I didn’t! That’s the thing, it just appeared in my head one day and no matter what others songs I listen to I can’t get it out.”

“You won’t find it anywhere.”

Now it was Chloe’s turn to tilt her head in confusion. The young man continued quietly,

“I had... written it. I’ve been playing it on loop because I’ve been composing it. But I was sure to be quiet. I haven’t sung it before today, so you couldn’t have heard the lyrics before.”

Silence. “How can that...“ Chloe words trailed off and they both stared at each other, perplexed.

“Does Twenty One Pilots have a song about a... radio? A car radio?”

Chloe’s pale eyes lit up, and she nodded excitedly despite the confusion laced behind her words, “Yeah! They do.”

“Because a song about a car radio has been stuck in -my- head. And I only heard it for the first time yesterday.”

In that moment, in the silence that hung between them so heavily, a sudden realization crashed over them. Not an answer to their confusions, no definitely not an answer, but an awareness... an awareness of the insane coincidence, of a thread that had seemingly connected them that they just realized had existed. A thread of fate strange, but inexplicably, there.

“You’re Jin’s new neighbor, right? I’m Chloe.”

“Yoongi.” They both nodded awkwardly, a handshake felt too formal, and yet, why did it somehow seem like they had already known each other? Perhaps that was why the introduction felt strange. Souls so deeply connected with each other never need to introduce themselves more than once.

“It’s awesome that you write music.” Chloe continued, bouncing lightly on her right leg,” I’m an architect.” Yoongi’s eyes widened ever so slightly and a gummy grin crinkled his eyes,

“Really? If I wasn’t a music producer that’s what I wanted to be.”

“Really?” She asked, but it didn’t feel like a surprise. “If you want to hear any more songs from Twenty One Pilots, I could recommend some based on which music you like.”

There was a clear shyness in Yoongi’s manner, but his smile came easily, and he gave her a soft nod. “Sure. I’d never heard of them, but I really like them now. Their music is raw, and honest. I enjoy it.”

And in that moment Chloe knew: That was the beginning of something that had already started. Long before. With avocado sunshine, and yogurt dreamies.

————

Some months later, Chloe was doing yoga, doing stretches with supreme skill in the still of her room when her phone buzzed and the screen lit up. She snatched it and saw a simple text, from Yoongi.

‘Hey’

‘Hey’ she typed back, with one hand.

‘Up for a walk today?

The architecture downtown is pretty awesome.’

‘Sure’

‘What time?’

‘00:00am?’

‘ok’

‘I’ll catch a bus and meet you’

The time approached swiftly, though it had seemed far too long, and after sliding her phone into her pocket and her backpack on her shoulder, she was ready to head off for another wonderful day spent with Yoongi. Ah, why did even his name spread warmth through her chest, like someone had taken a cup of wonderful herbal tea and filled her heart with it? She juggled the doorknob to make sure it was locked. And as she did, she could swear, another melody began to grow in her mind, faint and insistent...

“Lucky chucky, icey-cakey...”

[vminni]

Do I Know You?

Jisung was tired.

He’d been up most of the night working on a new song, completely forgetting that he’d switched shifts with Hyunjin and would now be working mornings at the coffee shop.

The mornings were a lot busier than the mid-afternoon shifts he was used to working, and even though he’d downed four cups of coffee, by the time the end of his shift was drawing near, Jisung was practically the walking dead.

“Jisungie?”

Jisung lifted his head from his cupped hand where, no, he had not been napping, and blinked at the boy in front of him.

“I didn’t know you worked here!” the boy gasped, obviously thrilled to see Jisung.

Jisung stared at him, his sleep deprived brain failing to put a name to the smiling face in front of him. But the boy clearly knew him, so Jisung did his best to lace familiarity into his voice as he answered, “Ah, yeah, I just switched shifts. I used to do afternoons.”

The boy pouted slightly, “No more Hyunjinnie in the mornings then?”

“Nope, sorry.”

“That’s okay,” the kid offered Jisung another bright smile. “I get to see you now.”

The more Jisung looked at him, the blanker his mind went. He couldn’t conjure a name and, if he was being honest, he didn’t even recognize his face. And he had a great face. Jisung was sure he would be able to remember a face like that, even when he was half dead.

“So, um, what can I get you?” Jisung needed to get the boy out of here before it became obvious that he had no idea who he was.

“Just a medium iced Americano please.”

Jisung tapped it into the register and then, feeling guilty about not recognizing someone who very clearly knew him, deleted it, “It’s on the house.”

The boy withdrew the hand that had been holding a few bills out to Jisung and raised his eyebrow, “Really? Are you sure?”

“Of course,” Jisung hurried away from the register and quickly made the drink, pressing it into the boy’s hand when he returned. He noticed that there was a slight tinge of pink to the other boy’s cheeks as he took the drink, and the smile he offered Jisung this time was a bit softer, a bit more intimate.

“Thanks, Jisungie.” He took a sip of the beverage and gave a little wave as he backed out of the small cafe, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Jisung nodded. “See you tomorrow.”

-

When Minho collapsed into his seat next to Woojin in their morning lecture, he dropped his head onto his friend’s shoulder and moaned, “I’m the dumbest idiot on the planet.”

Woojin didn’t disagree and Minho lifted his head slightly to glare at him. Woojin rolled his eyes and took the bait, “Okay, fine. What happened?”

“Jisung happened!”

Woojin blinked at him, “I’m gonna need you to elaborate on that one.”

“So, you know Jisung, right?”

“I do not know Jisung,” Woojin said slowly. “I have heard of Jisung. He makes music with Chan sometimes.”

“Yes, right, him,” Minho was now sitting up fully, his head no longer on Woojin’s shoulder. He looked frenzied as he attempted to explain. “I saw him tagged in a photo on Chan’s instagram once and he was super cute so I kinda went to his instagram to look, just the once, and before I knew it that turned into looking at his instagram all the time and checking his twitter and listening to the music on his soundcloud…”

“You’ve been stalking him, is what you’re trying to say.”

Minho smacked him on the arm, “Not stalking! Just checking up on him. Occasionally. Okay, more than occasionally. Quite often.”

“Continue.”

“So I went to the cafe that I go to literally every morning, except Hyunjin wasn’t behind the counter today. Jisung was. And I maybe sort of forgot that I don’t actually know him. And I said his name. Out loud. To him. In a very excited tone.” With each word, Minho sunk further and further down into his seat, nearly on the floor as he finished, “So then I had to act like I actually knew him, because why else would I be enthusiastically yelling his name in a coffee shop? He went along with it and was really friendly, but I could tell he was trying to place me and coming up blank, but I couldn’t just be like haha sorry you don’t know me, I’ve just been stalking you on social media for three months, don’t worry about not recognizing me.”

“So you are stalking him.”

“Shut up,” Minho grumbled. The professor entered the classroom and Minho sat back up, pulling out a notebook so it looked like he was actually do something. He spent the whole class with his earlier interaction with Jisung on a constant loop in his head. The more he went over it, the more he cringed.

He was such an idiot.

-

“Hey, Hyunjin, how well do you know the regulars?” Jisung’s shift was finally over, but he had some information to gather before he could go home and crash. “Like is there anyone you know by name?”

“A few people,” Hyunjin finished tying his apron around his slim waist and glanced at Jisung. “Why?”

“There was a guy today,” Jisung fiddled with the strings of his own apron. “He knew your name. So I thought maybe you might know his.”

“What did he look like?”

Jisung had always been awful at describing people and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force an image of the boy into his head, “Um, really pretty. With brown hair and a little freckle on the end of his nose. He was wearing a striped button down.”

“Minho.”

“Minho,” Jisung rolled the name over his tongue. It was common, but unfamiliar in his own life. He didn’t know any Minhos.

“He is into dudes, if that’s what this is about. I also happen to know that he’s single.” Hyunjin ran a hand through his hair and jerked his thumb towards the front of the cafe, “I have to get to work, but if he comes in tomorrow, I say go for it.”

“That’s not why I was asking,” Jisung called after Hyunjin as he left. It wasn’t, but it was helpful information nonetheless. Maybe Jisung had met him at a bar once, or a club, or a party thrown by mutual friends. Jisung’s memory was awful when he was drunk.

Even though he was still unable to place him, at least he had a name to go with the face now.

-

Jisung was wide awake and ready the next morning when Minho wandered in. It was fifteen minutes into the start of Jisung’s shift and he hadn’t expect to see the other boy so soon, but he was happy he wouldn’t have to spend the whole rest of his shift on edge, waiting for him to come in.

“Good morning, Minho!”

The shock that rolled over Minho’s face had Jisung wincing. Clearly his performance yesterday hadn’t been as convincing as he had hoped. Minho must have realized Jisung didn’t recognize him.

“Same as yesterday?” Jisung chirped, wondering if he should apologize now for not recognizing the other boy. He decided not to. Not until he figured out how he actually knew him. Then he’d set things straight. “Medium iced Americano?”

“Yes, please.”

Jisung made the drink and slid it across the counter to Minho, waving away the bills when Minho tried to pay. He still felt guilty.

“You can’t keep giving me free drinks, Jisungie,” even though he was protesting, Minho put the money back in his pocket anyway. “You’ll get in trouble.”

Jisung just shrugged, “It’s okay. You can start paying again tomorrow.”

Minho took a small sip from his drink before he gave Jisung a slight smile, “Thanks.”

Jisung bit down on his bottom lip and came to a decision. Maybe if he talked to Minho enough, he’d get a clue as to where he knew him from, “I’m glad I switched shifts. Since it means I get to see you now.”

Minho choked on his drink, coughing loudly as Jisung scampered around the counter. He placed a hand on Minho’s back and rubbed soothingly, concern flooding his eyes as the other boy tried to get his breathing back under control.

“Sorry,” Minho gasped, voice raspy from his fit. “Went down the wrong way.”

“No worries,” Jisung removed his hand and stepped back. “You good?”

Minho nodded, clutching his coffee close and staring at Jisung with an expression the barista was having a hard time reading, “I’m good, yeah. I, uh, I have to get to class.”

“See you tomorrow.”

Minho’s cheeks were red as he parroted the same words back at Jisung before turning and practically sprinting out of the cafe. Jisung watched him go, lips pursed.

He still didn’t have the faintest clue how he knew him.

-

Minho was warming up, his hands gripping the foot of the leg stretched out in front of him, when Hyunjin crossed the studio to come sit beside him.

“So,” Hyunjin dropped into a butterfly, his forehead touching his feet, “did Jisung ask you out today?”

Minho switched legs and watched a deep blush work its way up his face in the mirror, “What? No, why would he do that?”

Hyunjin sat back up and shrugged, crossing one arm across his chest and hooking his other elbow around it, “I don’t know. He asked me for your name yesterday. I figured he wanted to know cause he had a thing for you. I told him to go for it.”

“While your attempts at playing matchmaker are appreciated, I’m pretty sure Jisung does not have a thing for me.” At least that explained how he knew Minho’s name this morning. “What did he say about me? When he asked?”

Hyunjin switched arms, “He said you were pretty, had brown hair and a little freckle on your nose. And that you were wearing stripes.”

“He said I was pretty?”

“He actually said really pretty, but I didn’t think you needed that much of an ego boost.” Hyunjin spread his legs and held his hands out to Minho, waiting as Minho copied him and grabbed them. They took turns stretching. “I didn’t have a lot of time to talk cause I had to get to work, but I told him you liked dudes and that he should totally go for it. Maybe he’ll ask tomorrow.”

“I don’t think he’s going to ask me out,” Minho released his hands from Hyunjin’s and stood up, rotating his torso as he did. “He just wanted to know my name because I knew his.”

“He might ask you out,” Hyunjin stayed on the floor. “He’s bi.”

“He’s not going to ask me out,” Minho hurried across the room, dropping down by his bag and taking a long swig from his water bottle .

“Not with that attitude he’s not,” Hyunjin called after him.

-

“Earth to Jisung,” Chan waved his hand in front of the younger boy’s face and he startled, blinking back to reality. There was a concerned look on Chan’s face, “Is everything okay? You’ve been really distracted tonight.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Jisung ran a hand through his thick blonde hair, sighing as it flopped back over his forehead. “Just got a lot on my mind.”

“Anything you want to talk about?”

Jisung considered it for a second. Chan was extremely friendly and outgoing, and seemed to know almost everyone on campus. It was possible he’d met Minho at one of Chan’s parties. At the very least, it wouldn’t hurt to ask.

“Do you know a guy named Minho? Brown hair, freckle on his nose, likes to wear stripes?”

Chan nodded, “That’s Lee Minho. He’s a junior. Dance major. Is into dudes, if you’re interested.”

“Why does everyone assume I’m trying to get in his pants?” Jisung huffed. “Do you know if we’ve ever hung out? Like at one of your parties or something?”

Chan gave him a weird look, “How would I know if you’ve hung out with Minho?”

“I don’t know,” Jisung turned back to his laptop and the song they’d been working on. “Forget it.”

“Why are you asking?”

Jisung spun his chair back around, “I switched shifts at the cafe where I work. Now I do the mornings. And he came in the first day and called me by my name and clearly knew me. But I can’t remember ever meeting him. I don’t want to hurt his feelings by letting him know that I have no idea who he is, so I’ve been trying to figure it out on my own, but I haven’t come up with anything. I probably met him drunk at one of your parties and forgot about it.”

“Maybe,” Chan turned his attention back to his own computer. “I’ll ask him. I won’t let him know that you can’t remember, but next time I see him, I’ll find out.”

-

It had been two weeks since Jisung switched to morning shifts, and Minho still wasn’t used to the bright happy smile that greeted him every time he went to get his coffee. Surprisingly, Jisung was still playing along, acting as if he actually knew Minho. They actually begun chatting a lot and sometimes Jisung’s banter even crossed into the flirty zone. He was comfortable around Minho as if they were actually acquaintances and Minho wondered how much of it was just an act. Minho kept the act up on his end as well, too embarrassed to tell the boy that they had never met before that first morning at the cafe. He was honestly hoping he would never have to explain.

Minho was on his way back to his apartment after his morning class when an arm fell across his shoulders, “Long time no see, mate.”

“Hey, Chan.”

Chan’s eyes dropped to the half empty coffee cup in Minho’s hand and he hummed lightly, “Is that the shop where Jisung works?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you know Jisung anyway? We were hanging out, working on some music the other night, and he mentioned that he’s been seeing you a lot now that he switched shifts. He never told me how you know each other though.”

Chan’s arm suddenly felt very heavy and Minho laughed, hoping it came across as breezy and casual, “We just know each other from the cafe.”

Chan frowned at that, his eyebrows drawing in, and Minho knew. He knew Chan knew that wasn’t true. Jisung must have asked him to fish around.

Luckily Chan didn’t question him and Minho ducked out from under his arm as the cafeteria came into view, “I have to go, sorry. I’m meeting some of the dance guys for lunch.”

Chan nodded, but Minho could tell his mind was a million miles away. Cursing himself for being stupid enough to yell out Jisung’s name that first day, Minho pulled out his phone and started searching for other coffee shops in the area.

He could never go back to the one Jisung worked at. Not if he wanted to keep any of his dignity.

-

Since the day Chan had informed Jisung that Minho said they met at the cafe, Jisung hadn’t seen Minho around. He’d stopped coming in every morning and Jisung was confused.

Why was Minho saying they’d met at the cafe, when he’d clearly known who Jisung was before that first morning? Was he embarrassed about where they’d met? Had they drunkenly made out at a party and he just didn’t want to admit it to Chan?

When Hyunjin came in to relieve him, Jisung figured it couldn’t hurt to ask, “Has Minho been coming in during your shifts? I haven’t seen him in a few days.”

Hyunjin shook his head, “He’s been in class, but I haven’t seen him around here. Maybe he’s cutting out coffee.”

“You have class with him?” Jisung hesitated, chewing on his bottom lip as he thought. “Could you ask him something for me?”

Hyunjin shrugged, “Yeah, sure.”

“Ask him if he’ll meet me here. Tomorrow morning, around the time he usually comes in for coffee. I’m off tomorrow.”

“I knew you wanted to ask him out! I told him!” Hyunjin looked triumphant. “I told him so many times.”

“I’m not...whatever. If that’ll get him here then, yeah, sure, it’s a date.” Jisung scribbled his phone number on a napkin and held it out to Hyunjin. “Give him this too.”

“You guys are going to be so cute together,” Hyunjin reached out and gave Jisung’s cheek a pinch before taking the napkin. “I’m thrilled.”

“Don’t get too excited, he might not show.”

“He’ll show,” Hyunjin assured him. “He was very interested in the fact that you called him pretty.”

Jisung threw his apron at Hyunjin, “Why did you tell him that?”

Hyunjin ducked out of the way, laughing, “He wanted to know what you said about him. So I told him.”

“No wonder he stopped coming here,” Jisung’s lips drew down into a pout. “Between you and Chan, he obviously knows I’ve been asking around about him. I scared him away.”

“Don’t worry, Sungie,” Hyunjin leaned over the counter and ruffled Jisung’s hair. “You’re too cute to resist for long. He’ll be here tomorrow. I’m sure of it.”

-

Minho took a deep breath as he stood outside the cafe, smoothing his hands over the navy and red striped shirt he was wearing. When Hyunjin had told Minho that Jisung wanted to meet him, he thought the other boy was messing with him. But then he’d presented Minho with Jisung’s number on a napkin, a small heart drawn next to the digits. When Minho had texted it to confirm it was actually Jisung, he’d received a pouty picture of the younger boy and a proclamation that he’d missed him.

Minho couldn’t ignore those puppy dog eyes and he’d agreed to meet with Jisung. He’d been up all night, trying to come up with a good reason for how he knew the other boy, but the more he thought about lying to him, the more his gut twisted. He didn’t want to out himself as a weird stalker who’d been pining over Jisung for months, but to just dismiss it off-hand with something as simple as ‘we met at a party’ seemed so wrong.

Jisung deserved the truth.

When Minho finally worked up the nerve to push into the cafe, he saw Jisung already waiting for him in the corner, two iced Americanos on the table. He glanced up at the sound of the bell and a smile overtook his face when he saw Minho.

Jisung stood up, waving wildly, as if the cafe wasn’t tiny and Minho might actually miss him sitting there. He looked adorable, dwarfed by the large pink sweater he was wearing, and Minho wanted to cry. Hyunjin had been unclear if this was actually a date or not, but if it was, Jisung certainly wouldn’t be asking him on a second one, not after he found out about Minho stalking him on instagram. The happiness that was currently filling his eyes would be replaced with disgust once Minho revealed the truth.

Minho crossed to the table and was immediately engulfed in a hug, sweater paw covered hands wrapping tight around his body. Minho hugged him back, hooking his chin over Jisung’s shoulder and relishing in the opportunity he never thought he would get.

“Thank you for coming,” Jisung pulled away, his hand trailing along Minho’s hip for a few seconds before he withdrew it completely from his body and re-took his seat. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

“Of course I came,” Minho grabbed the coffee, just so he would have something to do with his hands, and took a sip. “Why did you think I wouldn’t come?”

A dusting of rose colored Jisung’s cheeks, “I thought I scared you away. I know you know I’ve been asking around about you.”

Minho blinked, feeling guilty. He had never meant for Jisung to take his disappearance as something his actions had caused, “I’m sorry for making you think that. You didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t mind you asking about me.”

Jisung took a deep breath and focused his gaze on his coffee. He looked embarrassed.

Minho reached out towards Jisung’s side of the table, his palm up, “Hey, whatever you have to say, don’t be nervous. I won’t judge you.”

Jisung glanced up through his lashes, offering Minho a small smile before he slid his hand into Minho’s own. After a few beats of silence and one more deep breath, he spoke, “I’m really really sorry. But I can’t remember how I met you.”

Minho’s hand tightened against Jisung’s and the other boy looked up, nerves in his eyes. He tried to inch his hand away and Minho wanted so desperately to grab it and never let him go, but he knew once he revealed his truth, Jisung wouldn’t want to be touching him anyway. So he let him withdraw it and returned his own hand to his lap.

“That, um, that’s not your fault either.” Minho just had to say it and get it out of the way. There was no use in dragging it out, “We never actually met until that first day you were working the morning shift. I, um,” Minho focused his gaze on a scratch in the wood of their table, “I saw you tagged in a photo on Chan’s instagram a few months ago. And I thought you were really cute. So I kinda kept checking all your social media accounts. When I came in here that day and saw you, your name just came out. I could tell you didn’t know who I was, but I had to act like I knew you or out myself as a creep, so I just went with it. And you were so sweet for playing along.” Minho was scared to look up and see Jisung’s reaction. Instead he stood, “I’ll go now. I’m really sorry.”

“No!” a hand wrapped itself around his wrist, the small fingers drowning under a long pink sleeve. “You don’t have to go.”

Minho risked a glance at Jisung and saw he was staring at him, cheeks still beautifully rosy. He didn’t look horrified, so Minho slowly returned to his seat. Jisung’s fingers drifted down from his wrist to Minho’s own and the younger boy laced them together, eyes locked on Minho’s.

“You were so excited to see me. That first day. No one’s ever said my name like that before. Like seeing me was the best part of their day.”

“Seeing you always is the best part of my day.”

“I felt so bad,” Jisung’s eyes flicked down to their entwined fingers, a small smile on his lips. “For not knowing you. You were so nice and so beautiful and so happy to see me all the time, I felt like such an idiot for not being able to place you. I could tell you cared about me just from the way you talked to me, and I wanted to remember who you were. I wanted to know what kind of history we had that made you so thrilled to be around me.”

“No history,” Minho laughed, wincing a little at how self-deprecating he sounded even to his own ears. “Just my weird creepy internet crush.”

“This is our history now,” Jisung gestured around the mostly empty cafe. “And we have a fun story for when people ask us how we got together.”

“Everyone’s gonna think we’re idiots.”

“We are idiots,” Jisung grinned, leaning across the table. Minho laughed and met him halfway, his free hand coming up to cup Jisung’s full cheek as they kissed softly.

When they pulled apart a minute later, Hyunjin was standing by the table, his hand over his heart and a fond smile on his lips, “I knew you two would be beautiful together. What did I tell you, Jisung, the first time you asked about Minho? I told you to go for it. And, Minho? What did I say when we talked about Jisung? I told you he was going to ask you out. I did this.”

Jisung balled up his napkin at threw it at Hyunjin, “Yes, you and your lazy ass refusing to wake up for the early shift did indeed do this. But that’s the only time I’ll say it, so take whatever satisfaction you get from that and leave us alone.”

“You’re welcome,” Hyunjin sing-songed, before sauntering back behind counter.

“Yeah, yeah, thank you, Hyunjin,” Jisung muttered under his breath before returning his gaze to Minho, a massive smile spilling across his lips. “Kiss me again?”

Minho leaned in, but the second before Jisung’s mouth met his he pulled back, laughing at the high pitched whine that escaped Jisung’s lips, “Does this mean I get free coffee again?”

“You’ll have no coffee and no kisses if you keep this up,” Jisung puckered his lips and Minho laughed again, softly caressing Jisung’s cheek with his thumb.

“I can’t risk that,” he agreed. He dropped a quick kiss on Jisung’s warm cheek before pressing in and whispering against his mouth, “But if I have to choose to just one, I’ll take the kisses.”

[thegrimllama]

plot twist

I’m a miserable twerp at the moment, but I managed to wrangle this into being over the last few days.  The song that sparked the idea is Plot Twist by Marc E. Bassy.  

It wasn’t often that Chloe got home late from the clinic.  She usually had a set 9-5, but today had been a field call to the zoo for their three-monthly checkups.  It had been a long day.  A seven am start and now she was walking through the door at half past six, with aching arches and a wombat bite to the left boob.

She could hear Beca singing loudly in the kitchen.as she unlocked the front door and let herself in.  

I always thought it would only be one kiss

One became a hundred

Oh, all of a sudden, I'm saying, "I love you"

Quietly, so as not to startle her housemate, she slid her tote onto the floor and made her way into the kitchen, following the scent of italian herbs and fresh bread.  She watched Beca moving around the kitchen, dropping low and swinging her hips as she stirred the simmering pasta sauce, her headphones, hung low around her neck.  

Chloe had always thought Beca was attractive.  That was not news.  Hell, she’d fully considered asking Tom to excuse them, that first day in the Barden showers.  Now, she was thankful that she’d gone with her gut and just let their friendship grow at it’s own pace.  She smiled into her hand, stifling the giggle that threatened to expose her spying as Beca dropped to the the floor and swung her ass out into a spin.  

Beca’s eyes caught Chloe’s and widened, the spoon in her hand flying onto the bench with a shriek.  

 “What the fuck, Chlo?”

She watched Beca fumbling to pause the song on her phone, “That was the hottest slut drop I’ve seen since Emily had too many tequila shots at Aubrey’s birthday party.  I especially loved the little…”

 “Okay!”

Chloe took a seat on the counter, completely ignoring the barstools and Beca’s pointed glance.  “New song?  It’s catchy.”

Beca stuttered slightly, turning back to the pasta sauce on the stove, “Just… New artist at work.  We’re working on lyrics to help it flow a little better.  We have a chorus and maybe a verse. I dunno.”

Chloe smirked and tugged Beca back by the belt loop.  “Sing it for me?”

Beca rolled her eyes, “Why are you like this?  I’m cooking you dinner like a good housemate and…” Chloe locked her ankles around Beca’s waist, fixing her with a raised eyebrow.  “Beca fuckin Mitchell.”

 “Ugh!”

The poppy melodic had Chloe bopping along as Beca laced their fingers together, crooning through the chorus of the song.  

Chloe felt the familiar tug of in her chest, that usually made itself known around Beca, or when she heard a song that really just resonated.  She watched Beca get into the verse, freeing herself from the trappings of Chloe’s legs.  

Since you came into my world

I had to leave that in the past tense

 “Oh! I love that…”

Beca smirked, “You love everything I write.”  

Chloe fought down the blush fighting its way into her cheeks.  “You’re talented.  If only you could cook too…”

Beca gasped and shoved the spoon at Chloe’s mouth, “Bitch what’s this?”

Chloe held eye contact, slipping the spoon between her lips, “I’ve had better.”

 “Get out of my kitchen.”  

***

All my life I've been a player, player, player

But I don't wanna play no more

Beca was blaming this project.  This damn song.  The damn lyrics springing to mind, reminding her of Chloe.  The artist’s ideas for the direction of the song foring a lovely little fantasy in Beca’s mind, twisting her relationship with her housemate until she was powering out lyric after lyric, all about Chloe.  

She tossed and turned, watching the clock on her nightstand move from ten, to eleven, to midnight, her brain filled with images and words and rhymes.

One am and Beca picked up her phone, opening the Bella group chat.  

Bmitch: @Junkem how the fuck do you sleep when you have a hook in your head…

Junkem:  *smirk emoji*

Bmitch:  *High five*

She clicked on the call coming through from Emily’s private chat.

 “‘Sup lil Junk?”

 “I don’t.  That’s my answer.  Who’s the subject? Or is it just a song?”

Beca stretched out groaning as her back popped, one, two, three times.  “Well, here’s the thing…  It started as just a song.”

 “Oh!”

She could hear the smirk in Emily’s voice, “Yeah.  So the artist pitch for the song was a journey from nothing to something.  So far it’s gorgeous, but like…  I just keep thinking about…”

 “Who!?”

Beca rolled her eyes at the shrill whisper, “Jesus Emily, it is one am.”

 “Yes, and I’m in a steady relationship with my music so can you please just let me live vicariously through you?”

 “Fine.  Let me sing you what we’ve got so far.”

Two verses and a chorus later, Emily was cooing into the phone, practically squealing about how cute it was.  

 “Please tell me it’s Chloe…”

Beca froze.  “What?”

 “Listen, Beca… I’ve been waiting for you idiots to sort your shit out since Chloe broke up with Boston…”

 “Chicago,” Beca chuckled.

 “Whatever.”

Beca groaned.  “I swear to God, she’s just in here all the damn time.  This song just… It’s making me wonder what would happen if I just….”

 “Ask her out?”

 “Maybe.  But… I’m going to get this song finished and maybe these thoughts will just… fade with it.”

 “Maybe they will.  But what if they don’t?”

Beca was honestly not sure she was ready to find out.

***

The first thing Chloe noticed when she woke the next morning, was Beca and Emily’s interaction in group chat.  The second thing, was the sound of the blender buzzing lightly through the thin wall.  Beca clearly hadn’t slept.  

She rolled out of bed, flipping her hair up into a messy bun as she trudged into the kitchen.  

 “Hey sleepyhead!”  

Yep, Beca hadn’t slept at all.

Chloe leaned on her housemate’s shoulder, “It’s so early.”

 “I have an 8am start at the studio this morning,” Beca said, reaching up to scratch the nape of her friends neck.  

Chloe groaned contentedly, nuzzling her face into Beca’s neck.  “Did you get any sleep last night?”

 “I’m fine Chlo.  Nothing a few cups of coffee won’t fix.”

 “My boob still hurts.”

Beca laughed, “I don’t even know what a fucking wombat is, but it’s still hilarious.”  

 “I hope your smoothie tastes like kale water.”

 “Well, it’s your smoothie, and I have to go,” Beca said.  She spun around, catching Chloe completely off guard with a quick kiss on the mouth.  It was chaste, the kind of kiss that usually landed on a cheek, or a forehead, but still a kiss.  And it still ripped through Chloe, turning her stomach with a flurry of butterflies that really felt like they were probably the size of Hercules Moths.  The front door to the apartment had clicked shut, silencing Beca’s melodic humming before Chloe had completely registered what had just happened.  A tidal wave of Holy shit and oh my god’s looping through her brain. What the fuck was that?

***

Beca was still humming to herself as she entered the turnstiles to the subway.  She’d typed out what she hoped was probably the last verse of the song as she was standing on the platform, and spent the fifteen minute trip playing with the lyrics on her phone.  Unfortunately for Beca, not having her mind occupied by words and melodies meant her brain went straight back home.  Straight to Chloe.  

Chloe.  

Who Beca had kissed.  

She stopped dead in her tracks, lurching forwards as impatient commuters collided with her back.  She started walking, quickly trying to exit the noisy platform so she could gather her thoughts.  What the fuck had she been thinking?

Clearly, she hadn’t.  

She flipped her sunglasses down, muting the glare filtering through the doorway and opened her contacts.

 “Emily, I need help.”

 “Beca?  It’s like 7:30? Have you even tried to sleep yet?”

 “I have an early session at the studio.  Look, I know you’re sleeping but I’ve… fucked up.”

She crossed the pavement, well away that the suits around her were ignoring most of her conversation, “Like, really.”

 “What’d you do?  Kiss Chloe?”

Beca froze again, this time nearly being thrown to the pavement in her stupor.  “How did you….?”  Beca paused, waiting for the laughter to subside.  “You done, Junk?”  Another snort from Emily, followed by an apology, “I don’t know why, but it just happened.”

 “And why did you call me and not Chloe?”

 “I don’t know dude.  Probably because I’m freaking the fuck out that I’ve ruined the best damn relat… friendship I’ve ever had.”

 “Relax.  Go to work. Text Chloe.”

Beca stared at the phone, slightly miffed that Emily had hung up on her.  “Rude.”  

She felt the phone vibrate in her hand.  

New Message from Chloe <3

Plot Twist?

Damn.  How could one message give Beca the link to the entire damn song that had kept her up all night.  

Becs:  I love you

Becs:  Don’t be weird, but you literally just finished the song for me.

Chloe <3:  See you tonight?  

Chloe <3:  Amy’s at *not*bumper’s.

Chloe <3:  Bring wine.

Becs:  Yes, dear.

Chloe <3:  I like the sound of that...

Beca wasn’t going to hyperventilate.  

Except… She probably was.

[metalshootingstar]

Summary: In which Sandor Clegane loves his little bird, but damn it if he doesn’t feel like a stranger this modern world they’re stuck in.

A/N: Taking place sometime after Once upon a time

His little bird has grown used to this world, she has spent fifteen years in this world compared to his week. Yet in that week, The Hound has shown, just how different he actually is from her. Perhaps it was much easier for his wife to adjust, because above all else she had one thing she lacked from her time in Westeros. Freedom. She has the freedom to pursue whatever it is she wants, to never have to bow to any man ever again, never have to be forced to marry ever again. 

Here she can make her own choices. 

‘So can you’ she told him, one night when he brought it up. Yet, it is not as simple as she makes it seem. 

He’s a killer, a man with blood on his hands, and whose only purpose in life was to serve those blond lion cunts. He had even once dreamed of being a knight, before Gregor had snuffed out that dream, like he’d snuffed Sandor’s face with those coals. But this world had no place for killers and men disillusioned with knights. There were even laws against killing (one of the very first things Sansa told him) 

This world was strange to him and it was hard to take in everything at once. 

He was used to being able to walk in the middle of the roads, now he had to walk to the side lest he be ran over by those damn metal carriages called cars. At least carriages and horses went around you, here they just went right through you. 

He was used to the low dim lights of the castle at night, but the lights were incredibly bright here. Then again, at least he could see straight so that was a bonus. 

In this world, the marketplace was indoors and in some places you could get clothing, and other things in the same place you could get food. Or a large place that was like a marketplace where there were different things called ‘stores’, There were medicines to keep your illnesses in check, there were people with prosthetics not unlike Jamie Lannister’s but that could move, there was a thing that could store your food in your home and keep it fresh, while another device heated it up for you. How on Earth did anyone keep anything straight?

He was a man who did not have anything back in Westeros. 

His house was disgraced, his family was dead, and the only reason he was granted any mercy was because he’d helped the bastard Jon Snow. He came with Sansa because he had no reason to stay in Westeros and it was much easier for him to leave with his wife, whom was accustomed to this world than for her to stay in Westeros and become reacquainted with that world...for her children to leave everything behind and become part of a world they did not know or understand. Just like he had. 

He sat there, in the ‘living room’ as it was called, which made no bloody sense drinking this strange drink called ‘coffee’ Sansa had prepared for him. It was dark, hot, and bitter making him more awake and alert...he liked it. Sansa had gone to ‘work, and today was Saturday meaning the children were home asleep. According to the thing called a ‘clock’, it was ten. 

“ Good morning, dad!” He looked up, to see Sansa’s daughter Catherine, bounding down the stairs with her dark red hair in plaits. While he cared for Sansa’s children, they were his ‘step-children’ as the term was it was still strange they called him ‘dad’ a way of saying father so readily. He gave a non commital grunt, as he heard her rustling in the kitchen. She returned with two bowls, spoons, a brightly colored box with a damn bird on it, and milk. 

“ Would you like some cereal?” She asked warmly. Bright blue eyes looked up at him curiously. 

“ What’s a cereal?” He asked, 

“ Mommy only lets us eat sugary cereal on the weekends it’s good! Especially Froot Loops. It’s um....we did a food pyramid in school, and cereal is grains in shapes, and Froot Loops is yummy because their different colors and flavors.” She explained, pouring herself a bowl before looking up as if asking him if he wanted any. 

“ Well, you already got the bowl might as well.” He replied gruffly, she smiled and poured the bits of colorful grain...and that damn bird on the box kept looking at him. She then proceeded to pour the milk into the cereal, before turning on the ‘television’ it was called. That was another thing, this home had a thing called a television that could project stories onto images and moving pictures.....strange. Catherine flipped through the channels before gasping with delight as she saw the first few minutes of a Gravity Falls episode. 

“ What’s this?” Asked Sandor. 

“ It’s a show called Gravity Falls, it’s about these twins called Dipper and Mabel  who go to stay with their great uncle for the summer in this town called Gravity Falls, and the boy Dipper he finds a book that explains the weird things that happen.” Explained Catherine. “ In this episode, they meet this boy Gideon who has magic powers”

Sandor made a small grunt, before looking down at the bowl full of ‘ cereal’ he picked some up with the spoon she’d provided and sniffed it before eating some. It was incredibly sweet, and actually tasted good. Which was surprising all things considered. He looked up, when he heard Brendan yawning, as he came down the stairs. The thirteen year old bade them good morning, before grabbing a plate and spoon and sitting down with them to enjoy cereal and cartoons. 

“This what you do all day?” Asked Sandor. 

“ On Saturdays? Yeah! We stay home, and watch cartoons or we play on the computer, or if its hot we go out to the pool in the back, What did you do on Saturdays as a kid?” Asked Brendan curiously. 

“ Didn’t have those, used to mostly train with my father by practicing the sword or the arrows. Sometimes I roamed the nearby woods with the hounds, or played with toys. “ Said Sandor, thinking back to his own childhood. 

“ Well, there is a way to do all of that at the same time.” Said Brendan, he went over and turned on a strange box near the television, before getting a strange control and selecting a thing called ‘Skyrim’ He smiled and handed the control to Sandor. “ Here, I’ll teach you how to do play. 

“ What’s this?” Asked Sandor. 

“ It’s basically like Westeros, you play as the Dragonborn or Dovahkiin.” He explained, and Sandor listened as the boy tried explaining everything. The game was strange, and yet invigorating. It was as if he was back home, seeing his sword strike down bandits and animals, the blood spraying out. Large hands gripped the control tighter as he concentrated. 

The two children watched him as they ate their cereal, clearly amused by this. He was a natural at this. 

“ Ok, ok, careful of your health bar otherwise you’re gonna die in the game.” Said Brendan. Noting how the health bar was low. 

“ Use a potion or eat food to restore HP.” Said Catherine. 

“ Woah, you killed it! “ Exclaimed Brendan, Sandor smirked as once the monster was defeated his health was restored. 

“ That was amazing!” Exclaimed Catherine. 

“ Not as good as the real thing, when I was a boy I wanted to be a knight like this. I would kill bandits, do my duty to the king, protect the maiden like in the stories and songs. But like this, such tales aren’t real. Just lies people say to fool themselves. A knight is nothing but a killer.” Said Sandor, Brendan and Catherine turned to each other with Catherine giving a small shrug as they looked up at him. 

“ Do you miss it there? Back home?” Asked Catherine. 

“Sometimes, but I am happy here with your mother...even if it is taking me so bloody long to get used to everything.” Said Sandor with a scoff, both siblings glanced to each other before looking up at their step-father. 

“ Is there anything we can do to help?” Asked Brendan. 

Sandor looked to both children, a young boy of thirteen with brown hair and brown eyes that looked almost black yet shared his mother’s face and nose. A girl of ten, with dark red hair and blue eyes whom looked much more like her mother. Children who had merely tasted the unfairness and cruelty of the world of Westeros, and yet still remained ever so optimistic and innocent. The Hound did not know whether he wanted them to stay this way or to learn as their mother did....as he did. 

“ No.” He replied, before standing up. Brendan turned off the console, when an idea formed in his head. 

“ Can you teach me to use a sword?” Asked Brendan, as surely that would make his step-father feel more at home. 

“ You want to learn?” Asked Sandor, the thirteen year old smiled up at him. 

“Of course I do! And who better to teach me than my own father!” Exclaimed Brendan, and that brought a small smirk to Sandor’s face. Well, he did have a point. He was the boy’s father. 

“ Alright then, “ Said Sandor, “ Though, I will have to fashion some suitable substitutes.”

Both children nodded, though the rest of the day was spent outside with Sandor making wooden swords. They chopped their own wood (and Sandor was surprised his stepdaughter was so willing to use the axe herself, not many girls in Westeros would dream of holding one much less using it. ), and listened to what their stepfather said intently. Not noticing at some point, when Sansa was at the back porch watching the scene with pride. 

The sun however, was beginning to set soon and she was sure the children hadn’t eaten anything...considering the only plates in the sink, were bowls of cereal. 

“ It’s getting dark, you should all be in for dinner.” Said Sansa, catching the other three’s attention. 

“ But mommy,!

“Mom!”

“ Your mother is right, a true warrior knows when enough is enough. Today we finished our swords, tomorrow I teach you how to use them.” Said Sandor, the two children’s eyes lit up in excitement thanking him before rushing off. Greeting their mother with a hug and a kiss. 

Sandor went over to his little bird, who smiled up at him. Blue eyes glancing at him with love and devotion. 

“ Welcome home.” He replied, she smiled softly and kissed him. His hand, finding it’s way to her back and pulling her closer as she gently ran a hand through his hair. 

“ It’s good to be home, I trust everything went well?” She asked. As they walked towards the kitchen. Where the children, were excitedly talking as they set the table. Eagerly chattering about tomorrow. Sandor sat down, as Sansa served him dinner and the kitchen was filled with a warmth he hadn’t felt in years. 

Perhaps this world wasn’t so bad. 

[imagine-mystrade]

The Back-Up Plan

A @finnreyfridays short story

Finn had grown tired of watching Poe mix Darkside shots and pretend to listen to the drunken mumble of those who weren't ready to call it a night and was at the opposite end of the bar counting down the minutes to closing. True, he was technically in that latter category of people reluctant to leave the club, but only because he didn't feel like waiting for the El at that time of night and he was still a long ways away from having the coin for his own wheels. Poe was great about giving him rides back to campus, though. Finn suspected that's because he needed to unwind after hours of pouring out substandard beers and supervising bar crawls gone awry and Finn was a willing, if not captive, audience.

Finn was counting the nicks in the wall by the bathroom -- made by those whose dart game left a lot to be desired -- when he saw her approaching. He'd noticed her earlier in the evening in a crowd of other just-turned-21 students who'd all looked somewhat lost on the dance floor. She'd detached herself from the mass and had spent much of the night with a warm beer in her hand.

He'd also noticed the tall, skinny dude with the hungry eyes when the girl had collected her beer and had gone to stand off away from her friends. The guy was a regular and Finn noticed he often gave the same thousand-yard stare to different young women. He hadn't approached his newest prey, but Finn knew that he was just trying to get enough liquid courage to make a move.

But now Finn saw that there had been a move made -- by the girl. And it was in his direction. She crossed the distance between them more quickly than Finn had expected, and was talking almost before she'd come to a complete stop.

"Hi, I'm really sorry to bother you. I never do this sort of thing, I swear, but I was wondering if you could do me a quick favor?"

She spoke with the desperate urgency of a quarterback whose team was likely going to lose, but was within striking distance of a game-winning miracle. Finn sighed beneath his breath, pretty much knowing what she was going to say, but asking anyway:

"What can I do for you?"

"Could you just ... talk to me?" The girl blinked rapidly and her hand tightened a little on her mug. "I mean, could you pretend, I don't know, like we know each other? Or maybe like you're ... um ..." She flushed. "Flirting with me? I mean, I'll flirt back and everything, but could you maybe ... start it off ...?"

“You want me to pretend to be, what, like your boyfriend?”

“Well, maybe not like my boyfriend,” she said. “But maybe like you’re ... interested in me? You know, to sort of throw that creep that’s been staring at me all night off the scent?”

Finn's face warmed. He wanted to sigh again, but held it in. He could see in her eyes -- and they were very pretty eyes -- that she was really freaked out.

“The guy in the button down and the plaid shorts, right?"

She made a shocked sound. "You saw him? I mean he didn't come near me, but ... he's staring and it's just weird."

"Yeah, I noticed him. I think he pounded those last two shots trying to get up the nerve to talk to you." He saw her shudder and smiled a little. "It's all good. He sees us talking now. Do you want me to get closer?"

"Oh, um, sure. If you want." She moved toward him enough for Finn to see the saddle of freckles on her nose. "Sorry, I'm not good at this sort of stuff. Usually I'd just knee a guy in the balls if he bothered me, but you can't really do anything against staring."

Finn looked her over. She was not very much shorter than he was, and had the long legs and overall litheness of a dancer. Very pretty. But he could fully believe that she could kick a dude's ass if the need arose.

"Yeah, sorry. Guys like that are hit or miss." Finn glanced over. The man was glowering heavily now, looking as if smoke was about to come of his ears. "He was probably waiting all night for you to get away from your friends. He must be really intimidated if he hasn't made a move yet. Your friends are still here, right?"

She looked up at him, puzzled. "My friends?"

"The group of kids you came in with tonight?"

"Oh. Them." She grimaced and shook her head. "They're not friends, really. I mean, they're okay, I guess. I'm a transfer from Jakku Polytechnic and I wanted to live on campus but couldn't get a spot, so I have a room in a house with eight other people. They're all older than I am, which is fine, but we don't have much in common and they like to drink and party a lot, which I'm not really into. They just left to go to some all-night dance club on the other side of town. I texted a friend to come pick me up, but I haven't heard back from her yet, and that guy was just staring at me nonstop. I don't think he's going to try anything, but I am super creeped out by that guy and I'm just not in the mood tonight."

The girl massaged the bridge of her nose. "Sorry. I must seem like a complete mess to you."

"Nah, it's understandable, and it's fine. It's nothing you've done." Finn paused. "He keeps looking over here. Do you want to up the ante a little? Maybe go over to the bar for another drink or out on the dance floor? Sort of shake his equilibrium a little."

“I’m not really too much for drinking. Not even this.” She held up the barely-touched beer. “But I could go for some dancing, if, you know, you’re okay with that?”

“Sure.” Finn half-smiled. The crowd she’d been with had been no great shakes on the dance floor, but he wasn’t going to make fun. The object of the exercise was to communicate to the creepster that she wasn’t interested.

“What’s your name, by the way?” Finn asked after she’d deposited her mug on the bar on their way to the small dance space.

“Oh! Sorry. I just talked your ear off without ever telling you that.” She looked chagrined. “It’s Rey. And yours?”

“Finn.” He noticed the staring man eyeing them as they maneuvered around a few people who were moving to the fading beats of the song currently playing. He wasn’t sure, but he supposed Rey noticed the guy, too, because she threaded her arm through his and pulled him closer as the next song began to play.

“I love this song!” She said, looking up at him with shining eyes. “The saving grace of this entire night is that the DJ knows her stuff. Shall we?”

Finn tried not to smile. The fast-paced song was not one he’d heard in a while, but he was game if Rey was.

“Let’s do it.

Finn lost track of the songs and the time. He and Rey might have been dancing five minutes or fifteen, to three songs or one continuous looping club mix. He couldn’t tell. His mind was mush. Sweat dotted his brow and his legs shook a little as he and Rey threaded through a crowd of people that stared at them with expressions ranging from shock to curiosity. The staring man was among them, but he turned away when Finn made eye contact. Finn thought he could see a glint of envy amid the resignation in the man’s eyes.

“That was fun!” Rey was smiling, pushing her damp hair away from her forehead. “You’re a really good dancer.”

“Uhhh, so are you.” Finn looked over at her. “Um, I wasn’t expecting some of those moves, in fact.”

“Oh.” Her smile dropped. “That guy was staring us down almost the whole time, and so I figured we could give him something to really look at. Was it too much?”

“No. Not really. Just surprising.” He eyed her. “I guess I just didn’t see you as being into that sort of dancing.”

Rey chuckled and passed her arm through his again. “Oh, no, I definitely am not opposed to backing it up when the occasion arises.”

Finn snickered. “I stand corrected then. I’m pretty sure that is what sold dude on the idea that we might be together. There are exceptions, but for the most part, people who aren’t interested in each other don’t tend to dance like that with each other.”

“How about that,” she said in a mild voice. “ So, can I buy you a drink? I mean, for being so helpful and everything. It's the least I could do."

Finn looked down at their arms still linked together and over at where Rey's eyes were glinting up at him. He smiled slowly and was about to respond when another up-tempo song began to play, the bassline causing the floor beneath them to pulse.

They looked at each other. Rey smiled slowly.

"I love this song."

"Me, too." Finn's eyes darted to the dance floor and back to Rey's face. "Do you ..."

"Do you have to ask?" Rey's laughter was lost among the music as she eagerly pulled him back onto the floor and they prepared to spend the rest of the evening showing everyone just how it was done.

THE END

[showingthroughtome]

spit fire - chapter eighteen

You said I'm steady playin’, you steady playin’ too

But then she listened to J. Cole’s album. The entire day was spent with her feeling slightly hung over but even more in love with the lyrics of the fellow North Carolinian. By 2 in the morning, she was buzzing with the words of Deja Vu in her bones. She had to talk about it with someone and could only think of one person that she wanted to discuss it with. So, ignoring any time zone discrepancies, she returned Harry’s phone call.

read below - catch up here

In December, Noa turned 21 and J. Cole released a new album. One of those things was something Noa had been patiently waiting on for her whole life and the other was something she should've been.

On December 27th, right as the clock hit midnight, Molly knocked on the door of the guest bedroom and came in with her younger sister - chocolate cupcakes and a tiny flask wrapped in newspaper comics in hand. It warmed Noa to the core to be remembered in that way. Not for years has she celebrated her birthday at midnight nor has she gotten a present so skillfully wrapped. She blamed it entirely on the thirteen-year-old girl she had met two weeks prior and not on her best friend of nearly three years. Still, they smiled as they ate the cupcakes and talked about the plans the older girls had for the following day.

Molly left just thirty minutes later and left Noa alone to rest so she'd be ready for all the alcohol they'd start consuming at breakfast - mimosa made by Molly’s mother were simply the best. And in the morning, Noa learned that waffles made by her dad were even better.

Farrah surprised Noa halfway through the breakfast, popping up behind her and shoving a bottle of coconut rum in her hands. The bottle was consumed that night easily, causing Noa to fall asleep in that guest bed with Farrah curled up beside her after mere moments of laying under the sheets.

She was so out of it that she hadn't even heard her phone ring the four times Harry tried to get a hold of her.

---

4 Your Eyez Only came out on December 28th. J. Cole dropped it out of nowhere, almost as if he planned it for Noa’s 21st. Waking up that morning, she had so many texts from various people screaming at her about it that she almost missed Harry's name on her screen. All it told her was that he called her a few times - maybe to tell her about the album, not remembering it was her birthday at all.

She considered responding but didn't have a clue what she'd say to him. She imagined her first interaction with Harry since their last phone call many times and quite frankly, she expected it to be at a basketball game weeks from then. She kind of hated the idea, but nevertheless, she felt safe in it. She felt like her heart couldn't be hurt if she held off on talking to him for as long as possible.

But then she listened to J. Coles album. The entire day was spent with her feeling slightly hung over but even more in love with the lyrics of the fellow North Carolinian. By 2 in the morning, she was buzzing with the words of Deja Vu in her bones. She had to talk about it with someone and could only think of one person that she wanted to discuss it with. So, ignoring any time zone discrepancies, she returned Harry’s phone call.

Harry,

Noa, it's like 7am. What's up?

Have you heard the album?

Yeah, course. You kind of brainwashed me into loving him.

Excuse me. Not brainwash, showing you the light.

Fine, you showed me the light and now I have a whole new album to be mind blown over.

Right? I don't think I've done a single thing other than listen to it. I'm pretty sure I haven't even eaten today.

What the fuck, Cherry? Go eat!

It doesn't seem important when songs like Deja Vu exist.

Ya know, I particularly liked that one too.

Bet you did.

Struck a chord, really.

Yeah.

The phone line grew quiet as both thought over the meaning of those words, of the words J. Cole rapped that told about loving a girl from afar even though she already had a guy.

Well, I just wanted to make sure you heard it.

I have indeed.

So then….

Nothing else on Harry's part.

I have to sleep now. ‘Night, Harry.

Morning, Noa.

---

Noa didn't talk to him during winter break after that. That entire phone call was a product of excitement combined with sleep deprivation. Noa woke up the next morning feeling so dumb for even calling him - because she knew she was hoping in the very back of her mind that he would remember her birthday, that'd he say something that kept her from feeling so lost from him, but he didn't say anything remotely close to it.

She wasn't mad at him for it or anything, she was just mad at herself for thinking that he thought about her like that after weeks of no contact.

Now, winter break is over and she's back on campus. The dorms opened the day before and Noa had her first shift back in the diner for the semester - something she has scheduled for three days a week so she wouldn't be so broke.

The fact that she doesn't have any money doesn't stop her and the girls from going to the mall. Noa is an amazing window shopper after all. She can easily stare through the glass into a store, see an article of clothing she'd love to try on, and then simply walk past it, no second thoughts held.

It only makes sense that she runs into Harry in the food court - somehow, he is intertwined in everything she does. When her thoughts aren't on him, he appears.

The girls spot him first, standing by the pretzel stand as Niall and Harry sit at a table, eating Chinese food and talking about whatever they talk about.

“You going to talk to him?” Molly lifts an eyebrow while grabbing her salt free pretzel, casual and disinterested as if she isn't all but drowning in desire for them to reconcile.

Farrah has no problem acting out her emotions, “You definitely should.” Her eyes are pleading and her lip almost pouts.

It took a few days but eventually Noa told both of them all about what Harry said to her, how she forgave him because she knew he did a shitty thing but even more so, because she knew him. She told the girls how she had to say no to him since her lungs were constricting with the want to say yes but her heart was aching with what would happen if he somehow got away from her again.

Molly understood without any argument, though she did voice her opinion - if you want him, get him. Farrah tried to grasp the concept of fear and uncertainty but ultimately she sighed out a long, “What the hell? You guys are so it for each other. You guys made up so how are you not having sex right now?! Damn!”

Noa hesitates in the mall. She looks around and surveys the area, checking for any other familiar faces. Then, she lets her eyes fall back on him. “You think?”

Grazing her teeth over her bottom lip, she contemplates if it'd be weird to walk over to him and if she did what she would even say. She can't determine a reason why she should even do it in the first place.

“Yes, girl.” Farrah rolls her eyes and shoves her shoulder. “Be friendly. You're friends, right?”

“Um, not really.” They've never really been friends. They were either bickering or pushing each other against walls, half naked, pulling for more than they could grasp. The remnants of those feeling hit her hard as she watches his strong jaw move tightly with every bite. “Plus, I don't have anything to say to him.”

“Fine then. Let's go.” Molly loops a hand through Noa's arm and begins to walk with her in the opposite direction. “No use in staring at him like a creep.”

The way Molly says it is totally a joke, getting Noa to laugh but Farrah to nod in agreement, “Yeah, it was getting animalistic.”

“What? Really?” Noa looks behind her, wondering if she was staring hard enough for him to notice again. Turns out she wasn't, but that final glance back catches Niall's attention. He points her way, casting Harry's gaze towards her as she slows down with the girls. In an awkward situation of not wanting to actually go up to him but not wanting to be rude, she throws out a stunted wave and smiles as he returns it. He gives a grin of his own, one that trips up Noa that much more. Noa wants to stare at it for a while - like that day she woke up before him and found him smiling in his sleep, dreaming up something good. This time though, she can't.

She turns around once the exchange is long enough to be considered friendly. And grunts, “Fuck. I hate this small ass town.”

---

It's almost exactly a month since the last time that Harry and Noa talk before they do it again. They have another class together - Kinesiology 240 - on Tuesday/Thursdays. As usual, she is in the room early that first day, watching as everyone waddles their way through the early morning. Molly pops in at 9:20 and sat down right next to her. Cara arrives 3 minutes later, sitting right in front of her. And even though the seat to Noa's left is empty, when Harry walks in two minutes prior to the start of class, he sits as close as possible to the teacher - furthest from her as possible.

Noa thinks he doesn't even notice she is there until the teacher makes them go around and say one interesting thing about themselves.

“Hello, my name is Molly and I once broke my arm after I tripped over a banana peel.”

“I'm Cara. I have seven brothers and one sister. We stick together.”

“Hi. I'm Noa. My interesting fact is that I have read every Junie B. Jones book out there, even the ones that were published like, only four years ago.”

An interesting fact was the thing Noa hated the most about the first day of class but once she figures out a good one to tell, she doesn't mind it. She doesn't even like Junie B. that much. Sure, she enjoys the stories but after realizing at fifteen that she had read 22 of them, she had to read all of them. It was an embarrassing but fulfilling day when she went in the store at 17 and came out with the final book of the series, if not a little bit sad.

She never told that little tidbit to Harry and tries not to notice his airy chuckle, though, she did assume he would get a kick out of it.

After class, while everyone is ruffling the syllabus into their bags and rushing out of the door, Noa stands around and discusses lunch plans with the girls. Cara and Molly both have a class coming up but they'll be free by noon to grab something with the cheerleader who only takes two classes a day.

“Hey.” Harry approaches from the front of Noa, slowly and with caution.

Noa smiles a simple, “Hello.”

And like they had practiced it, Molly and Cara begin backing away and splitting up to leave from doors at opposite ends of the room, barely greeting Harry.

He watches them with amusement written all over his face, and when it's just him and Noa, he jokes, “Wow, do I know how to clear a room or what?”

She can't help but giggle at the circumstances at which the two cheerleaders left. “Nah, they just have classes.” She reassures him even though she thought she probably should've let me soak in self-doubt for a few seconds.

“Yeah, me too. I should get going but I have enough time to say hi. How are things going with you?”

“They're good. Had a good break with Molly's family.” Speaking in monotone, Noa shrugs. “Christmas was whatever but New Year's was fun.”

“You were 21 by then.” He sticks an elbow out to catch her side lightly, raising his eyebrows and showing off those dimples she hasn't seen in person for weeks and weeks and weeks.

Him remembering her birthday would've made her trip up on its own but paired with the sight of him, the warmth of his presence that is lighter than it's been in months, has her biting her jaw and mumbling, “Yeah.”

She begins to head for the door, slow enough so Harry can walk beside her and their conversation doesn't have to end.

“Happy birthday by the way.” He nudges her again - with the palm of his hand lightly pressing at her shoulder where her thrift store leather jacket covers her skin. “I don't know if you saw but I called.”

She tries her hardest to remain unaffected even though she can almost feel him through all of those layers. Still, she can't help that her body moves the tiniest bit away from him, like it is protecting her from his touch.

Blinking several times, she recalls the morning after her birthday. “Oh yeah, I was pretty drunk that night so I woke up the next morning with a hangover you wouldn't believe and didn't even want to look at my phone…”

“But J. just had to release that album, huh?”

“Such an asshole for that.”

They get to the door of the classroom and he stops, getting her to turn around and look at him as his jaw drops, “Yeah right! It’s good enough that it got you to call me.”

“It’s fucking brilliant, okay?” She would've called anyone if she knew they'd have understood - it just so happened that Harry was that person. She doesn't like the look he's giving her now - a cheeky one that reminds her of ones he'd shine at her last semester. She's rolling her eyes and changing the subject quickly as she continues her journey. “How was your break?”

Noa can't see his face at this point because she's walking ahead of him, but if she could she knows she'd see a suppressed grin.

“Good.” He starts, then rethinks. “Well, mum was like how she always is. I don't think I went a day without her asking if I made time to practice but yeah, like, she wasn't too bad this break.”

That gets a genuine smile out of her. No matter what happens between them, she’d want anyone to have good time with their family. Maybe it's due to the fact that she's never really had that or maybe because she's less cold hearted than she thinks she is, but she beams, “That's so good, Harry. I'm happy for you.”

“Thanks.” Harry exhales as Noa slips a look his way. “How was your mum?”

“Um, I don't know. Still haven't spoken to her.” She walks out of the door that Harry opens for her and into the cold winter day. There hasn't been any snow this season yet but she really thinks it has to happen soon. For the sake of the damned polar bears, the earth needs to chill the fuck down.

Harry looks confused, a little shocked, then questioning, “Not since that one time?”

“I tried but couldn't bring myself to.” Noa admits to Harry in complete honesty, not even second guessing why when the next words roll off her tongue. “I saw her at the bus stop and she didn't look great. Then when I tried to go home for break, I saw her laughing it up in the living room and physically was unable to open the front door.”

Somewhere in retelling that small story, she feels her features turn sad. It is like a tangible thing that can physically be pulled out of her whenever she lets her mind wonder there. Harry has to see it even though she does try to cover it with a tight-lipped smile.

“I'm sorry, Noa.” He's shaking his head - reminiscent of a disappointed parent from an hour-long TV drama.

“Nah, it's okay.” She tells herself more than she tells the boy walking next to her. “I mean, I haven't heard a thing from her or about her in six weeks but if I don't think about it, she's fine.”

“Noa…”

She feels his hand again on her, this time a few fingers grasping onto her upper arm to slow her and get her making eye contact with him. Like a ton of bricks, she realizes she's acting like she used to with Harry. She's acting as if they haven't spent weeks without seeing each other and months without being real with one another. She has no clue why. She just fell into it out of nowhere, as if it is an undeniable habit.

It causes her to be flushed with embarrassment as she checks her surroundings - just to come back to reality and see that they're in front of the athletic learning department and not in his warm bedroom.

“Actually,” She shakes her head and clears her throat. “You've got to get to class and I have a bowl waiting for me in my backpack.”

“Noa.” Harry, confusion on his face once again, repeats as she starts walking backwards away from him.

“See ya around, man.” She smiles and waves and turns towards her dorm, ruffling through her backpack to find her one hitter with slightly shaken hands.

---

Speak of the devil and he shall appear... or whatever.

Noa is getting out of cheer practice for the night and her phone is ringing in her pocket but her hands are too full for her to even attempt to grab it. She's got her gym bag and backpack on and a couple of towels and a radio in her hands. It's not until she gets back in her room that she can pull her phone out and check who tried to contact her.

She hasn't looked at her phone in hours but the only notification on her screen is a single call from her mom accompanied by a voicemail. It catches her off guard since her mom is never one to leave those - but really, she's never one to call to begin with.

Noa thinks about ignoring it for a minute, maybe even deleting it before she listens to it. Then she remembers how secretly worried she's been and how grateful she is to know her mom is still alive. She swipes the voicemail left and holds the phone to her ear, listening intently as her mom's raspy voice sounds,

“Hey, Noa, sweetie. I was just callin to say hello and that I miss ya. I don't know where ya been but ya need to come on home and see this new TV I got with some money I won at bingo. I been real good since we last spoke. I know it's hard for you to believe but I have been. Swear it, sweetheart. I been wantin’ to call ya so when that boy stopped by today, it was clear to me that I had to. A young girl needs her mommy. So, come on now, visit me. I love you, baby girl.”

That boy?

Noa slams her phone down on her desk.

What boy?

There is only one that would do something like this - simply because there is only one boy that she talks to that would even know to go to her mom and of course, they had a conversation about her earlier in the day.

Noa lunges for the door, leaving her phone behind, speeding through the hall and running off the energy anger like that gives her.

---

“Fuck you!” Noa pushes on Harry's chest as hard as she can as soon as he exits the stadium, not moving him an inch. She's been pacing outside of the door for at least twenty minutes, building up that rage if nothing else. A thought to storm into practice crossed her mind but wasn't entertained for more than a few seconds when she remembered how much of a hard ass the coach was.

Harry's face was one of pure shock, not knowing what hit him as his friends continued on without him, leaving him to whatever he got himself into. Noa goes to push him again but he catches her by the shoulders this time and holds her back. “What the hell? Noa, chill!”

“Fuck you for butting into my life!” She shakes her shoulders so he’ll let go and backs away without losing any of that sharpness in her tone.

It comes back to him then - what he did to piss her off so much that she came to him with this much aggression. He grunts and advances for her, probably to comfort her, but now she doesn't want to be any closer to him than necessary to yell.

“How dare you go to her? You know that's none of your business.” She points an accusing finger at him, harsh like you would with a dog that's done something wrong.

“Oh get off it, Cherry!” Suddenly, he's the one sounding mad and aggravated and all together over her shit. His voice grows in volume until he's at her level. “You told me all about your mum, looking so sad and in need of a little help. How could I not do something?”

“It's not your place!” Barking back, she squeezes both her hands tightly.

“You made it that way!” He's dropping his gym bag off his shoulder and rolling his eyes at her. “You got into my fucking head and made it where I had to go make sure she was okay for you. You think I wanted to skip a class on the first day of the semester? I had to do ten extra laps in practice because of it.”

“I didn't ask you to.”

“You know, you don't really have to ask? When people care for each other, they usually do things to make sure the other is okay.” He laughs, but not in a friendly way - not in a way that Noa recognizes as the Harry she grew to care too much for. It's one of those superior kinds of laughs that people give you when they think they know more than you.

Noa takes a few steps towards him just so she can really get in his face when she repeats herself, “Fuck you. You’re such an asshole, you know that?”

Harry takes a moment to look her up and down, both of their chests rising and falling due to the yelling. Slowly, a calm smirk slinks across his lips. “I’m really not.”

Hate consumes her then - pure hatred for the cocky basketball player. She always knew he was this way and feels so dumb for ever spending six weeks thinking she was in love with him. All that emotion, all that betrayal manifests in a slight tinge of brimming at her eyes. Not due to sadness but just an effect of her anger, she holds back her tears and warns with everything in her, “Stay the hell away from me and my family. Don’t talk to me ever again.”

“Noa.” He's shaking his head and opening his mouth to say some bullshit thing, surely. Though, she can't allow that so she continues.

“One last time, fuck off.” She's backing away from him for the second time that day, except this time it's not because she was getting too comfortable again, it's because she’s never felt so much distrust in her life - not even when he kissed Nina. He yells her name a few more times but she barely hears it over the racing anger of her heart.

The entire walk back, she replays everything he said, every condescending word thrown her way. And she's just so confused. She thought they weren't ready for each other but now she's wondering if they ever would be? How could he ever think she'd want him to go to her mother? That's one thing she never wanted Harry to see and now he's gone and ruined that. He's broken that barrier without even letting her have a say.

Sarah Cherry was never meant to meet Harry Styles. Sarah wasn't meant to know how nice Noa was making her way on her own - she didn't get to have parts of Noa's life. And Harry wasn't ever supposed to see just how screwed up her mother is.

It's getting dark and Noa is staring up at her dorm where she knows she should go. She decides against it and finds herself on the steps of the library, feeling really sorry for herself about the boundaries Harry crossed. Instead of calling someone to cheer her up, she sits there for hours and swears to herself that she's truly and completely done with the guy.

Authors note: 

first i wanna say that i know j cole is mentioned heavily in this but the song lyrics are chance the rapper but listen, his lyrics are being saved for the next couple chapters.... the good ones.... the ones that get me in my feelings.... like seriously, go listen to deja vu right now!!! 

anyways, i hope you guys like this and i hope you let me know what you think! we are so close to the end. i have like two more chapters to write and then an epilogue. so 19, 20, and an epilogue!?!?!? wtf howd that happen! 19 should be out in like two weeks or so. hold me to it or i might forget. finals are in like three weeks so it would be longer. idk. i love you all though and i really do hope this story is turning out alright. TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK OF HARRY! is he the wrong one this time or maybe he was really just trying to help?? (im leaning towards the latter) ok! bye!!!