#to be fair there were also a few pieces of mango on it that weren’t expired per se but i probably shouldn’t have eaten those either

[re-decorate]

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[waitimcomingtoo]

Where We Start Again 2

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: how do you fake date someone you have real feelings for?

Series Masterlist and Regular Masterlist

Playlist by @tiny-friggin-human

“This is my room.” Peter weakly gestured to his bedroom as you walked through his door. His eyes were immediately drawn to everything he needed to hide as you began to look around. He kicked a pair of boxers into the closet and threw a hoodie over the vials of web fluid on his desk. When he looked up at you, a smile dawned on his lips. You stood out in your mini skirt among his nerdy ambiance, but you didn’t look out of place. You noticed him staring and tucked your hair behind your ear nervously.

“What?” You asked, feeling a little self conscious under his gaze.

“Nothing. I just like looking at you.” His lips moved faster than his brain and he was defenseless to stop the words from coming out. Luckily, you found it sweet and gave him a small smile.

“Star Wars bedsheets?” You nodded towards his unmade bed where tiny green Yoda heads dotted his sheets.

“Those aren’t mine.” He scoffed playfully, watching as you took a seat on his bed. His throat tightened at the thought of your bare legs on his sheets. The skirt he’d fawned over so many times was on his bed right now, and he was beginning to panic.

“Uh huh.” You humored him and ran a hand over his pillow. “They’re very soft. You should thank whoever they belong to for taking care of them.”

“I have your laundry- oh! A female.” May was startled by your presence when she came to Peters open door. Peters eyes widened when he noticed she was holding a few pairs of his boxers in her hands and prayed you didn’t notice too. Unfortunate for Peter, you had manners and got up off his bed to shake Mays hand. You shoot Peter a look when your eyes fell on the pile.

“Hi Mrs. Parker. I’m Y/n.” You said politely as you shook her hand. May looked between you and Peter with a surprised expression.

“Y/n L/n?” She asked and you nodded.

“Yeah, that me.” You told her. Peter looked up at the ceiling, silently cursing God for what was happening in front of him.

“It’s nice to finally meet you. Peters been telling me about you since freshman year. You’re the one with the skirt, right? Oh, you’re wearing it now.” She laughed spritely and handed Peter his boxers. “You were right, Peter. It is a nice skirt. And please, call me May.”

Peter knew a nail in the coffin when he saw one. There was no coming back from what May just said. You were gonna think he was a creep and your fake relationship would end before it began.

At least you sat on his bed, though.

“Thank you, May. It’s from H&M and I hear there’s a sale right now. It kinda matches your nails. They’re so pretty.” You told her and she looked down at her nail color. Peter did a double take between you and May. For some reason, you weren’t running out of his apartment in fear.

You were giving his Aunt shopping tips and nail compliments.

“Oh, wow. It does. And thank you. I just got them done but of course this one didn’t notice.” She gave Peter a pointed look before returning her attention to you. “I think I’ll go check it out. I’ll leave you kids to it.” She winked at Peter before closing the door.

Peter braced himself for an abrupt end to your newfound relationship as you turned around. Instead, you had your arms folded and a surprised smile on your face.

“Have you been talking to your aunt about me?” You put yourself hand over your heart like you couldn’t believe it. Peter opened his mouth to apologize, but decided against it when you didn’t show any signs of disdain.

“However did you know?” He replied sarcastically and got a laugh out of you. So you didn’t want apologies, he thought. You wanted humor. “I hope you know, you just witnessed the most embarrassing moment of my life.”

“Well if I know anything about women, she’s gonna be at H&M for a while. You don’t have to worry about her coming in here to embarrass you and drop off your Scooby Doo boxers.” You picked up a pair from the pile he was holding and dangled it in front of his face. He snatched them away from you and quickly stuffed them in his drawer.

“Give me those. They also aren’t mine.” He lied and you held up your hands in defense.

“I believe you.” You insisted and walked over to his LEGO Ferris Wheel. He joined you, standing next to you in silence for a moment as you admired it.

“Ruh roh.” You muttered and his head snapped to you.

“Hey.” He whined. You leaned into him as you laughed, making his breath hitched in his chest when you touched him

“I’m sorry. How does this thing work?” You returned your attention to the Ferris wheel. Peter took a moment to admire the wonder in your eyes as they trailed over the bricks. He pushed a button on the side and it began to move.

“Effervescent.” You said flatly at the anticlimactic way it worked. Peter watched you fondly as your eyes followed the LEGO man and woman in one of the carts.

“What made you want to come over?” He asked suddenly. “Do you have to do community service or something?”

“No.” You said like it was a crazy thought. “I wanted to hang out with you.”

Peter was taken aback by this answer and thought for sure you were lying. He looked at you skeptically as you watched the Ferris wheel.

“Why?” He asked. “And how has nothing you’ve seen so far made you want to stop hanging out with me? You know, the boxers, the bedsheets, the aunt.”

You leaned against his book self and looked down at your boots as you shrugged.

“The boys in our school show up hung over, smelling like mango juul pods and hotdog water. They sleep through class and pelt spit balls at each other at lunch. And I’m pretty sure half the football team hasn’t made the full transition from monkey to human yet.” You said as you kept your eyes down.

“These are all things I already know.” Peter said when you didn’t answer his question. You looked up at him and shrugged slightly.

“You show up in button downs and cute sweaters, smelling like apple shampoo. The one that can get in your eyes and won’t sting. You pay attention in class and build LEGO desk lamps for the science fair. And you give people your gogurt.” You said timidly. The corners of Peters mouth turned down as he fought a smile, as well as the urge to scream into a pillow.

“Well she packed me an extra one.” He reminded you and you rolled your eyes. You walked away from his bookshelf and over to where he had set the LEGO lamp down.

“Can I help you glue the legos down?” You changed the topic. “It’ll go faster with two people.”

“Sure.” He nodded and joined you at his desk. He took a vial of web fluid from under the hoodie and handed it to you. “Here.”

“What kind of glue is this?” You asked as you examined the vial.

“Oh, uh, I made it myself.” Peter stammered as he pulled up a chair for you. You gave him a grateful smile and took a seat.

“You made your own glue?” You asked him once he sat down next to you at the desk.

“Yes?”

“You’re incredible, Peter.” You shook your head and started glueing pieces down. “Out here making your own glue. Elmer’s is quaking.”

Peter took a moment to collect himself before he started glueing the pieces together. Everytime he thought he did something lame, you liked it. And not only that, you praised him for it. All the things that made him unpopular were the things you seemed to enjoy. He was curious about your intentions and could only hope they were good.

“The fair is this Friday, right?” You peered at him through your lashes as you focused on sticking a piece to the base.

“Yeah, right after school.” He replied, freezing momentarily when your pinky touched his.

“I’ll be there.” You said definitively. He stopped what he was doing and looked at you to see if you were joking, but you looked completely serious.

“You don’t have to. It’ll be really boring.” He said softly but you dismissed him.

“Then I’ll hang out by you the whole time.” YIU said simply. “What kind of fake girlfriend would I be if I wasn’t there to watch my boyfriend win the science fair?”

The tips of Peters ears turned pink when you called him your boyfriend. As much as he’d love to have you cheering him on at the science fair, he didn’t want to make you do something you didn’t want to do. He was about to insist that you didn’t have to go when he stopped himself. Something about all the impossible things that had happened today made him want to go against his normal behavior.

“It’s every boys dream to have his fake girlfriend watching him awkwardly tell judges about his science fair project.” He said instead of telling you you didn’t have to come. You seemed like you wanted to, and he’d love to have you there. Why not let it happen?

“I know, right? How’d you get so lucky?” You tossed your hair off your shoulder and winked at him. Peter has gone from never speaking to you to you winking at him three times in one day. You were right. How did he get so lucky?

“Are you sure about committing to this whole fake dating thing? If you’re at the science fair with me, more people are gonna know. It won’t just be between you and me and Flash anymore.” Peter warned you. You stopped glueing legos and looked at him.

“I am sure. I want to do this. It’s just until the dance right? I can dedicate two weeks of my life to mess with Flash.” You insisted as you put your hand on top of his. He tensed up so you quickly drew it away and cleared your throat. “We should probably come up with nicknames for each other to really sell it. What do you want to be called?”

Still recovering from the hand holding incident, his mind was blank.

“You pick.” He said blankly.

“Thank God. I thought you were gonna say “my lord” or some shit.” You laughed and went back to glueing. “How about baby? Nice and simple.”

“Sounds good.” He smiled shyly. He wasn’t even on your radar this morning and now you were calling him baby.

“What do you want to call me?” You asked. The hope in your eyes made Peter determined not to disappoint you.

“Daisy.” He said confidently. You raised your eyebrows at his quick response.

“You had that prepared.” You remarked and he rubbed the back of his neck.

“I see you drawing daisies on your notes all the time.” He admitted. “And then you color the center with yellow highlighter. It’s cute.”

“Good eye, baby.” You emphasized the pet name for effect.

“I just have a good view, daisy.” He did the same. You pulled your tongue between your teeth and giggled. The sight of it made Peters knees weaken as he glued on the final piece.

“You should give me one of your shirts or something so I can wear it to school.” You said as you got out of your chair. “Do you have anything that says your last name on the back?”

Peter got up from the desk and dug around in his closet for his decathlon hoodie. He made sure not to touch the area where his suit was hidden.

“Would this work?” He asked as he held it out to you. You traced your fingers over the bold white block letters and smiled.

“That’s perfect. And here.” You slipped your scrunchie off your wrist and gave it to him. “Wear this on your wrist. I wear it a lot so people will know it’s mine.”

Peter put it on his wrist and thought of all the times he’d seen you wearing it. He loved it when you wore your hair up. And down. He loved it all.

But so did the rest of his school.

Guilt bubbled in the pit of his tummy at the thought of what the fake relationship could do to your reputation.

“You really don’t have to do this, Y/n.” He said softly. “You’re committing social suicide.”

“That’s not a thing.” You stated as you tied his hoodie around your waist. “And I told you, I’m happy to do this. Flash needed to be put in his place. I always hear him picking on you over nothing.”

“Yeah. He’s a real piece of work.” Peter shoved his hands in his pockets and blew out a breath.

“You pronounce “dick head” funny.” You smirked. “Why do you let him get away with what he says to you? How do you resist the urge to punch him in the face?”

“He’s not worth.” Peter shrugged. “I want to get out of here and go to a good college. I’m kinda depending on scholarships and I hear schools prefer kids who don’t get into physical fights with other students.”

“Well you’re very patient.” You complimented him as you stepped closer. “I see him beating up on you all the time.”

“Are you stalking me?” He teased and you shoved his shoulder.

“Says the boy who tells his aunt about my mini skirts.” You shot back before pulling your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Touché.” He squinted at you. “You know, you could’ve just told him to back off. Now you’re stuck pretending to be my girlfriend.”

“Would you stop?” You pouted as you sat back down on his bed. “I don’t feel stuck. I think this is gonna be fun.”

“Not that I’m not enjoying looking at legos with you, but wouldn’t you rather be spending your time with your actual friends? Not your fake boyfriend?” He asked as he took a seat beside you. You took a rubix cube off his nightstand and toyed with it, solving it almost immediately.

“Wanna know a secret?” You asked him as you handed him the solved rubix cube.

“Tell me.” He urged.

“I hate those people.” You laughed sadly. “All of them. Everyone who cares more about what brand you’re wearing than how your day was. I don’t think I’ve ever had an intelligent conversation with any of my “friends”.”

“Then why do you hang out with them? And how was your day?” He added to make you laugh.

“It’s a lot better now.” You said as you drew your knees up to your chin. You had shed your boots at some point and Peter could see your mismatched socks. “And I hang out with them because they count on me to. I don’t know when I became the cult leader around here but now they don’t leave me alone. It’s like, you have to be at this party and you have to wear a dress by this brand unless you got it from this store because that’s cheap. And you must wear your hair this way and drink this alcohol and know this song. It’s exhausting. That glue smells like flint stones vitamins, by the way. It’s all over my hands.”

“I didn’t realize being popular was so trifling.” Peter replied as he reached for a bottle of web dissolver (disguised as hand sanitizer) on his desk and offered it to you. You held out your hands and he squirt some in.

“I know how it sounds.” You said lowly. “I know that people would kill to have my status. But no one in my circle is happy. They’re running on 10 shots of expresso and fake smiles.”

Peter took what you said into consideration as he watched the solemn expression on your face.

“Are you unhappy?” He realized. You had said no one in your circle was happy, and he worried that included you.

“Sometimes. A lot of the time, actually.” You admitted and his heart sank. “I know it looks like I have a lot of friends, but I don’t have a single one. Not one who cares about me or checks on how I’m doing, anyway. I would give up my dozens of fake friends for one real one.”

You kept your eyes down as you spoke to hide your emotions, but Peter couldn’t ignore it. He tried to redeem himself from earlier by putting his hand over yours.

“I care about you.” He promised. “And I may be your fake boyfriend, but I’m your real friend…friend.”

You gave Peter a half smile and flipped your hand so you were holding his instead of just under it.

“You know, this is the first time I’ve done something after school that I actually enjoyed.” You told him.

“We could hang out more, if you want.” He suggested, not thinking you’d actually say yes.

“Yeah, totally.” You agreed, much to his surprise. Your smile seemed different to him, more genuine.

“To convince Flash, I mean.” He added quickly. Your face faltered a little and you took your hand away from his.

“Right.” You gave him a tight smile. “Flash.”

~

“I need to talk to you.” Peter whispered harshly the next morning when he found Ned at his locker.

“Is this about you walking home with Y/n? Everyone’s talking about it. People are saying you took her to an alley and killed her.” Ned recanted the rumors he heard with excitement.

“What? I didn’t kill her.” Peter defended. “She wanted to come over to see my legos.”

“Oh wow. And I had Tia and Tamera over to bake me a loaf of bread.” Ned said seriously.

“I’m being serious, Ned.” Peter sighed. “Flash was making fun of me and she just-“

“Peter!”

As soon as Peter turned around, you jumped into his arms and wrapped your legs around his waist. He quickly wrapped an arm around you to keep you from falling as you hugged him tightly. When you let go, he could see you were wearing his hoodie over a jean skirt. It reminded of of his sleepless night as he couldn’t get over the fact that his bedsheets now smelled like you. He tossed and turned all night with a smile on his face, too giddy to go to sleep. He didn’t even care when he heard the birds chirping, signaling that he had never fallen asleep. Nothing could break his smile.

“Good morning, baby.” You cooed as you kept your arms around his neck.

“Baby?” Ned sputtered. “Big confused.”

“Haven’t you heard? Peter and I are dating.” You smiled brightly as you linked your arm through Peters. A huge grin broke out on his face at your display of affection as Ned’s eyes bulged out of his head.

“Fake dating.” He said to calm his friend down.

“Semantics.” You replied quickly. “If anyone asks, we’re together.”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you.” Peter explained when Ned still looked shocked.

“Look! I’m wearing your hoodie.” You pulled the hoodie forward so Peter could see.

“And I have your small headband.” Peter held up his wrist to show you where the scrunchie was.

“It’s called a scrunchie.” You giggled. You took his hand and held it to your chest. “We look so convincing. Ned, don’t we look like a couple?”

“I’m having network connectivity problems.” Ned mumbled as he struggled to understand what was going on.

“Wait. I forgot I have to talk to the student council about the dance decorations.” You remembered. “See you at lunch?”

“Have a good day, s-sweetheart.” He stuttered out a new nickname he had always wanted to call you.

“Sweetheart? I like it.” You twirled yourself under his arm before walking away. “Shaking things up.”

Peter and Ned watched you walk away, Ned with his jaw slacked and Peter with his eyes soft.

“Dude.” Ned breathed.

“I know.”

“You have a fake girlfriend.” Ned said in disbelief. “And it’s Y/n.”

“I know.”

“You’ve been in love with her for years.” He whispered.

“I know.”

“She is way out of your league.” He looked at his friend.

“I know!” Peter exclaimed. “Do you think people are gonna buy it?”

“I don’t know.” Ned answered honestly. “Why did she agree to this? You didn’t try to kill her in an alley did you?”

“No, Ned. This was all her idea. She asked for my hoodie and gave me this little skirt for your hair.” Peter held up with wrist with the scrunchie again.

“It’s called a munchie, Peter.” Ned rolled his eyes.

“Well she gave me hers so people would know she’s my girlfriend. Or fake girlfriend. I don’t really know the details.” He sighed but broke into another smile. “She came over yesterday and God, she’s so much better than we thought. She’s funny and a good listener and everytime I thought I did something lame, she liked it. She liked me! This might be the greatest thing that ever happened to me, Ned.”

“But is this really what you want? You’ve liked her since the first day of school when her dad almost hit you with her car and she started crying.” Ned reminded him. “Do you really want your first relationship with a girl, especially this girl, to be fake?”

“MJ was right, Ned. A girl like that will never be interested in someone like me. This is the only chance I’m gonna have with her. And yeah, it’s a fake relationship. But it’s a real friendship. I’ll take what I can get if it means I can be close to her.” Peter decided.

“I don’t want you getting hurt, Peter. If this ends badly, it’ll crush you.” Ned said sincerely.

“I know what this. I know she’ll never actually like me. As long as I keep reminding myself that, I’ll be fine.” Peter insisted.

“Okay.” Ned patted his back. “If you say so.”

“Don’t-“

“Didn’t even notice. No punches there to roll with.” Ned began to sing as he walked down the hall. Peter kept his distance as he followed him to class, already thinking about the next time he’d get to see you.

~

Peter waited a lifetime for the lunch bell to ring. The best parts of his day were when he got to see you. Those parts were the morning if he got to his locker on time, lunch, 7th period, and after school when you had Volunteer Club. They met right across the hall from the Decathlon team and of Peter angled his chair correctly, he could catch a glimpse of you.

He kept his head up as he headed to his table, always on the lookout for you. He spotted his hoodie a few seconds before you made eye contact.

“There you are, baby.” Your eyes lit up as you made your way over to him. “Come on. Let’s eat together.”

Peters heartbeat quickened as you lead him towards your usual lunch table. It was already full of popular kids, the very popular kids that Peter feared.

“Your friends won’t like me.” Peter protested to save himself from 40 minutes of torture.

“No one at that table likes each other, Peter.” You laughed but he sensed a sadness in your voice. “Let’s sit with your friends then.”

You pivoted away from the cool kids table, earning yourself a glare from every inhabitant. It struck fear in Peters heart, but it didn’t phase you. You linked your arm through his again and led him towards Ned and MJ’s table.

“Are you sure?” Peter asked nervously as he made eye contact with an angry quarterback.

“Yes. Come on.” You tugged him harder until you got to the table.

“Hey guys.” You greeted Ned and MJ as you sat down. Ned looked up in shock and the water he was drinking fell out of his mouth.

“Girl?” He asked Peter, reverting to his inability to speak around you.

“Yes, girl.” You chuckled. “Come sit with us, Michelle.”

“Fine, but only because this cannot end well.” MJ picked you her stuff and slid next to you. You handed her her daily granola bar and she took it with a sly smirk.

“Flash is coming.” Ned whispered and you quickly took Peters hand. You leaned your head on your other hand and stared at him with a dreamy smile as Flash walked by. He shot you guys a look and pretended to gag before walking away.

“He totally bought it.” You squealed as you watched him sit down. “We are so good together.”

Peter nodded stiffly, his full attention on the fact that you were still holding his hand.

“Are you in the science fair too, Ned?” You changed the subject but began to trace patterns on Peters palm. It took him a moment to realize you were drawing daisies.

“No. I’m not.” Ned replied and everyone perked up.

“He just said a full sentence.” MJ realized.

“Yay!” You released Peters hand to clap softly. His hand felt cold without yours holding it and he felt disappointment sink in. He thought he’d be okay as long as he reminded himself that the relationship was fake, but he wasn’t. He wanted to hold your hand all the time, not just when Flash was around.

“Why not?” You asked as you opened up your lunch bag.

“I usually just hang out by the snack table until Peter wins. Then we go to Delmars and order a sandwich with every single ingredient on it.” He explained. “It wasn’t that bad until they added tuna to the menu. Tuna really doesn’t go with peanut butter and hot sauce.”

“Haha, he’s kidding.” Peter lies and shot Ned a look. “We don’t do that. That would be absurd.”

“I have this really strong feeling that you do do that-“

“Do do.” Ned chuckled.

“-and it sounds fun. Is it cool if I tag along this year?” You asked Peter, slipping your hand back into his. Peter looked at your intertwined hands before looking to Ned for approval.

“Girl welcome.” He nodded until he realized he was doing it again. “Damn it.”

“Of course you can come.” Peter made the decision when Ned was no help. “But I have to win first.”

“I’ve seen your picture in the display case the last three years. Come on, you had the robotics arm, the homemade spinneret, and the thing with the flies.” You surprised Peter by listing his lady entries. “This solar powered LEGO lamp is gonna blow the judges away. You’re gonna win. My boyfriend is the smartest guy in school.” You gloated as you moved some hair off Peters forehead.

“You know your don’t have to call him your boyfriend around us, right? We’re not the ones you’re trying to fool.” MJ cut in. Peters has tightened at MJ’s interruption.

“I know.” You said timidly and took your hand away from Peter again. He huffed out an angry breath but kept his mouth shut. If you could take his hand, he could take yours.

“She can do what she wants.” Peter said decidedly and laced his fingers through yours. You smiled proudly at him and squeezed his hand.

“Thank you, baby.” You said, happy he was taking initiative. “What are you doing after school today?”

“You’re in luck, Y/n. You chose the best possible boy to fake date. His schedule has been open for the last 18 years.” MJ jeered.

“Haha. Don’t you have a chicken to ritualistically sacrifice or something?” Peter shot back.

“Ooo. Witch joke. Original.” She whispered and twiddled her fingers like she was casting a spell.

“I’m not busy, daisy.” He ignored MJ and kept his eyes on you. “What did you have in mind?”

“I’ve been so busy planning the dance that I never got a dress.” You told him. “Would you come with me to pick one out?”

“Do I want to spend my afternoon watching you try on dresses?” He repeated your question back to you and you realized how boring it sounded.

“You don’t have to-“ You began.

“Hell yeah I do.” He cut you off and you smiled. “Where do you want to meet?”

“If you walk me home after school we can go from there.” You suggested. Peters mouth dried out at the thought of going to your house but he forced himself to nod.

“Okay.” He squealed.

“Shoot, I almost forgot. I have to meet with Mrs. Carlisle about the DJ.” You packed up your lunch and cupped Peters chin. “I’ll see you later?”

“I’ll be at your locker.” He nodded as your thumb slid off his chin.

“Good boy.” You smirked. “Bye Ned. Bye Michelle.”

Ned waited until you were out of sight until he freaked out.

“Dude! She invited you to her house! She totally wants to jump your bones.” He whispered loudly.

“Why would she jump on my bones? Like my skeleton?” Peter asked innocently. “You think she want to kill me?”

“How is the hottest girl in school interested in you?” MJ shook her head. “Especially when you ask questions like that.”

“Shes not into me. We’re fake dating.” Peter reminded them.

“And who’s idea was it to do that?” MJ cocked her head. “Because she called me yesterday to tell me all about your little plan.”

“Yesterday you were saying I’d never have a chance, and today you’re insisting that she’s into me?” Peter asked in confusion. “Wait, she called you? About me?”

“I hadn’t seen you interact before yesterday. She was doing girlfriend shit when no one was watching. Not even you! Check your notebook.” MJ grumbled and angrily took a bite out of her granola bar. Peter curiously opened his notebook and found a pink slip of paper inside. He opened it up and read it out loud.

“This is my favorite color on you. Have some sweet tarts, for my sweetheart. See you after school.” He read the note and held up a fun sized packet of Sweet Tarts.

“She put that in there when you were too busy staring at the jocks.” MJ told them. “Now tell me, why would she sneak candy into your notebook entirely out of Flash’s view? Who does that convince?”

“I love sweet tarts.” Peter muttered as he stared at the note. Even your handwriting was pretty.

“Everyone knows that. Remember when you had to go to the nurse freshman year on Valentine’s Day because you ate 18 packets?” Ned brought up.

“I don’t remember that.” Peter mumbled, trying to think of what Ned was talking about.

“Because you were sent home for going into a sugar coma.” MJ snorted.

“Wow.” Peter raised his eyebrows. “I never knew that.”

“Well she did. And now she’s sneaking you candy.” MJ said and laughed in disbelief.

“What’s so funny?” Peter laughed defensively.

“I think Y/n actually likes you. And I think that hilariously paradoxical.” She laughed again.

“What? No.” Peter didn’t allow himself to have hope, even for a minute. “She doesn’t like me. She’s just faking.”

“You’re going to her house today right?” MJ raised a single eyebrow. “See how she behaves. If you acts like your girlfriend when no one is around, you’ll know she isn’t faking.”

“Okay.” Peter decided, figuring he had nothing to lose. “Okay. I’ll do that.”

~

Peter stationed himself at your locker directly after school. He kept MJ’s advice at the front of his mind as he waited for you to arrive. All he had to do was observe you. He did that all the time anyway. Only this time, it counted. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and let out a breath.

“Baby.” He heard your sweet voice from behind him. He turned around and saw your equally sweet smile.

“Ready?” He asked as he took the books from your hands. You gave him a puzzled look and he explained. “I’m carrying your books for you. My uncle told me to do this when I got a girlfriend. I figured he’d still appreciate it, even if our relationship is fake.”

“He sounds like a smart man.” You said kindly and Peter nodded.

“He was. I’ll tell you more about him on the walk.” He offered and you smiled like you liked the idea. “Lead the way.”

Tag List 🏷

@a-villain-vying-for-attention​ @wendaiix3-blog​ @dorbiksbitch​ @t-monosapiens-h​ @badhollandfluff​ @silteplaittais-toi​ @thisisthebiplace​​ @seasidecrowbar​​ @spideygirl2003 @5-seconds-of-mendes @bitchylittleredhead @oh-whatabeautiful-parker @everydaymj @write-from-the-heart @blackpetalsmeandeath @electraheart-3174 @shawni-h @peterparkoure

[hansols-yoda-boxers]

Kitten Ears - Part 1

Joshua x Cat Hybrid Female!Reader

Word Count: 2935

Contents: hybrid au, reader in heat, lots of awkwardness, sensitive ears, clit stimulation

Tag List: @skjdln, @funinfundamental, @kwanismsworld, @taikalinna, @svt-mangos, @strawberry-artini, @lovesickmark, @cliffordmonarchy, @skylions-den, @karenbcy, @jisooderulo, @sleepy-star-boy, @brokenheartloving, @sno-leopards, @livorna

Note: From here on out the series is smut (except for the epilogue). Thank you all for support and love so far. Also please message me if you change your url so I can update it for the tag list.

Your nose always twitched when you were waking up. You took in the way Wonwoo smelled, his breathing was still deep and even so he was probably sleeping. He smelled so much stronger but all you wanted to do was get closer.

You shifted closer under the covers. You wanted to press your face into his neck and take in his intoxicating scent. The way the sheets felt shifting over your skin made your breath hitch. Your skin was sensitive and the sheets felt cool and comforting. You let out a small whimper at the feeling as you glanced at Wonwoo, your gaze drifting to his hands. Your mind started to wander to thoughts of him playing with your hair and trailing along your skin.

Your drowsy brain caught up a few seconds later and you let out a yelp as you pushed yourself back so hard you fell off the bed. Wonwoo stirred and mumbled something but you were barely paying attention. You rushed out of the room as he slowly sat up. You passed Mingyu in the kitchen but ran past before he could ask you anything, zipping through the living room and into your bedroom before locking the door behind you.

You sat panting on the other side of the door and you heard footsteps approach.

“Are you okay?” came Wonwoo’s gruff morning voice.

“Did something happen?” Mingyu added.

“I-I’m fine!” you called back, panicked. “Just not f-feeling well!”

You weren’t sure if you really convinced them but they did leave and you let out a sigh of relief. Of course your heat would start now. In all fairness you knew it had to be soon. They were usually every three months or so, at least for you. And it would explain why you were so whiny and emotional the last few days. You just hoped Mingyu and Wonwoo didn’t figure it out. You might be fine if you could just hide out and tell no one. You knew they said they were willing to help but how would you even ask for that? You knew if you spent too much time with any of them you would be tempted, you’d need relief. Even now you could barely get the day dreams of Wonwoo’s touch out of your head.

This was gonna be a long three weeks.

---

The first day was always the easiest. You knew that and still the first day had been rough. It was difficult staying locked in your room, especially when Joshua came knocking to see if you were okay. You could smell him from under the door and it made you whimper quietly, wanting nothing more than to touch him. You had spent the minute talking to him pressing your thighs together and trying not to whimper as you told him you just wanted to be alone. You snuck out in the middle of the night for food and otherwise stayed in your room.

Yesterday and today hadn’t been any better. Each day your heat got worse. You fever got higher, your sense of smell got stronger, and your skin got more sensitive. Each day Joshua checked on you and it was getting harder and harder to turn him away when he told you if you needed anything, anything at all, he’d help. Your mind was swimming with ideas that would have made your face flush if your skin wasn’t already so hot..

By now you were beyond discomfort and verging on pain. You wanted to cry from how badly you needed something, anything. You had never been very successful on your own and this heat was so much worse than any of the ones previous. You weren’t entirely sure why that was but you were beginning to wonder if you could make it to the end of the three weeks if the whole thing was going to feel like this.

At this point though, you absolutely needed a shower. You were hot and sweaty and as much as you didn't want to leave your room midday you couldn’t wait any longer. You held out until you couldn’t hear or smell anyone close by before slipping into the bathroom. It wasn’t the total relief you needed, but the cool water running over your hot skin helped a little. You felt a little better as you washed away the sweat and put on a t-shirt and thin shorts. It was a little cool for that but you were too warm to care and you knew your body would heat back up sooner or later.

You narrowed your eyes as your nose twitched, your hand halfway to the doorknob.

Joshua was definitely waiting outside.

You let out a hiss and plopped yourself down on the toilet lid, hoping he’d leave. Maybe he thought you were in your room, he hadn’t checked up on you yet today so it could be. You played with your fingers ideally, trying to suppress any thoughts of Joshua’s until he spoke.

“I’m not leaving until you come out.”

You gritted your teeth, ignoring him.

“I know you’re in heat and I’m not letting you suffer.” His voice was stern but still laced with concern. Between his tone and his scent your resolve was cracking far more quickly than you wanted. “I need to check your fever and if you don’t come out I’m coming in there.”

You felt the heat rising in your cheeks. You were starting to feel childish and you knew you should let him get whatever he wanted to do out of the way so you could get back to your room. You slowly opened the door and dropped your head at the look of disapproval on his face, taking in the sight of the bag in his hands and the thermometer held between his fingers.

He called your name and you looked at him, only barely meeting his eyes. He held out a thermometer and you felt your face heating more as you took it and stuck it under your tongue. He pressed the back of his hand to your forehead and sighed.

“You feel really hot,” he frowned. “You’re going to start feeling sick.”

You let out a huff, knowing he was right. You knew you’d feel ill if you ignored it but you were currently being humiliated so really, six of one, half dozen of the other.

The thermometer beeped and he pulled it from your mouth quickly. You barely had the time to react as he read it and scowled, before quickly grabbing your arm and dragging you into your room. You yelped and whimpered as he closed the door and made you sit next to him on the bed. You quickly pulled your knees to your chest and scowled.

“Alright, I already know you don’t want to talk about this or think about it but you’re worrying me. You have a bad fever, worse than they said is normal. You’re hiding in here away from everyone and I’m not even sure if you’re eating. And you’re shaking.” He gave you a very sincere look. “I don’t want to sit out there for three weeks without even offering to help.”

You watched him carefully. At this point it was almost stupid to deny you wanted him. Your brain was clouding with ideas and this was exactly why you wanted them all to stay away from you. Being this close to him was torture. He kept offering to help and that was sounding more tempting by the second as you gripped your legs tightly, but some small part of your brain reminded you that you didn’t think you could ever talk to him again if he saw you like that.

“I… I don’t need…” you trailed off, not sure what to do.

“Look, I know that an orgasm can break the fever,” you swore you noticed a slight pink tint his cheeks as he said that. “And I know you probably didn’t want them to tell me but the shelter did say you don’t have any previous experience-”

You groaned and hid your face. “Did you tell the whole house?”

“I mean… I thought it was important that the-”

“Joshua,” you whined. That small part of your brain was right, this was too embarrassing.

“I know that it might be awkward so I did think ahead and… uh, got you some things…”

You peeked at him. He was now clearly blushing as he opened the bag he’d brought in with him. Your eyes widened as you took in what he’d bought. Three brand new vibrators were now sitting on your bed and you were sure your face had never been hotter..

You still cursed yourself for not being able to tear your eyes away from Joshua’s fingers.

“I mean I figured you p-probably wouldn’t have any b-but that way if you really don’t want help from anyone you can handle it more easily on your own.”

You bit your lip, looking at him slowly. The whole idea was just too overwhelming. You had no clue where to start. Or, you knew in theory but in practice?

Joshua seemed to be watching you hopefully at first, but the longer you looked between the different vibrators, your eyes darting quickly to his hands and then his eyes, he started to piece together the reason for your apprehension.

“You don’t know how to use these, do you?”

“Of course I do!” you said indignantly. “I-In theory. B-But…”

He sighed, deflating a bit. “I… Okay.” You gasped as you felt his fingers on your chin, turning your face up to look at him. “You don’t look good and I know enough about this to know you shouldn’t just let it go. So do you want help?”

“W-What would, I-I mean w-what would t-that-”

“Do you want me to make you cum?”

Your nails were digging into your skin as your mind quickly processed his words. It wasn’t like you didn’t know what he’d been offering all this time but it felt different to have him state it so bluntly. His fingers on your chin felt nearly heavenly and it was just a light touch. His smell was intoxicating and the longer you breathed it in the more you wanted to pull him in and kiss his plush lips. Your need was outweighing any potential embarrassment, and besides, he was offering.

“Please,” you breathed. He moved closer to you and started to lean in. You quickly wrapped your arms around him and pulled him in for a kiss. He let out a small yelp in surprise before relaxing into the kiss. His hands were gentle as they found your sides and helped you lay back against your pillows. You tangled your fingers into his hair and whined, pulling him closer to you, needing him to touch you. You heard him chuckle at you and faltered in your kiss and pulled away a bit.

“Don’t laugh at me,” you whined quietly.

“I’m not. I won’t,” he said with a smile on his lips. “You’re just cute.”

You would have hidden your face but Joshua captured your lips in another kiss as his fingers caressed your face. You leaned into his touch and he hummed sweetly against your lips.

“I learned something when I was doing research before we adopted you,” he said sweetly.

“What did you learn?” you asked as his fingers moved from your face to your hair.

“That your ears will get… very sensitive during your heat.”

You felt your face heating even more as he pulled back from the kiss to look at you. You opened your mouth to say something but instead a moan fell from your lips, a shiver running down your spine as Joshua rubbed the base of your ear. You let your eyes flutter open and began to feel very flustered as Joshua smirked at you.

“Y-Yeah,” you managed shakily as you let your face fall to the side. Joshua’s fingers ran up your ear and scratched at the base and you bit down on your lip, trying to hold in your moans. His lips pressed against your jaw and slowly down your neck, leaving soft kisses before finding a spot to suck on.

You let out small whimpers as he continued to play with your ear, trying not to be too loud. You hadn’t thought about how he would hear your moans; how if someone was in the living room they might hear them too. You gripped at the sheets, your nervous thoughts getting distracted by the feeling of Joshua’s thigh pressing between your legs.

You let out soft pants as he dragged his nails up your ear lightly, rolling your hips against his thigh. You felt your need building more and more with every passing second. The heat pooling in the pit of your stomach had you moaning quietly. You felt like something was tightening as you panted faster, your tail flicking and batting against the bed.

His lips sucked a little more harshly at the base of your neck. He rubbed along the outside of your ear as his thumb trailed gently along the even more sensitive inside. You bucked your hips against his thigh, moaning out more loudly and letting out high pitched whines and mews as the coil inside of you released. You gripped the sheets and pressed your face as far as you could into the pillow as your body trembled and you squeezed Joshua’s thigh between your legs.

He pulled his hand away as you started to whimper and pant and caressed your face gently. You nuzzled against his touch as your eyes fluttered open. He smiled down at you as you tried to organize your thoughts.

“That felt… so good,” you hummed quietly, your gaze heavily lidded as you stared up at him.

“I’m glad,” he said, kissing your forehead before frowning. “But you’re still burning up. How do you feel?”

You bit your lip. You knew it meant your fever hadn’t broken and even though you were feeling better you knew your need was already building slowly again. You were nervous to ask but you knew you needed more.

“I-I think I need more,” you mumbled.

He grinned at you. “I had a feeling.”

He kissed you deeply, slowly swiping his tongue along your bottom lip. You let his tongue past your lips and got lost in the way he kissed you as his hand trailed slowly down your body. You let out a squeal as his fingers pushed past the waistband of your shorts. 

He stopped, pulling back to look at you and you whined at the sight of his glossy, kiss-swollen lips. “Do you want to stop?”

You shook your head and pulled him close again. “Just, go slow please.”

He smiled sweetly. “Of course.”

He kissed you again, letting his fingers rest against the skin of your lower stomach before ever slowly moving them lower. He kissed you deeply and rubbed soothing circles against your skin as he slowly crept between your legs.

You gasped and whimpered against his lips as his fingers pressed against your clit. He started to move his fingers in slow circles and you gripped him tightly, adjusting to the new sensation.

He moved his lips to your jaw. “Does that feel good?” he questioned.

“Mhm,” your answer was barely more than a whine between gasps and small moans. “S-So good.”

“Perfect,” he murmured against your ear before leaving kisses in the hollow below. 

Your fingers gripped his shoulder and hair as he pressed his fingers a little harder and moved them a little faster. You bucked your hips up against his hand as small moans cascaded from your lips. You held him as close as you could, his name mixing with the moans as they climbed higher in your voice.

You gasped and cried out as he moved his fingers faster and your legs shook as you reached your release again. Shocks of pleasure spread through your body. You bucked your hips up and he kept his fingers moving until you were panting and whimpering, twisting your hips away. You pulled him in for a kiss as he pulled his hand from your pants.

He rolled onto his back and gently pulled you closer. You clung to him and nuzzled your face into his neck, whining at his scent.

“Y-You’re, y-you didn’t-”

“Don’t worry about that,” he hummed. “Are you sleepy? Do you want to take a nap?”

“Mhm,” you whined. “But your smell…”

He kissed your forehead. “Will you be okay if I’m gone for a few minutes?” 

You nodded and he rolled out of bed. You grabbed a pillow and held it tight, your legs still shaking a little as you waited for him. You really should have done this sooner. This was so much better than just waiting it out and being uncomfortable and in pain for weeks. You wondered if Joshua would help you again. You assumed he already knew that you would get needy again sooner or later, though you didn’t know how long it would take.

You smiled at him sleepily as he came back into the room and climbed back into bed, now smelling equally as good but not in a way that was getting you worked up. You nuzzled against him and purred as he wrapped his arms around you.

“Thank you for helping me,” you mumbled sleepily.

He kissed the top of your head. “You’re welcome, now get some rest okay?”

You hummed in affirmation as you drifted off to sleep.

[takemealivelh]

Battle of the Bands Pt.3

2.4k | Enemies to Lovers | Pt.1 | Pt.2 | I honestly tried to look for a better picture that would fit this but I couldn’t so 

“You have a better view.”

To Jaida, there was nothing prettier than a Vegas morning. Pale pink-colored clouds and buildings, people walking with their coffees in their hands, either talking on the phone or with someone beside them. The Eiffel Tower made her feel like she was in Paris, even though she’d never left the states. She wondered if she’d be able to, after tonight.

Ashton shrugged from his position on the bed. Shirtless, red hair pushed back with a waking yawn, swollen marks on display. “Yeah, well… We’ve been around longer.” He reached out for a glass of water he had on the nightstand. “Are you nervous about tonight?”

The Billboard Awards started at 8 pm. Soundcheck was four hours prior and then the red carpet was at 6. 

Jaida turned to face him and leaned against the window banister. “Not really." She played with the buttons of the red shirt Ashton had left over a month ago at her place. He thought it looked stunning against her skin color. Unbuttoned, revealing the dark lingerie she had put on for him, covering just the right amount of her bare legs. “I love performing live. I prefer it,” she sighed and spun back around, resting her forehead against the condensed glass that overlooked the city.

The sun was hidden behind the clouds. She liked these kinds of days, they made her feel peaceful. The wild recklessness from the night before had already vanished, all that was left was a comfortable feeling. She could’ve gone as far as describing it as cozy. It startled her. This was the first time she didn’t feel like Ashton’s presence was a bother.

She’d surprised him the night before by knocking on the door of his hotel room, only two floors above from her and JJ’s. Ashton had a beer on his right hand when he opened the door. He didn’t get a chance to utter a word when Jaida unzipped the floor-length trenchcoat she’d bought a few days ago -for this exact reason- and revealed his half-buttoned shirt on her body. Ashton’s eyes had widened, breath caught on the back of his throat. He slipped a warm hand between the fabric of the silk outerwear and the cotton of the red shirt and grabbed her by the waist, making sure no one was around before he pulled her inside. 

“You want breakfast?”  

Ashton’s voice was husky, drenched in sleep. Throat sore from all the grunting of the previous night. “I was supposed to join my mates downstairs for the buffet, but we can order room service.” 

Jaida’s silence was longer than he expected it to be, he wondered what was going through her mind. She hadn’t left like she usually did, and he didn’t want her to go. Their hookups were consistently rough, fast and greedy, but last night had been different.

After pushing the trenchcoat off her body, Ashton had taken his time to tease her. He pressed his body against hers, pinning her against the nearest wall. His breathing had drawn out as he took the liberty to inhale the scent of her skin. He’d trailed slow, hot, suffocating kisses along her jawline. Jaida’s hands hadn’t gone immediately for the zipper of his jeans. She’d held onto his biceps, letting out small whines whenever his tongue would poke out.

“I’m craving eggs.”

Her voice snapped him out of the reminiscence. Ashton wrapped his fingers around the now empty glass of water. He took the time to explore her movements. The way two fine lines appeared between her eyebrows when she frowned. The way her frown seemed to last for only two seconds. How she brought her index finger -her fingernail, to be precise- to her right temple and tapped it four times. The way her chest and stomach seemed to rise when she took a deep breath through the nose, and the sizzling sound she made when she exhaled through the mouth.

She walked back towards him, standing close enough to feel the bed skirt on her knees. Ashton reached a hand to caress the outer side of her thigh, hoping that she’d lean down for a kiss. 

“I’m gonna take a shower, can you order?”

It wasn’t supposed to feel like a stab in the chest.

He hummed and nodded, feeling the skin of his arms bristle at the embarrassment of his train of thought. 

The water hit Jaida’s shoulderblades as she stood still. In less than 24 hours she would have to go on stage and perform. She hadn’t lied to Ashton, she really did enjoy performing, and she really did prefer that instead of playing in a studio or in a rehearsal room. The adrenaline her body experienced whenever the crowd would cheer, or when she’d catch a glimpse of a thousand people dancing, was addictive. Midnight Street had performed on live TV as well, several times, especially these past few weeks. Somehow, the Billboard Awards performance was stressing her. She didn’t like this new nerve-wracking feeling. She didn’t understand it.

Then again, it was the first time -in quite a while- that she’d have to go on stage, play and prove something to someone. 

The tabloids were divided, some of them were on her side. Most of them were on Ashton’s. Even when the Midnight Street single had been streamed well over 60,000,000 times on Spotify, the only reason the numbers were so high was because of Ashton. Her band had a good following that’d been there since the early days. EPs, demos, they were popular. 5SOS was an internationally loved and well-respected band, she was nervous she wouldn’t be able to keep up. The reputation of Midnight Street rested on her shoulders.

“Food’s here.” Ashton knocked on the bathroom door. The steam was seeping through the cracks. She had been there for a long time.

“Okay!”

Jaida turned the faucet off and pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes. She hoped some kind of acupuncture would help her calm down. But she did not know acupuncture.

“Are you alright?”

The voice echoed through the tiles, travelling to her ears. 

“Yeah!” she called, wondering if the weight on her chest would be gone by the night. “Just one second.”

Ashton had put on a pair of pyjamas bottoms to answer the door. He’d texted his bandmates that he had a rough hangover and he’d see them later for soundcheck. The smell of eggs and bacon filled the hotel room. Freshly squeezed orange juice, two mugs of Arabic coffee, whole-wheat toasts, a plate of strawberries, mangoes and pineapple. It took a lot for Ashton not to sink his teeth in the mouth-watering breakfast.

His eyebrows furrowed together when Jaida stepped out in a bathrobe. She had a towel wrapped around her head and her eyes were bloodshot red. Silently, she made her way towards the bed and sat on the edge, grabbed a piece of pineapple and chewed on it like she didn’t crave it. Ashton didn’t want to push her to talk, but he knew something wasn’t right. Her posture wasn’t the same confident one that drove him insane. She looked like a defeated warrior.

They ate in silence. Maybe he should’ve gone downstairs with his bandmates.

But she looked so worried. Ashton mentally cursed himself for thinking like an insensitive ass, but also for thinking like someone who cared.

A bluesy ringtone went off on the other side of the room. “That’s my phone.”

He watched her stand up and answer, he listened to her pretend she didn’t have a million things on her mind. She’d been fine the night before. She’d been tender under his touch and aggressive on top of him. 

“I gotta go.”

Jaida huffed and quickly went to grab her stuff on the dresser. Ashton’s suit was hung above, a two-piece black suit and a striped black-and-white shirt. She had joked last night that he’d given her the only piece of color he had in his closet.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes!” She snapped. “Fuck! Yes! I’m okay, I’m-” She trailed off when she saw the concern on Ashton’s eyes. He hadn’t moved from the bed. He hadn’t moved at all.

A long sigh escaped her lips as she threw her belongings back on the dresser and stripped off the bathrobe. Ashton tried not to be hypnotized by her nakedness. It wasn’t the time.

“This is your fault. This is all your fault.” 

Her words were harsh as she put the trenchcoat back on. Fingers shaking too much to slip on the lingerie. She let her hair fall, wet, behind her back as she tossed the towel on the floor. 

“What? Jaida, what’s going on? You were fine last night, you were-”

“Well, clearly not now!”

They remained silent for a while, eyes locked. Her breathing had increased its volume and its pace. Ashton walked over to her and she shook her head, took a few steps back, the back of her legs hitting the dresser.

He noticed the dark stains on the trenchcoat, droplets of her hair. She looked pale, her lips looked chapped. “I just wanna help.”

Ashton whispered against her skin, arms hesitant to wrap around her waist and bring her closer to him. She looked up at him. “You’ve done enough. It’s your fault that I’m this freaked out about something I do for a living.”

It dawned on him. The countless interviews he had insulted her, he hadn’t thought she would take it so personally. But how couldn’t she, when he was attacking her every single day? 

“To be fair, you weren’t so nice either.”

“Yeah, but my band isn’t as established as yours. After tonight, you will still have a career no matter what. I could fucking lose everything I’ve worked for. JJ has bent over backwards for this band, Ashton. Travis and Joel have nothing else. We have nothing else, okay?”

The fast vibrato on her voice broke his heart.

“Let me go!”

But he didn’t. Ashton held her tighter until she calmed down. He felt the tears against his naked chest and he cursed himself for getting too attached to this woman. The same woman who was crying because of him.

“I’m really sorry.”

Jaida pushed him away and wiped the tears off with the sleeve of her trenchcoat. “No, you’re not,” she scoffed. 

Before he could say anything else, she picked up her things and pushed right by him, going for the door. “See you tonight, then.”

-

Jaida had to reassure her band that she was okay. They’d been exchanging looks when they noticed how her hands were shaking, or when she almost tripped on the stairs, or when she almost hit a wall.

“I’m fine! JJ, no. I’m really fine.” 

She was dragged back inside the dressing room, JJ’s hand gripping on her wrist. 

“Listen, I love you but you need to tell us, or at least tell me, what is going on, okay? Soundcheck is about to start. We can’t have you playing with shaky hands, Jaida. Tonight has to be perfect.”

-

“Ash, you’ve been staring at your phone a lot. Everything okay?”

It was just the four members of 5SOS in the dressing room. They had just done their soundcheck and were getting ready to go back to the hotel, take a shower and dress up for the red carpet. As the rest of them were putting their guitars and bass in their cases, Ashton was glued to the sofa, not engaging in whatever conversation they had going on.

“It’s about that girl, isn’t it?”

Michael’s voice seeped right through his stubborn brain. Ashton looked up at his mates. 

“She was really freaked out this morning. She-”

“This morning?” Calum raised an eyebrow as the rest of the band walked over to where Ashton was sitting. They were intrigued. “You mean, you-”

“Yes, I fucked her last night.” Ashton shrugged and kept scrolling through his phone. He didn’t know what he was looking for, or if he was waiting for a text from Jaida or anything. “Yes, I have fucked her several times since we met. We’ve kept this thing going. And now she’s worried she’s about to mess up her band’s career because of me.”

No one said anything for a while. 

“Fuck, she’s right, isn’t she?” Ashton threw his phone to the side and dropped his head between his knees in frustration. 

“I mean,” Luke cleared his throat, “you started it, Ash.”

“You’ve said over and over again that Midnight Street is not gonna be around for long because of this, because of that… you really didn’t expect her to-”

Ashton stood up and interrupted Michael. “I can’t deal with this right now, I have to find her.”

“Do you think he likes her? Like, as more as someone he’s hooking up with?” Luke wondered after Ashton left the dressing room.

Michael shook his head, “I don’t know, mate. I do know he really thinks highly of her. And he respects her as a musician.”

“He’s so fucked.”

“Yeah.”

-

Ashton tried her phone, he tried her room, no answer. She wasn’t on the BBMA’s dressing room, she wasn’t on the hotel’s lobby. He couldn’t find her or any member of her band, for that matter. He needed to tell her that all of his stupid insults were because he felt threatened. Because he thought Midnight Street was a solid band and he didn’t want them to upstage his own.

The interviewers went straight for him as soon as 5SOS stepped on the red carpet. 

Ashton, what do you expect of Midnight Street’s performance tonight? Are you going to be watching Midnight Street’s performance? Ashton?

Is Midnight Street’s performance, Ashton, something you’re looking forward to seeing tonight?

He avoided the questions. 

“I’m looking forward to everybody’s performance tonight. I think it’s going to be a good night to celebrate music and to show our fans the thought and energy we put in our shows. As a band…”

Ashton didn’t give the answers the press wanted to hear. Instead, he stuck to the ones he hadn’t delivered before, but still rang true. He thought to himself how stupid he’d been, trying to put another band down instead of building up his pride and joy.

He felt a tap on his shoulder, he directed his eyes to where Calum was gesturing with his chin. 

Midnight Street had just arrived.

“Fuck.” He mumbled under his breath.

Jaida looked like a vision. He was so accustomed to seeing her in power suits that he almost forgot how great her legs were. A fitting, thigh-length, burgundy dress

-

-

-

This was supposed to be the end of this fic but I couldn’t bring myself to write anymore, maybe one day I’ll finish this but I probably won’t. If you’re reading this, thank you. I just didn’t want to have this draft laying around and not posting it. I’m probably being impulsive and dramatic (that’s who I am) but I am not happy. It hurt to realize that so I’m either gonna take a break or just not come back. Some kind of explanation here. Thank you for reading. It has meant a lot to me.

TAG LIST

@brown-eyedshell @thew0rldneedsmcreycghurt @myloverboyash @hopeless-renassianceluke @dukesnumber1@rip-lukes-balsamic @angelbabylu @cal-pal-cuddles @ashtons-favorite @1dthewantedlove @problematicprincessa@heartbreak-5sos @bloodmoonashton @lilacsos@irwinkitten @singt0mecalum @sublimehood @sugarcoated-pain@5sosnsfw@cal-puddies @lashtoncurls @dweebluke @rosecoloredash @@hotmessmichael@calumspeachy@ashtonsunshine @wonderland-irwin @ashtonandcalslefthand@post-traumatic-mess @damselindistressanu @c-dizzle-swizzlex@mycollectionofnuts @calteahood @rainingcal @o0idk0o @cals-eyebrows

@kingxnichole @placeoftime

[5hining-aus]

Arranged Marriage AU - Dinner Party

I’m pretty happy with how this came out. Sure, there are a few parts where I’m kind of “meh” but as a whole, I’m pretty pleased! The POV switches between the members throughout this, but the changes are clearly marked. Also, you’ll see things like ?/P/N, that was just my way of making sure there weren’t 5 Y/Ns at once. For this story, Y/N is the partner of whoever’s POV it is, while ?/P/N is everybody else’s partners (the question mark changes into the proper letter, so for example, O/P/N would refer to Onew’s partner whenever it isn’t Onew’s POV)  Anyway, I hope you enjoy and as always, let me know what you think!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Key~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Are the potatoes ready to be boiled? Yes. Vegetables washed, chopped, and ready to fry? Also yes. Chicken marinating? Yes. All that’s left now is to boil the wine and add the vegetables once they’re done frying. I’ll just go grab that now...Wait, what the...where’s the wine? It was right there, where did it go?

Kibum began ransacking the cabinets and counters, looking like a crazed man, in an attempt to find the bottle of Burgundy that he was positive had been right in front of him.

“Bummie...are you alright sweetie?”

Head perking up, Kibum peered over the counter towards the voice. Or, at least that’s what he meant to do. He had forgotten about the new countertops that had recently been installed, and he forgot that said countertops overhung just a bit more than the old ones.

“Kibum!”

“I’m okay, I’m okay. Wow, that is a strong counter.”

Massaging his head as he stood up, Kibum was finally able to see his beloved. Y/N was standing just on the other side of the counter, a look of utter concern spread across her face.

“Are you sure you’re okay Kibu? You look like you just went through a tornado,” Y/N paused, seemingly taking in the state of everything around them. “And so does the kitchen, what HAPPENED in here?”

Kibum rubbed the back of his neck and felt himself shooting his shocked-looking spouse a sheepish grin.

“I couldn’t find the wine.”

Y/N looked at him as if he were insane.

“Do you mean this wine?”

Lo and behold, Y/N was holding the very bottle of Burgundy that Kibum had torn the kitchen apart trying to find.

“Where did you find it?”

Y/N pointed over at the kitchen table, the one place that Kibum had apparently not looked.

“Oh…”

“I still don’t understand why you do this to yourself every month. Why don’t you relax for once, let someone else stress about the cooking.”

Kibum lightly placed a hand over his chest, pretending to be appalled at the suggestion.

“And let somebody else get all the praise? Never!”

Y/N didn’t even try to hide her giggles.

“Whatever you say, Chef Key.”

Y/N pressed a quick kiss to Kibum’s cheek and left the kitchen. Turning his attention back to the food, Key sighed and poured himself a bit of the wine.

A little wine for the stew, and a little wine for the chef...Hmm, a little more won’t hurt...A bit more...And a few drops more for good luck.

Once he was finished pouring his glass of wine (which was almost filled to the brim,) Kibum took a long sip.

“Okay, here we go.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Onew~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Did we get the strawberries?”

“Yes Jinki.”

“What about the blueberries?”

“Yes Jinki.”

“And the-”

“Jinki, darling, relax, we have everything that we need. All that’s left is the whipped cream.”

Jinki breathed a sigh of relief. Kibum had put him and Y/N on dessert duty and, in true Jinki and Y/N fashion, they had left it until the last minute, hence the reason they were in the middle of an unfamiliar supermarket mere hours before the dinner party was set to begin.

“So we need the dairy aisle. Where do you think it is?”

“I don’t know, lets go,” Y/N looked around and pointed in a random direction, “that way.”

That way was not the right way. Instead, they found themselves back where they began: in the produce section.

“Jinki?”

“Yes dear?”

“I miss our supermarket.”

Jinki nodded solemnly, but then, after spotting something on display, he had an idea.

“I know Y/N, so do I. This place is just such,” Jinki reached over and grabbed an ear of corn, “a maize.”

Y/N groaned and placed a hand to her forehead.

“You did not just do that.”

“Oh, but I did,” Jinki grinned.

“I want a divorce.”

Jinki let out a laugh and continued on.

“You say that sweetheart, but we both know that you think my puns are,” he pulled a lime out from behind his back, “sub-lime.”

“Please stop.” Y/N looked as if she was somewhere between tears and laughter.

“Just give in and join me Y/N. It takes two to,” putting back the lime, Jinki grabbed a different piece of fruit, “mango.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s a papaya.”

Jinki frowned just a bit.

“Come on Y/N, why’d you have to...beet me up like that?”

“Nope. Not today. I’ll be in the frozen section over there if you need me.” Y/N said before walking off.

A few minutes later, Jinki found Y/N again and tapped her on the shoulder.

“Hey, hey Y/N.”

“Hmm?”

Jinki handed his wife a bag of frozen peas.

“Jinki, what’s this for?”

Trying to contain his glee, Jinki replied.

“It’s a peas offering.”

Y/N looked utterly defeated.

“Let's go find the whipped cream.”

About five minutes later, the duo finally managed to find the dairy section. Jinki had exhausted his list of food related puns and things were quiet. That is, until Y/N returned from who knows where. 

Why does Y/N have a basket?

“Hey, Jinki.”

“Yeah?”

Y/N grinned.

“I know I was being,” Y/N reached into the basket and grabbed a carton of berries as well as a container of salt, “berry salty earlier but I just want you to know,” Y/N quickly swapped the berries and salt out for two other items, “honey, I think you’re egg-cellent!”

“Did you go through the whole store just so you could make those puns?”

“Yes, yes I did.”

The pair started giggling, attracting the attention of other shoppers. Not that they cared. And upon seeing Y/N smiling brightly, Jinki felt his whole chest warm up.

“Y/N, I’m not excellent,” Jinki reached into the refrigerator and grabbed the very thing that he and Y/N had been searching for for so long. “I’m just whipped for you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Minho~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Minho. It’s been 20 minutes. Please, I’m begging you, just pick one.”

Y/N’s plea fell on deaf ears, Minho was far too absorbed in trying to decide which tie would be best to wear to the dinner party.

Hmm, should I go with the maroon, or the charcoal grey?

“Min, you aren’t meeting royalty, any one will do.”

Minho shook his head.

“No, it has to be perfect.”

Judging by the look on her face, Y/N was about two seconds from either tears, or strangling her husband.

“Minho, it’s our regular monthly dinner, you don’t need to look like a supermodel.”

“But I do, Y/N.”

“Why?”

Minho felt his cheeks heat up ever so slightly. How the hell was he supposed to tell Y/N that the reason he was being so meticulous about his appearance was so she’d think he was the handsomest guy there?

It sounds childish even just thinking about it.

“I promise that there’s a reason. Please just trust me.”

Y/N sighed.

“Alright then, what about the navy blue one that Key got you for your birthday last year?”

Minho began searching for said tie, quickly finding it and pulling it out with a flourish.

“You mean this one?” Minho questioned.

“Mmmhmm, that’s the one,” Y/N paused for a moment, diverting her gaze. “It looks really good on you. It brings out your eyes.”

Minho perked up. I should wear this one more often if that’s what she thinks!

“Here, let me.”

Before Minho could protest (not that he would have) Y/N began tying the tie around Minho’s neck.

“Is that too tight?” Y/N asked.

Minho hadn’t even realized that he had been staring at his partner, completely oblivious to the world around him.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“The tie. Is it too tight?”

“Oh right, the tie. No it’s uh...it’s perfect.”

Way to go Choi, you sound like an idiot.

“Good, I’m glad I didn’t strangle you.”

They pair both let out small laughs.

“So, Y/N, do you think I’ll be the handsomest guy at dinner?”

Minho noticed the small smile that graced Y/N’s face at his question.

“Of course I do. Sure, all the guys are handsome, but you’re always number one...To me at least.”

“That’s all I needed to hear, lets go!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Jonghyun~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I can’t believe we let ourselves get roped into this,” Jonghyun muttered to Y/N while waiting outside Kibum and K/P/N’s mansion.

“To be fair, Key was rather persuasive.”

“How do you even decorate for a casual dinner party anyway?”

Y/N was silent for a moment.

“...Jongie, you don’t think he wants us to clean that crystal chandelier in the dining room, do you?”

Jonghyun’s eyes widened and he shuddered at the thought. The memory of when Kibum last enlisted everyone to help clean the thing was still fresh in his mind, despite the event in question having happened a year prior.

“No, no, he wouldn’t...He couldn’t seriously expect that. It took ten people over five hours to clean it last time, he can’t seriously expect the two of us to do it alone.”

Suddenly, the door opened.

“Jonghyun! Y/N! You’re here!”

K/P/N was dressed to the nines and absolutely beaming at the sight of Jonghyun and Y/N.

“Hello K/P/N!”

“You look lovely K/P/N!”

K/P/N blushed and shot the pair a bashful smile.

“Thank you, you two look amazing as well. Come in, come in!”

The duo was ushered inside and led to the dining room.

“Should we go tell Kibum we’re here?”

K/P/N shook her head wildly.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. He’s on his fourth soufflé attempt and I’m afraid he’ll have a breakdown if another one falls. It’d be best to just leave him be.”

Right after the sentence left K/P/N’s mouth, a loud wail was heard from the kitchen, as if on cue.

“I’m...going to go make sure he isn’t violently sobbing on the floor.” And with that, K/P/N ran off towards the kitchen.

Jonghyun and Y/N shared a glance, both silently wondering if they should follow their friend.

“We should probably let K/P/N handle...that.”

Jonghyun nodded, wholeheartedly agreeing with his partner.

“Alright then, let's get to work!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Taemin~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Food food food, I’m gonna eat some food, Taemin hummed as he drove Y/N and himself to Kibum and K/P/N’s house.

“Nice song there Taem,” Y/N teased. Taemin felt his face heat up.

“Did I really say that out loud?”

“Yes, yes you did. You did a little dance too.”

“Oh…”

The car was quiet for a few beats, until Y/N broke the silence.

“Food food food, we’re gonna eat some food~”

A grin broke out on Taemin’s face and soon he and Y/N were singing a duet of the food song.

All was well, until they heard a strange noise.

“We’re gonna eat some-What was that?”

“I don’t know, probably nothing.”

A few moments later, Taemin would realize how wrong he was. With one last ker-chonk, the car stopped moving. The ensuing silence was palpable.

“.....”

“..........”

“Well….”

“......Shit”

The couple sat still for a moment with no other words spoken between them.

“...We should probably check the engine.”

“Good idea.”

Taemin and Y/N scampered out of the car and over to the front end of it. Lifting the hood, the duo took a good look at what was underneath.

“Well, that’s definitely an engine.”

“I agree, it looks very enginey.”

Taemin looked at Y/N once more.

“We should probably call someone.”

“Yeah, yeah we should.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Third Person~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Delicious smells filled the air as Kibum brought the food out from the kitchen. The dining room went quiet and everyone present perked themselves up, silently asking to be fed. Taemin and T/P/N (who had arrived just 10 minutes prior) seemed to be swaying their heads from side to side, moving to the beat of some sort of song that it almost seemed they were telepathically sharing. O/P/N and K/P/N had their utensils at the ready, prepared to dig in as soon as there was food on their plates. Jinki and Minho were like statues, laser focused on the food as if it was the most important thing in the world. Meanwhile, Jonghyun, J/P/N, and M/P/N tried to be still, but they failed almost immediately and were wiggling in excitement.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity (but in reality was only about five minutes,) Kibum placed the final dish on the table and dramatically waved his arms in a sort of “bon appétit” gesture. Everybody was poised to dig in but before they could, there was a small clinking noise.

Jinki was standing up, tapping his knife gingerly against his glass and waiting for everyone’s attention. Once he had it, the group’s unofficially-official leader spoke.

“We all know the rules: No talking about work, politics, or business.” Jinki stressed the “business” part and shot pointed looks at Kibum, Jonghyun, and O/P/N (not surprising considering that those three were always the biggest breakers of the “no business talk at the dinner table” rule,) “We are going to sit down and have a nice meal like a happy family.”

A murmur of agreement rang throughout the dining room and soon everybody was eating, drinking, and just generally being merry. Things were calm, a welcome change from the events that everybody had gone through earlier in the day. Whether it was a missing bottle of wine or car troubles, all the group’s previous worries melted away as time went on. Sure, some of them may have wound up eating or drinking a bit too much and ended up paying the price later, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered were the little moments that they all spent together.

[littlemonstersau-blog]

The Feels Awaken Part 1: Return of the Memori

Written by @jkl-fff, illustrated by me

PART I (you are here)  - PART II

———————————————————————————————–

The lone wolf sat and watched, and that was an excellent development; the creature was learning to wait patiently, even though it was a wild, apex predator and doubtlessly could have ripped the dead squirrel from the hands of a teenage boy with ease (under normal circumstances, at least). Of course, since Bill was only wearing the clone of a teenage boy, he probably had an advantage in training the lone wolf. It could sense him—the real him—inside the clonesuit, and therefore was wary of making any aggressive moves … Animals always were around Demons, unlike most humans. Another instance when instinct trumped intellect …

So, instead, the lone wolf sat and watched patiently while Bill swung the dead squirrel around by its tail. Sat and waited for Bill’s conversational monologue to end.

“You’re prob’ly wondering why I haven’t eaten your soul like I did Chatterface McBurymynuts right here. And why I’ve taken to feeding you the soulless carcasses of my victims in person instead of just leaving them out for you. Well, I got three reasons. One: I like your aesthetic; you’re nearly all triangles in shape—really angular all over your body—and I really dig that. You’re relatably triangular, and I wanna see more of that in the world. Two: you’re endangered; if I let you live, there will be more wolves (so more angular creatures) in the world … and also more werewolves, which would be weird and awesome. And three …” Here, with a grin, Bill tossed the dead squirrel high and watched as the lone wolf snatched it out of the air. “Yeah, that’s right, wolf it down—heh heh! The third reason is, I’m gonna partially domesticate you and train you to pull me around in a sweet-ass chariot! Doesn’t that sound rad?!”

Having swallowed the last of the squirrel, the lone wolf turned and padded away into the woods.

“Don’t worry, we’ll talk more about how awesome my idea is later!” Bill called after him. “Just think a bit about what a fair exchange it would be! Actually, it’s a great deal for you! Tasty treats just for letting me occasionally ride you into battle like a chaotic, Norse deity! We can workshop ideas about the chariot’s design next time!”

On a nearby branch, a bird chirped.

“No, I think the wolf’s gonna seriously consider my offer,” Bill replied optimistically. “This is all just part of the deal-making game, which you’d understand if you weren’t a dumbass robin.”

The bird chirped again, then flew away.

“… Welp, that killed some time. Guess I’d better go back to the Shack and find some other activity to pass away the seemingly endless seconds until I get to skyelp with my Dipper …”

While he was tromping back through the woods, however, Bill was distracted by an unusual, yet strangely familiar sound. Juddering and throaty, then sharp and quick, then juddering and throaty again. Repetitive, too, though intermingled with a soft noise almost like keening or … no, exactly like whimpering. Then it clicked for Bill, even though he hadn’t heard that sound in over thirty years. It was the sound of a grown man sobbing. And not just any man, either, but Ford.

Softly, Bill crept towards him, eventually looking through bushes to the stump of a felled tree. Ford sat on it, hunched over and alone, crying as though he couldn’t hold back his own tears … as though he were too weary to hold them back anymore … That was probably why he’d come all the way out here in the woods, Bill suspected, where no one could see his moment of emotional vulnerability. Or so he had believed, at any rate, not knowing Bill was out here …

On Ford’s lap was an open book with brightly—even garishly—colored pages. One of the many scrapbooks Mabel had made. In between bouts of sobs, he slowly turned the pages and murmured things like, “Can’t believe she came b-back with a whole handful of it … So t-tough, even though always so sweet …” and “Terrified, but he f-faced it down anyway … for me … And I was s-so … so proud …” and “Heh! That f-fashion show she put together for Pacifica, made us all t-take part in … Can’t remember when I laughed so h-hard …” and “Oh, here’s that Jack o’Mellon he carved like the Gremloblin … from m-memory … So t-talented … And then they went trick-or-treating together both as the protagonist from that one game series—Myth of Hilda, or something like that?—Moses, it was adorable …” to himself. With each turn of a page, he was reminiscing about something different from the past summers: family game nights, hikes and fishing, short roadtrips, and on and on and on … Ford himself summed it up succinctly when he finally closed the scrapbook, buried his face in his hands, and whimpered, “Damn, I m-miss those kids!”

For a moment, a spark of bitter satisfaction flared up in Bill (“Good. Let that asshole suffer.”). And yet, it was soon doused by empathetic pity and sorrow (“I feel the same, though—we all feel the same … We all miss those kids …”). Then came a splash of feeling surprised, because of all the pity and sorrow; they were still such strange emotions for him as to be almost foreign. Following that, a bit of meta-emotional introspection at realizing he was feeling about feelings. Fortunately, before Bill could become too confused and horrified by the idea that he had become so human as to have feelings about having feelings, Ford stood and slowly trudged back home. After a safe amount of time had elapsed, Bill did the same.

Inside the Shack, sitting on the card table in the living room, was the scrapbook (no doubt left there by Ford on his way down to his lab). Along with several more of them. Picking up the most recent one, Bill began to flip slowly through its colorful pages filled with photos, stickers, notes, and miscellaneous memorabilia.

And as he did, he began to flip slowly through his own memories …

****

Terrified screams as he burst forth from his prison of a stone statue, rose up over them out of his shell (“Did you miss me? Admit it, you missed me!”), and tried to … tried to …

Bill shuddered to think of what he had almost done—what he surely would have done, if he had had enough power at the time. “Thank all the Gods that ever were or will be that that failed …” he muttered to himself.

Making little overtures of friendship—or at least not-malice—to Mabel until he got her to listen to his spiel about wanting to understand how he lost to them and to change and blah blah blah. Ford’s utter disbelief that the others could be so easily suckered. Entering a clone that first time and devouring that delicious little bit of soul in it (“Yum! Tastes just like mangoes and fear!”).

“They shouldn’t have. Ford was right that I was plotting their doom back then … Not anymore, but they all took a huge and stupid gamble, and just happened to get lucky … We all did …”

Steel slicing through paper and ink, dumping the scraps of bodies left, right, and center and relishing the screams of surprise (“Hehehehehe! What, you didn’t like my joke? You wanna … piece of me? Hahaha! Well, take your pick, there are plenty of pieces of me there on the floor!”). Sharpening his teeth to fine points to chomp at people. Gouging out his own eye. So much edge and shock at play, cold and hot at the same time, hilarious ticklings of pain.

“Such a waste of clonesuits,” Bill sighed. “And … all for the sake of just shocking them? Taking advantage of their love of Dipper? Stupid—can’t believe I thought that was funny at the time … So much time wasted during those first few weeks of the summer. Don’t wanna remember that, not anymore … wanna remember something else, something happier …”

Jokes so bad they made everyone groan, which made everyone laugh. Fireworks made of lasers. Taking part in an impromptu fashion show for the newest line of summer sweaters. Watermelons carved into jolly grotesqueries, lit with candles, and eventually tossed from the roof to splat. Making muffins with apple and cinnamon. Uncontrollable laughter at a rock shaped like a dong and after arcs of water accidentally melted another clonesuit. Wonderous eyes aglow with uncontainable excitement and the soft light of an everadiant crystal. Warmth of a shared blanket and the fun betrayal of an ambush of tickling underneath them. Kisses snuck around corners, behind doors, within shadows, inside the safety of a Nice Place.

“Heh …” Bill couldn’t help but smile to himself. “Even when I start out with all the others, too, it always comes back to him … But maybe I should focus more, not just look at the flashes and snapshots of memory? Delve in deeper to some memories? After all, what’s the point of perfect recall if I hardly ever use it? But, um …” Looking around the currently empty (though perhaps not for long) living room, he closed the scrapbooks and stood up. “Maybe up in the attic, where there’s a little more privacy …”

****

It was one specific memory that detoured his chain of thoughts, as memories tend to do.

Dipper. Sitting on a couch with Ford standing behind him, reaching over the couch to him. Flushed with simple happiness as Ford tousled his hair and praised his monster hunting work from that day. “Good boy, m’work! Er, I mean, good work, m’boy!” he had said, making Dipper smile so big and bright that the room had practically glowed with it. Bill’s insides certainly had.

Déjà vu, though, he had felt it then, too, remembering it. Almost exactly déjà vu … So Bill decided to follow the tangential thread of it now.

A young Ford, seventeen or eighteen, maybe—not yet out of high school. Sitting on the couch of his childhood home. A young Stan standing behind him, reaching over the couch to him.

“Oh, yeah … That’s why it’s so familiar; I watched it in Sixer’s memory and then more or less reenacted it for him. With him. Whatever, twice. Back when we were still working together, back when we were still friends …”

A young Ford flushed with simple happiness as Stan tousled his hair and praised his shipbuilding from that day. “You’re such a good cabin boy! Good work, me ol’ cabin boy!” he had said, making Ford smile so big and bright that—here the déjà vu ended and became simple memory— (“Pff! Why am I the cabin boy?” “Duh. ‘cause I’m the captain!” “Why do you get to be captain?” “Heh. ‘cause I can do this!”) Stan had swung over the top of the couch to drape himself across Ford. Pinning Ford down, while both brothers trashtalked and giggled and squirmed … and then gradually began to kiss …

“Was this the first time Sixer and me …? Ha! Yeah, it totally was! The very first time I set Sixer’s mindscape stage and played a part for him to work out some of his many, many issues. First of many … How’d it go, anyway? How’d we even get to this point? Need to rewind …”

Bill blinked, and the scene formed. Ford’s mindscape as it once had been: an endless field of strange but beautiful flower blossoms stretched to the horizon in every direction, with gleaming structures like the lovechildren of marble-cut temples and glass-and-steel skyscrapers rising in the distance-yet-closeness-of-thought like the aspirations of some new deity of science-fiction-becoming-science-fact, bold and untainted by the conformist conventions of old; swirling slowly overhead, so close one could have climbed up and touched, was a vault of stars, galaxies, quasars far larger than they appeared from earth and blazing so brightly that the field below them was as illuminated as a comfortable reading room; stairways made of books and journals ascended high to viewing platforms made of solid theories, equations, and blueprints all like shining neon signs.

Bill blinked again, and he saw himself chattering away about whatever had been their project. There was Ford, a late-twenties man and cutting-edge weirdologist in a weatherworn trenchcoat. Unusually subdued that day, though … Normally nigh manic with energy and enthusiasm, overflowing with ideas and theories and observations and cornball jokes to contribute to or even to drive the conversation … but not that day … No, that day, he barely listened to Bill or looked at the images and organizing visual aids Bill had mentally conjured for their brainstorm together. And when Bill turned to see why, he found Ford’s back was to him as he gazed away out across a sentimentally altered portion of the mindscape: salty sand strewn with bits of trash at the edge of a turbulent sea, all under clouds that were dusky and dusty from reflecting the dying daylight, and a sailboat at the center of Ford’s attention and therefore of his mind … listing and sinking into dark waters, the name on the prow all but lost to the waves—“Stan o’ War” now just “Stan”.

Bill watched the rest of what had happened as one might watch oneself on camera.

“Oh boy … I smell emotional issues …” he muttered before floating up beside Ford’s shoulder. “Got something on your mind, Fordsy ol’ buddy? Besides me, that is.”

“S-sorry, I just, um, got distracted,” Ford stammered apologetically. “I’ll try harder to focus. Won’t happen aga—”

“Because of your brother? It’s the anniversary of the day he got kicked out of the family, right?”

Ford gaped in shock for a moment. “… You … You know about that? But how?”

“For one thing, all the trash ‘round here is crumpled or torn up calendar pages for the same date. For another, I’m your Muse,” Bill replied, as though it should have been obvious. “I’m literally inside your head with all your memories at my fingertips, looking for anything I can use to help inspire your success.”

Blanching white, Ford asked, “All of them? You can s-see … all my memories?”

“Yep times a thousand! So I know you and your brother were—heh—close before that incident.”

Ford blushed.

“So no wonder you get distracted thinking about him today. Wasn’t that the last time you ever saw him?” Bill continued conversationally.

“Um, I … Maybe I m-might’ve seen him once after that. During my college graduation, but … Don’t know, honestly,” Ford admitted sadly. “Might’ve just imagined him being in the crowd.”

“Wishful thinking? ‘cause you got some stuff to get out of your system with him?” Bill waggled his eyebrow, making Ford blush a second time. Before he could respond, though, Bill suggested, “Y’know, I could help you unpack some of that emotional baggage you’re lugging around. Which’d help us get back to productive work sooner—get you from distracted back to tracted.”

“First of all, that’s not a word—”

“It is now that I’ve used it! Tracted, adjective, the state of being that comes after one has been distracted but is focusing once again.”

“Second of all … How could you help with that?”

“Why, with a little bit of roleplay. I know how much you love to roleplay, Fordsy ol’ pal.”

“I don’t know …” Ford said uncertainly. “This isn’t exactly a D&D&MoreD campaign. Besides, this is hardly an appropriate setting, and … well, no offense, but your voice and mannerisms aren’t exactly reminiscent of Stan (or most humans, for that matter). I doubt I could get into it.”

“Heh. You’re just saying that ‘cause you ain’t never seen what a good actor I can be. Goes with the territory of being a MASTER OF THE MIND! Watch this!” Bill clapped once, then suddenly multiplied into a dozen more Bills.

“Whoa! What the—”

From nowhere, the original Bill pulled a megaphone, a chair with the words “Director” and “Leading … Well, Not ‘Man’ Per Se, But Close Enough” on its back, and a thick script. “OKAY, YOU SUPER SNAZZY STAGECREW,” he projected through the megaphone. “LET’S GET THIS STAGE CLEARED AND READY FOR A NEW SCENE! LET’S MOVE! AND SOMEONE GET ME A TWO-CREAMS-ONE-SUGAR COFFEE AND A MAPLE LOG! What about you, Fordsy? You want anything? Same thing, yeah? DOUBLE THAT ORDER! ONE FOR ME, ONE FOR MY COSTAR!”

Slack jawed at all the activity flurrying around him—one Bill pulled a rope from nowhere, causing the seascape (while waves continued to toss, clouds continued to billow, and the ship continued to sink) to part down the middle like a theater curtain and swish away; another Bill pulled a massive pushbroom from nowhere and cleared away all of the beach (sand, trash, and salty odor) to leave a hardwood platform beneath; several other Bills were now wheeling away the endless fields of flowers that stretched to the horizon (plus the phantasmagorical buildings standing among them) like scenery backdrops painted on squeaky canvas frames—Ford could only mumble, “Costar?”

“Well, duh, Fordsy ol’ chum. We’ll be centerstage, you and me, and in the spotlight together—me as Stanly, you as yourself. If that doesn’t make us costars, I don’t know what does!”

“BOOOOOO!” another Bill shouted from behind them, seated in a newly revealed spectator section with boxes of popcorn. “Directors shouldn’t play parts in their own productions! That’s a crass and masturbatory act of egotism that invariably cheapens the production! BOOOOOO!”

“Just ignore heckling critic me,” the original Bill told Ford. “Now, speaking of the spotlight … LET’S GET THE LIGHTING AND SOUNDCHECKS DONE, MES! TIME IS MONEY! AND WHERE’S OUR COFFEE AND DONUTS ALREADY?! WHAT AM I PAING YOU FOR?!”

Yet another Bill came trundling up with a long rack of costumes that looked exactly like the contents of Ford and Stan’s old bedroom closet. While going through them, he pointed out, “You’re not paying us for anything, babygorgeous, because we don’t actually exist. We’re just visual constructs you conjured to represent the complex yet entirely abstract process of manipulating a mindscape into a specific scenario Stanford can experience (or reexperience in the case of actual memories) so it feels to him as if it was entirely real. This whole setting is, too. Also because you’re extremely melodramatic, overly theatrical, and crave being the center of someone’s awed attention, sugardumpling.”

“One more smart-alecky remark like that, and you’re fired!” the original Bill snapped.

“No! Please, angelpie, I need this job! I need the money, or they’re gonna break my legs!”

“Fine. Just go get the makeup equipment already. AND WHERE ARE WE ON THE LIGHTS?!”

Ford looked up to see a span of catwalks and electrical equipment overhead. The Bill up there gave a thumbs up. “Good to go, boss! Same with sound, too!”

A new Bill came running up with a platter. “Here’s your coffee and donuts, sir!”

“Freakin’ finally!” the original Bill exclaimed, passing over one of each to Ford before snatching the others for himself. “I’d have you dragged into the alley behind this soundstage and shot for taking so long, except we’re not actually in a soundstage and you’re just too darn cute to kill.”

“Oh, sir, you’re gonna make me blush!”

Taking a bite out of his maple log with his eyelid, the original Bill snapped, “Stop being so cute and go find something useful to do.” Then, turning back to Ford, he continued lightly, “Yep, costars, you and me! Collaborators! Partners in … What? There something on my face?”

With a gulp, Ford asked, “Is … Is that how you eat? With your eye?”

Bill smiled despite not having a mouth. “Only when I’m in polite company.” Then he took a sip of his coffee—a long, slow sip while looking right at his weirdologist friend (who spazzed reflexively at the sight of coffee washing into sclera). “But now that mes have cleared the stage, we should really pick the scene we’re gonna roleplay. So what you wanna do, Fordsy ol’ mate? Relive a memory, act out a hypothetical conversation/argument to get some words off your chest, or experience a fantasy in real-body-stimulating intensity? Whatever you want, I can do for ya.”

“I, um …” Shaking his head, Ford admitted, “There’s just … so much. When I think about him. About everything that happened then. And before. And after. And I … I just … can’t process it enough to … y’know, make sense of how I feel about it all? Gah! Can you understand that, Bill? The only thing I know for sure right now is … is I miss him … even if I don’t know what I’d do if I saw him right now …”

Bill blinked a bite off his maple log, then chewed thoughtfully, ignoring the other Bills (“Hey, guys, wanna see something funny? MacBeth!” “Don’t say that! It’s bad lu—” A sandbag smashed into that Bill from above. “Hehehehehehe! I got more!” Then he whistled sharply. “Argh! You can’t do that either, it’s also bad lu—” A light fixture exploded, blasting the Bill on the catwalk off so that he kersplatted onto the platform. “Hahahahaha! How about this one? Good luck during the performance!” “No, you fool, you’ll kill us all if you say—” “Guys, you think this pyrotechnic equipment still works?” a different, oblivious Bill asked right before pushing a button. The bad luck would’ve been spectacular had anyone paid attention.) now milling about the visual construct of an empty stage which represented a mindscape ready for shaping. Eventually, he suggested, “Tell you what, Fordsy ol’ comrade, let me choose for you this time. I think I know what you need right now to feel better, and it’ll be an actual memory of a good time you two had together. Something … positive and fun and a little whacky to help you get out of this slump. Whaddya say? Trust me enough to follow my lead in the roleplay?”

A glum shrug. A passive affirmation. “Sure, why not?”

And then original Bill was broadcasting through his loudspeaker, “OKAY, LOOK ALIVE, TRIANGULAR TROOP! LET’S GET THE STAGE SET FOR SCENE #618: ‘CABIN BOY AND CAPTAIN NOBEARD, THE COUCH PIRATE’!”

Ford blinked. “Wait, what?”

“I WANT IT READY TO PERFORM IN—”

“BOOOOOO!” the spectating Bill suddenly shouted, spraying popcorn everywhere. “That choice is a cliché and uninspired piece of saccharine hackery! Also, it’s practically meta-theater, which always sucks because only self-inflating, pomposity-spewing fartbags think it’s clever to make plays that are ham-fistedly obvious metaphors for making plays! BOOOOOO!”

“So it’s perfect for our director,” one of the Bills stage whispered, making the others giggle.

“I HEARD THAT!” the original Bill snapped. “DON’T YOU HAVE PROPS TO SET UP?! ACTION IN FIVE, MES! AND WHERE’S THE ME FOR COSTUME AND MAKEUP?!”

“Right here, angeldoll! And ready to get Starford suited up!” That Bill wheeled a vanity piled high with brushes, pencils, and cosmetics right to them. He then pulled an outfit off the rack, scrutinized it, put it back, pulled out another, nodded his approval, and zoomed over to slap it onto Stanford’s body. Right before assaulting his face with a blur of all the cosmetic products—powder, rouge, eyeliner, etc. All of it happened so fast Stanford didn’t even have time to protest, and when the air cleared and he stopped coughing, that particular Bill was adjusting a mirror before his face. “What do you think, honeydear? Don’t you just look divine?”

Breathless with astonishment, Ford touched first the mirror’s surface … then his own face … “Incredible!” he breathed. “I look seventeen!”

“If I did my job right, teddypearl, you don’t just look seventeen. Your whole body (or astral form dream body, technically, sweetiedumpling) should be seventeen down to the smallest of details. Now, if you want, I could also do your nails and hair so you look even more divine than you did at seventeen, darlingpeaches.”

“Nope, we want his ratio of divineness to undivineness to be exactly as it was then, thank you,” the original Bill dictated abruptly. “Now let’s get me suited up for—oh, Azathoth’samygdala!” Snatching up the megaphone, he bawled, “TVS GO IN FRONT OF COUCHES, NOT BEHIND, YOU IDIOTS! AND YOU’VE GOT THE BACKDROPS MIXED UP! C’MON, YOU MES ARE SUPPOSED TO BE MORE PROFESSIONAL THAN THIS!”

Ford tore his eyes from the mirror and looked onstage. The living room of his parents’ house was being formed by a bunch of Bills pushing frames of painted canvas (reproductions of the walls) and setting up prop after prop (a couch, a rabbit-eared TV, old chairs, side tables with doilies, framed photos, knickknacks, bric-a-brac, that hideous lamp with the more hideous curtain shade he had always wanted to smash to bits, etc.); it looked exactly as he remembered … No, it looked more accurate than he remembered … He could even smell the dusty, musty carpeting and hear the tacky windchimes outside the window …

“There, treasurebear, you look ready for your big part. And divine, too! Simply divine!”

“Thanks, me. Looks like you won’t be fired today,” the original Bill decided.

“I can’t believe you could recreate the old place. Every little detail—” Ford turned to Bill, then felt his knees buckled beneath him; he had to grab onto a corner of the vanity not to fall over. Standing before him in a dissipating cloud of face powder was the seventeen-year-old version of his twin brother. “… St-Stan?”

Bill grinned with Stanly’s cocky, crooked grin. “Or close enough. Oh, sorry.” Clearing his throat, he then repeated in Stanly’s husky voice, “Or close enough. Right, Sixer?”

Stepping forward, Ford laid his hands on the shoulders of the boy in front of him. They felt real. Solid and strong through the t-shirt, with the kind of ropey muscles regular boxing gave a person. Same for the arms and the chest, although there was a little pudge on top of the muscles there (just like Stan had … or had had the last time Ford had seen him for certain) thanks to a nervous tendency to overeat … It all felt so real … so achingly real …

“Done feelin’ up the merchandise yet, Sixer?” Bill-Stan teased. “I could flex for ya, if ya want.”

“How … How are you doing this?” Ford whispered, his voice almost trembling.

As one, all of the Bills dropped what they were doing and turned to face him, then clapped and spread their hands. A rainbow spread between every set of palms. “THROUGH THE POWER OF IMAGINATION, FORDSY OL’ COMPADRE! AFTER ALL, I AM YOUR MUSE!”

Fingers clenching into the fabric of the t-shirt, throat constricting, Ford said, “Stan, I … I …”

“You’re not gonna start blubberin’ on me, are ya, Sixer?” Bill-Stan asked coaxingly. “Not before all the fun even starts?”

“N-no … No, I’m in c-control. Ahem! Of myself.” Ford composed himself, feigned brushing some dust off his clothes, then resumed, “So, um, you said something about following your lead in a roleplay?”

Grinning more widely than before, Bill-Stan took him by the hand (sending a jolt of long ignored and even half-forgotten emotions through the weirdologist) and led him onstage …

The thing about a person’s mindscape (or about a person’s dreams, since they’re the same thing, essentially) is they’re completely immersive. To the brain, they’re almost as real as reality itself; every ganglia involved in processing sensory input for the one is equally involved with the other. Which explains why dreams usually feel real enough that a person can forget they’re dreaming. Which explains why a true master of the mind can manipulate a person’s mindscape enough that, with just the right triggering image (such as walking through a conjured doorway or stepping onto a conjured theater stage), the person can believe what they’re experiencing is real, and even actually find traces of the mental experience on their physical body afterwards.

Especially if the person really wants to dream, to believe, to be manipulated by the master …

That was why Ford knew with certainty that he was sweaty and dirty after hours of working on the Stan o’ War, knew with certainty he was trudging into the living room of his family home, and collapsed onto what he knew with certainty was a sagging couch likely as old as he was (seventeen years). He also knew with certainty that he heard the jangling of the house phone in the hallway, and then the voice of who he knew with certainty was his twin brother answering it. That knowing certainty was manifest in every gesture he made; it even shone in his eyes.

A moment later, Stan was leaning over the top of the couch. Sweaty and dirty, too, since he’d been working on the Stan o’ War, too. “Heh. You look beat, Sixer. But if anyone’s got the right, it’s you. I mean, after all that hard work today? And figuring out the waterproofin’ stuff, too?” Then Stan reached over the couch and tousled his brother’s hair. “I guess what I’m saying is … You’re such a good cabin boy! Good work, me ol’ cabin boy!”

Ford beamed with pleasure at the praise and the loving gesture, yet still retorted (because having a brother means living in a perpetual argument, at the very least as a matter of principle), “Pff! Why am I the cabin boy?”

“Duh. ‘cause I’m the captain!”

“Why do you get to be captain?”

“Heh. ‘cause I can do this!” And then Stan swung himself over the top of the couch and dropped down onto his brother, draping himself over his brother like a heavy, sweaty, noogying blanket. “How do you like it, cabin boy? Huh? I said how do you like it, nerd? No, wait, cabin nerd!”

“Ghaha! Get off me—haha!—you’re gross from the beach!” Ford half-spewed and half-laughed beneath his twin. He was pinned against the cushions now, squirming but unable to get free.

“Heh heh! You don’t get to give the captain orders, cabin nerd! That’s not how it works aboard this ship!”

“W-we’re—hehehe!—not even on a ship!”

“Sure we are! The S.S. Couch, and I just boarded it! And you!”

“You did not have permission to come aboard!” Ford giggled, still squirming, now trying to push his twin back with his hands.

But Stan caught them both at the wrists and pinned them against the armrest, too, bearing down with his whole body. “That’s ‘cause I’m a pirate captain! Arrrrr, me matey!”

“Pff! W-what do they call you?! Nobeard?!”

“That’s ‘Captain Nobeard’ to you, cabin nerd! And I’m gonna be lootin’ yer booty!”

Ford threw his head back and laughed at so corny a line. But the laugh turned to a surprised gasp when he suddenly felt his brother (on an impulse) press his lips against Ford’s throat. It was like being hit by a single raindrop right before a spark of lightning—a single spot of warm, wet skin, then an electric jolt through his brain and body that left him rigid. Or perhaps made him realize he had been rigid already? And that his brother’s counter-squirming had taken on a decidedly grinding motion … Or had it been a grinding motion already? Ford moaned, “Aaah, St-Stan …”

“I told you, that’s ‘Captain’ to you, me ol’ cabin nerd,” Stan countered into his twin’s neck. “And I’m gonna shiver yer timber.” With that, he gave an extra hard grind, groin against groin.

“Mmmmoses! Oh … B-but, wait … What if … Dad and Mom walk in on us … like this?” 

“Heh. You can be pretty dumb for a nerd, sometimes,” Stan teased. “They went to Grandma’s today, remember? And that was them on the phone just now, callin’ to say they made it there. Even if they head home right now, it’ll be at least two hours afore they get back. So relax, okay? Just … follow my lead …”

“Y-yeah, I can … Wait.” All at once, Ford stopped, because that phrase … He suddenly didn’t know with certainty what was really going on here, nor where he really was, nor even how old he really was. Intently, he peered at the face of the boy on top of him. Was there a golden gleam in his irises, where there should only have been brown? A twinkle in the eyes, but different than the twinkle normally there. He thought he could remember who this boy actually was. “… Bill?”

Stan grinned. “Only if you’d prefer havin’ a triangle in a tophat grind against you instead of your brother.”

Ford looked around, and remembered he was on a stage. A stage that had been set by multiple copies of Bill, and that he was now pinned beneath the original Bill who was mimicking his twin down to his cornball double-entendres, the smell of his sweat … and the exact length and girth of his hardon, currently pressing down on Ford’s own hardon (the thought of which made him blush a shade deeper than he already had been—did he really remember his twin’s member that well?). In the spectators’ seating, there was another Bill now distantly shouting, “Boooooo! You ruined the flow and the affect of the whole scene! The momentum’s gone and can never be gotten back! Boooooo!” and Ford found he desperately hoped that was not the case.

“You okay, Sixer?” Stan asked. No, not Stan. Bill. Bill mimicking Stan’s voice and manerisms. Bill mimicking Stan’s body so they could …

Ford cleared his throat. “Y-yes, I am. But, er, I just want to… to make sure that you are. This, uh, scenario doesn’t … doesn’t bother you? At all?”

“What? Why would … Oh!” Stan-Bill exclaimed suddenly. “You mean ‘cause we’re not just crossin’ a bunch of taboo lines in your meatbag culture, but went a mile past ‘em and are now buildin’ a small but charmingly perverted, summer cabin we can visit at our leisure?”

“I, um … suppose that’s one way of putting it …”

“Heh heh! It’s funny how awkward you are about this!” But before Ford could get defensive, Stan-Bill continued, “Sixer, I’m not human. I’m a Muse, here to inspire you to break through arbitrary human conventions (like the restrictive barriers they are) to something higher, purer, and truer. So all the arbitrary moral codes you meatbags make for yourselves, especially where sex is concerned? Don’t apply to me, don’t affect me. Whatever you desire, whoever you desire, however you desire (no matter how weird, complex, or how many parts it needs performed) I can play out for you here in your mindscape so well it will feel real. I can give you the psychological or sexual release you need to get tracted again on our oh so important work!”

Though overwhelmed by the possibilities, Ford still maintained, “That’s not a real word …”

“Like I said before, Sixer, if you wanna relive a memory, act out a hypothetical conversation or an argument with someone (like your brother or your parents or an ex or that one bald professor you loathed), or experience a completely new fantasy altogether … I’m down. Let’s do ‘em all.”

Ford gulped. “Y-you’re sure … it doesn’t bother you? At all? I mean, this is … er …”

Stan-Bill sighed in almost-exasperation. “Look, Fordsy ol’ friend, my true form doesn’t even have sex organs. Not that you’ll be able to tell when I change shape in your mindscape and go to town with pleasurin’ you, ‘cause I’m just that good an actor—can act like I’ve always had ‘em and got tons of experience usin’ ‘em to turn people specifically named Stanford Filbrick Pines into puddles of contented, post-coital bliss—and always happy to put on a show for a friend.”

Beneath him, Ford felt so turned on he was having a hard time breathing regularly.

“Plus, I come from a species that has roughly millions of genders, so homosexuality doesn’t bother me in the least. If anything, it radically simplifies things. You wanna get it on with a guy? I can do that. Two guys? Ditto. A guy and a gal at the same time? No prob. An entire roomful of different people? Sure, it’ll be a nice stretch of my talents. Something or somethings that aren’t remotely human? Well, if either of us can imagine it, I can make it in here for you to fuck.”

Beneath him, Ford felt so turned on that he was practically vibrating with excitement.

“And as for what you meatbags call ‘incest’, well,” Bill-Stan shrugged. “Far from the weirdest kink floatin’ around in the collective unconsciousness of humanity. But it is just weird enough, luckily, to keep me invested in any—heh heh—boldly transgressive or unapologetically perverse theatrical performances you might want to try here on the mindscape stage. So c’mon, brother,” he added emphatically, positively dripping Stanness now. “Just follow my lead … We got hours ‘til Dad and Mom get home …”

Beneath him, Ford felt so turned on that he was sorta surprised the couch hadn’t caught fire around the two of them. Another low moan escaped his lips as he felt Stan-Bill’s lips press against his throat again … as he felt Stan-Bill grind against his bulge again … as he felt Stan-Bill carry him back into a more fulfilling moment than the present reality could ever hope to offer …

“You like that, cabin nerd? Huh? You like when I do that to ya? Go on, say ‘Aye-aye, Captain’.”

Though his hands were still pinned against the armrest of the couch and his body born down into the cushions, Ford arched his hips into the grind.

“C’mon, cabin nerd, go ahead and say it … Become a part of my couch pirate crew …”

Giggling, Ford turned and offered himself up for a kiss. It was long and warm and wet and deep, and so very, very sweet. It left him breathlessly whimpering, “Mmm, Stan … Bill …”

“Who’s this Bill?” Stan-Bill asked teasingly. Then, as if to punctuate every following sentence, he humped slow and hard at the end of it. “Someone I otta be jealous of? Someone I gotta go beat up? Someone who’s gotta learn that you’re mine … my brother … my lover … and no one else gets to touch ya but me?”

“Ah! Yes!” Ford cried out.

And, distantly, the Bill in the seats shouted, “Boooooo! Going off script like this is for amateurs! Improv in an established piece is for hacks who can’t remember their lines! Boooooo!”

That was when Bill (not the original Bill playing Stan, nor any of the copies playing stagehands, but the real Bill in a clonesuit stretched out on the bed in the attic) snapped out of his fascination and decided it was time to stop reviewing memories for a while. Especially this one in particular. Not because it wasn’t nostalgic or entertaining or sexually titillating for him (it was very much), not because he couldn’t remember what had happened next (his recall was still just as perfect as the rest of him—heh heh!), but because …

Because it just wasn’t worth watching the rest. Both in Ford’s memory of the actual event with his brother, and in the slightly altered reenactment Bill had performed with Ford, it hadn’t been more than another minute or two of cornball dialogue, couch grinding, and rough kissing before they climaxed. And why not? Ford and Stan had been horny, pent up teenagers way back then … and Ford had been a horny, pent up adult back then (what with his tons of emotional baggage and sexual frustration) …

“Not worth getting wound up over,” Bill muttered to the cabin ceiling. “Not when jerking off won’t be enough to take the edge off the horniness I’ll feel afterwards … And besides, if I want to feel wound up and horny, there are much wilder memories I could perfectly recall than that. With Dipper or with Sixer …”

His hand came up wearing a sock puppet Mabel had made to look like his true form—or, at least, as much like his true form as a sock with a hand shoved in it could, (though, honestly, it looked less like a dapper triangle and more like the bastard lovechild that would result from a wild night of passion between him and Kermit the Frog)—and said, “Funny how you didn’t even realize how good a thing you had with ol’ Fordsy, isn’t it?”

“How do you figure that?” Bill asked his sock puppet. “Working and hanging with him was a ton of fun, and I missed the 79 Hells outta it after he sided with this mudball … Still do, actually …”

“I mean all that wild, limitationless, mindscape sex you had with him. Back then, for you, it was just the fun of weird playacting (and manipulating a gullible meatbag); you didn’t appreciate any of the physical side of it.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re right. Of course, y’know, I kinda couldn’t appreciate it back then.”

“The beginning of the summer was a lot like that, too, with Dipper and Mabel and all the others,” the sock puppet continued matter-of-factly. “You didn’t appreciate any of the emotional side of spending time with them, what with how full of hate and plans for vengeance you were.”

“… No, I didn’t,” Bill admitted.

“All that time spent with them, and you didn’t even realize how good a thing you had.”

“… I kinda couldn’t appreciate all that back then, either, in my defense.”

“You could now, y’know.”

“What, you mean … relive the memories? Actually, that could be a fun way to pass the time,” Bill mused to himself. “Might not feel quite so bored or lone … Cthulhu’s cartilaginous cranium, I could go through all my memories with Ford! Maybe there’s something I filed away in there—something I didn’t think was important at the time, something that could spark another thought—that could help get me past the bubble!” he exclaimed, bolting upright. “And back to my Dipper!”

“That wasn’t exactly what I meant …” the sock puppet pointed out.

But it was rather futile; Bill was on a role now. “The bumblr crowd could even help with this … Them asking the right questions might give me some direction, instead of just prospecting—”

“HEY! LISTEN!” the sock puppet shrilled. “I meant you could be having a good thing right now with all the people here at the Shack. Emotionally and such. Enjoying it fully. But you’re not. Even though you want to.”

Looking away from the reproachful, googly-eyed gaze, Bill muttered, “Kinda hard to with Ford setting such a grim mood for everyone here any time he walks in on me and someone else.”

“You’re wasting time,” the sock puppet stated irrefutably. “Like at the beginning of the summer, when you were too busy being … being not nice—being mean—to everyone, especially Dipper. Now you’re wasting time being bitter at Ford.”

“He’s wasting time being just as bitter at me!” Bill countered defensively.

“And when was the last time you really tried to do anything about that? Huh? When you bought everybody gifts, maybe, a few months ago?”

“… Honestly? I guess so, yeah.”

“Go try again. You wanted to, anyway, since you saw him in the woods crying ‘bout how much he misses the Twins, too,” the sock puppet affirmed. “It’s the reason you turned away from remembering that time on the couch before the climax, too; you’re not in the mood for sexiness, not deep down, but for sappiness. You can appreciate that emotional side of things now, so stop wasting time not enjoying ‘em.”

“What if … What if he doesn’t want to stop being bitter? What if he doesn’t want to move on?”

“Then at least you’ll have tried. You won’t be wasting time being bitter. And you get to spend more time perfectly recalling individual memories to see if you can find something helpful to escape, so win-win for you.”

Bill sighed. “I’d argue with you, but you are me, so I know I won’t win … Well, let’s go …”

[handypolymath]

WIP challenge

I was tagged by @ellewritesfiction to post the first sentence of some of my works in progress, and I’ve been struggling with this because I’m only rarely a chronological writer, and I’m currently trying to wrap up a WIP I’ve been posting as I go since last August. I also co-write with @thassalia a lot, so sometimes the first sentence isn’t mine!

So I’m cheating all over the place with this one, in part to reassure myself that finishing and letting go of Electronic Thumb is a good thing, I’ve got some interesting places to land.

Dr. Sock Sez - where they find a baby in a lab jar

Bruce pulls the poor thing out of the gestation canister, flailing and sputtering because they’d taken out the power for the base before they realized the focus of the main lab was this baby in a fucking jar, and the only thing that keeps him from hulking out is not that Tony makes a ‘filthy Bene Tleilax’ joke, but that Steve gets it.

“That’s incredibly inappropriate,” the Captain bites out, “be useful and fetch the Bruce Out Kit.”

Blankets, Bruce thinks, would make it easier to keep a hold of this squirmy damp girl, who’s not much bigger than a handful but is putting up a good fight.

“Hey, Steve’s up to Herbert on the list!” Tony says, “If he’s up to Lovecraft does that mean we can’t call the baby Mi-Go?”

Natasha unfreezes, but her face is still blank with horror as she watches Bruce curl the tiny angry newborn against his shirt. She lunges toward the control panel and starts breaking into the system. She will find out exactly what they had done, were doing, planned to do with that girl.

Chiaroscuro - our Notorious AU

Natasha swings out the tone arm and stops the turntable, lifts the record and slips it back into the labeled sleeve.  She unsheathes the next record and aligns it on the center spindle, starts the platter turning, and sets the needle into the groove.

Dr. Bruce Banner makes very few calls, but the microphones in his apartment catch more than expected.  He’s a mutterer when he’s deep in thought, he hums and whistles depending on mood, and he’s carrying on a rather illuminating screaming feud with a neighbor.  She’s been out of town for a couple weeks on another errand of Carter’s, a field trip with a seasoned agent and yet another test that she passed without issues.  Now she’s playing catch-up on her analysis of Dr. Banner.

Clint has been in Santa Monica since Christmas.  She's teased him that at least he gets to talk to the scientist he’s assigned to, instead of just listening to them whistling along with Maria Callas and trading insults with the cranky old man across the alley.  In turn, Clint had described kimchi.  She’d asked if he realized he was talking to a Russian about cabbage.  He’d sniped that he’d eaten his own fair share of cabbage, thank you, and part of her share, and he wasn’t going to stand for any more even if Dr. Cho took offense.

Natasha sighs, and sets the needle back to the beginning of the track.  It’s stifling in this room, and it’s making her careless.  It’s also the hundredth time she’s listened to Dr. Banner whistle along to this aria from Manon, and a part of her brain has started choreographing a pas de deux to it.

At least he’s getting better at hitting the notes.

Go Out With A Lion’s Roar - just a working stiff on Sakaar

Hulk is sorry, and sorry for himself. He did what he could to make it right, but it’s flowers for a black eye.

The nightmare he was given lingers like a sour puke tongue, makes him feel anger like lava. What he woke up to...the anger turns in on himself.

He makes people sad, and dead. So he flicks off the screen and points the nose up.

The quinjet asks him questions, and he says, “Higher. Faster.” The machine shudders around him and talks to him about oxygen scrubbers. He flexes his hand, and pictures a scrubby sponge. He knows it’s not one of Banner’s memories, because he’s standing on a stool to reach the sink; it’s from the before time, before everything. He wasn’t always a monster. The jet levels out, and tells him about fuel levels and orbit decay.

He opens his fist, and pictures dogs shot into space. Russian dogs. He hopes the dogs weren’t lonely. They didn’t deserve that.

He punches himself in the head. He’s not a dog. He’s not a good boy. For a little while, he didn’t think he was a monster, either, but he’s less sure of that. He already knows Banner’s answer, so he wouldn’t ask him even if he could find him.

For Unlikely Carnal Knowledge - the bodyswapping one

It had been nearly 78 hours of Tony cycling through coffee, mango and algae smoothies, and scotch. Perhaps nibbling a little cheese. Pepper had last slept in her own bed three continents ago, her period was due any moment, and damn it, she was going to use her boyfriend as a heating pad whether he liked it or not.

She gets as far as nodding hello to Bruce, who's scribbling an equation onto a screen with his finger - she uses the same interface but with the financial template instead of half the Greek alphabet - and opening her mouth.

It's exactly like one of those old flash cubes going off. The spike of white blue light, the puffy sounding pop that also sounds like thin crackling glass, the whiff of hot carbon smell. The disorientation makes her grip the counter, but she still knocks her head against the screen and something jams the bridge of her nose. She pushes back, and a pair of eyeglasses go flying.

The Holtzmann Effect - Clint’s apartment building was an early work of Ivo Shandor

Steve isn’t impressed by the amount of material spread across the worktables, sheafs of blueprints and building permits, zoning board meeting notes and cloth-bound library volumes full of archeologists’ hand-drawn illustrations of bullae cuneiform, which Patty describes as Sumerian paperwork.

Steve is daunted.

“Do you drink coffee?” he asks, as Patty pulls out a used yellow legal pad and uncaps her pen with a twinkle in her eye. “I can make coffee, or go get coffee.”

“Not much of a reader?” She narrows her eyes. “Not enough action scanning primary sources for keywords? I thought you also got a boost with information processing, visual memory, that kind of thing.”

“I’m not afraid of hard work.” Steve bristles, “I want to help.”

“Then sit your ass down,” Patty shoves the thickest library book toward him, “and use your eidetic memory to find,” she flips though her pad to show him a page of Sumerian symbols carefully sketched: a stylized fish labeled ‘metal’, an athletic sock labeled ‘dog’, a striped wedge shape with a stem labeled ‘beer’, and a piece of erotic art, “anything that looks like these.”

Her frank expression dares him to give her any more guff.

“Anything to help,” Steve nod solemnly, then takes another look at the page. He points to the large pointed jar in the scene, from which the lady is drinking through a long straw while taking it from behind. “Is it safe to assume that’s also beer?”

Patty’s answer is a playful pout and, “I’m sure people are always bugging you about what you miss from back in the day. Well I wasn’t even alive for that part, but that’s my answer.”

Rust & Ague - that steampunk one

The Iron Man was the exception to every rule. Most airships were chartered cruisers, lumbering luxury liners, and official patrols, with a few oddball private ships here and there, small and ill-funded, or ostentatious fripperies. Stark's ship was a research vessel the size of a cruiser. It ran a small tight core crew, but rotated the bulk of its lower rank hands at every dock.

Those temporary crews were a potpourri mixed by the fine-boned hand of Virginie Petra Potts. She was a dynamo draped in daffodil crepe de chine, sitting on a camp chair behind a cleverly folding writing desk set midway down the dock. The Iron Man rose behind her, gleaming copper in the water, its solar sails furled into scrolls of gold, and she was her gatekeeper.

Main Vein - Jennifer Walters whistleblows on her diabolical law firm

"I...what do you know about Agent Romanoff?"

“You mean before finding out just now that she’s the pocket dynamite from the Battle of New York?” Jen’s look at him is reproachful, but in a teasing way. "I know she got me out of my apartment safe when I thought I’d be dead for sure. I know she had that jacket specially tailored around a double shoulder holster."

Bruce can't help checking the line of Natasha's back, remembering the feel of it snugged against his chest, surging against him slick with sweat. He takes a mouthful of ice water and crunches a cube.

Jen chews her own bite thoughtfully. "I find her skills comforting in a way I wouldn't have suspected a few weeks ago."

"Life is full of surprises."

Which is normally the kind of cliche conversation filler Bruce offers as a dry joke, but that's when the flash bang goes off.

[haunting-kind-of-high]

Broken Fantasy (Part 1)

Part 2

Warnings: Self-hate/self-deprecation, slight bit of swearing

Tag list: @musicphanpie-b, @imin-loveanon, @ordinary-chaos, @sandersandthesides, @ajumbleofwords, @demonickittykat, @zadi-jyne, @serenefreakgeek, @fandons-mangoes, @leesacrakon, @gayfagg, @tree4life25, @loverofpizzaandallthingssweet, @ilovemygaydad, @kittyboof8, @emo-sanders-sides-loving-unicorn, @starlight-sanders

Notes: This fic was based on this post and all of the additions. It’s part of a two-part fic, the next part will be up in the next week, probably. 

Read on AO3 here

Worthless, unoriginal, failure.

“How about we do the Seven Second Challenge?” Roman suggested to the other sides. “Thomas could do it, with Joan and Talyn. Or we could all do it for a fun twist. What do you say?:

"Thomas has already done that,” Virgil commented. “Multiple times, even. We need something he hasn’t done before.”

“Precisely,” Logan nodded. “And I do not feel much for doing these silly challenges in only seven seconds.”

Roman nodded as he crossed the idea off his list. Another idea they had tossed to the side.

“Well, I think it’s a good idea,” Patton tried, looking at the creative side next to him, “but they are right. Thomas has done it before. But it’s still a fun idea to keep in mind!”

“Right.” Roman didn’t look at Patton, he just kept his eyes focussed on the paper in his hand. Most of the ideas he had written on there, had already been crossed out again. The other sides - and especially Logan and Virgil - had turned down every idea he had come up with. Even the ones he had been so enthusiastic about, and to be fair, he was starting to get annoyed by now. He had tried so hard to come up with good ideas and they just tore them down. Every. Single. One. “Well, how about this… we do one of these questions tags on internet? Like the TMI tag- oooh or we can do one of those on Tumblr! Thomas can reblog one of the question tags on there and his followers can send in the questions they want answered and he can answer a bunch of them!”

“Dude, really?” Virgil asked, raising an eyebrow. “Do you really want to do that? Thomas can do that on Tumblr as well, why should he make a video about it?”

“Because it is fun?” Roman retorted before he went to cross out that idea as well. He tried to hide his frustration, but he wasn’t doing a great job.

“I think Virgil means that it wouldn’t be as… special,” Patton tried carefully, “he can just do something like it on Tumblr, and maybe it wouldn’t be the best format for a video? That doesn’t mean we can’t do it, though! But maybe it’s better to keep it on Tumblr?”

“Thanks, Patton,” Roman nodded. He didn’t actually meet Patton’s gaze, but he kept his eyes fixed on the paper. That was it. His last idea. And the other had accepted none. “Well… that was it. I guess I- eh… I guess I should come up with some new ideas, then. I’ll be back when I’ve got more.”

And without waiting for a response, he sank out.

Unimportant, insignificant, unimaginative.

How hard could it be to come up with one good idea that they all loved? As it turned out, really hard, because once again, all of his ideas had been shut down. They didn’t even give him a chance to explain himself. Virgil and Logan were the worst. Because where Patton sugar-coated his critiques and made sure that the prince knew his ideas weren’t bad, just not what they needed, the two other sides did none of that. If they didn’t like an idea, they told him straightaway. It’s not good, it’s not original, we can’t use it. It was as if they didn’t realise that he had feelings too. That their comments hurt him. Was it so difficult for them to think before speaking? Roman had to admit that he might not have done that in the past but… he had changed, he was trying to change. If he could do it, why couldn’t they?

Unnecessary, meaningless, useless.

He didn’t bother coming up to share his ideas anymore. He couldn’t think of anything anymore. They wouldn’t like it. What was the point if they wouldn’t like it? Why would he even bother? Why even try?

Every once in a while, an idea would pop up in his mind. Eagerly, he would write it down, only to find out that it wouldn’t be good enough. Logan would think it was too out there, Virgil would think it was too boring, too unoriginal. He would cross it out again, tear the paper in half or throw it across his room.

What even was the point? If he couldn’t even think of one good idea? He was supposed to be Creativity, the source of good and original ideas. The others were supposed to love his ideas. They were supposed to be creative, not lame attempts at creativity. He wasn’t worthy of the title ‘Creativity’. He wasn’t good enough. Why even bother when all your ideas would be as worthless as his? He knew their ideas weren’t good; the others made it quite clear. So why even try to make something better the next time, right?

What even was the fucking point?

Roman looked up at the many posters on his wall. Disney movies, Harry Potter movies, musicals. They were all there. He used to love looking at them so much. It was a comfort to him to look at the familiar faces on the walls. But now, they seemed to be taunting him. At least their creators had been able to come up with a good idea. At least they were successful. Unlike him. He was just a failure. A pathetic excuse for creativity. A pitiful attempt at originality.

He felt tears burning in his eyes as he realised this. He was so worthless. Why couldn't he come up with one good idea? That would be enough for the others to accept him again, right?

He tried, he really did. But he got nothing. No matter how hard he tried. The prince groaned. As he looked up, the faces of Harry, Ron and Hermione were looking at him. Mocking him. Loser, piece of trash, failure. Thomas would be better off without you. Useless piece of trash.

Roman had had enough. He couldn't take it. He knew he would regret this later, but right now, he didn't care. He got up in frustration and lunged at the poster in front of him. He stabbed the sword at the three teens in front of him. He hit the wall, but he couldn"t care less. If only they'd stop taunting him. Roman pulled the sword down a little, creating a wobbly slash across the paper of the poster. The sword fell down next to him as he desperately grabbed the small whole the weapon had created and he pulled at the poster, tearing it in half. The two pieces still stuck to the wall with the blu-tack he had used. The lower half now hung down sadly, lifeless. As Roman released the poster from his grip, he fell to his knees as a chokes up sob left his throat. He was a failure. An idiot. Worthless.  

Over the days that followed, Thomas kept trying to come up with videos. He tried his best, but it was like his creativity wasn’t even there!

Wait…

It wasn’t…

There.

That was it!

“Logan, Patton, Roman, Virgil, could you come up here please?” Thomas called out into… nothing, really. Just a few seconds later, three of the four sides popped up around him. Only, someone was missing.

It was the prince.

Just like Thomas had expected, Roman did not answer to his call. The man looked at the side’s usual corner, half expecting the prince to pop up after all with a witty remark or a reference. The other three sides noticed this behaviour and they stared at the empty corner as well. But no Roman came in.

“Okay guys… what’s going on?” Thomas asked after a short silence no one had wanted to break. “I haven’t had a proper video idea in ages. Is… something going on with Roman?”

“Well, I do believe he has been struggling for ideas lately,” Logan answered, turning his head to Thomas. “And he has been quite aloof lately but I must say that’s all I noticed.”

“Now, are you sure that is all?” Patton asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He looked Logan straight in the eyes, his mouth curled into a frown. It was the total opposite of his usual, bubbly appearance.

“What do you mean, Patton?” Logan inquired.

“You and Virgil have been shooting down all his ideas in the past week,” Patton explained frustratedly, his hand gesturing in the direction of the empty corner where Roman usually stood. “You criticized everything he came up with without even taking his feeling into account. Of course he wouldn’t want to share his ideas anymore.”

“What- what are you…”

“You know what I’m talking about, Logan,” Patton interrupted. There was something in his voice some… vulnerability that made this whole ordeal worse. It wasn’t a lecture, Patton was disappointed that the two sides had acted the way they had, ignoring not only the signs of Roman’s hurt feelings, but also Patton’s warnings. Sure, when he drew their attention to their behaviour, they would change it, but the next day, it would all be forgotten again. And Patton hated seeing it. “You can’t convince me you don’t know. I’ve talked about this before.”

Virgil looked at the ground, his fingers toying with the zips on his sleeves. This really felt like one of those 'I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed’-lectures and he hated it. He hated it because he knew Patton was right. He hated it because it made him realise he had done to Roman what Roman had done to him. He hated it because he remembered how much he was hurting back then. But most of all, he hated it because it was Patton talking here. His best friend Patton who would do anything to help him, who he would do anything for. That same guy was lecturing him about what they had done. And he knew it was justified. He had loathed Roman for bringing him down the way he did and now… now he was no better than Roman had been. If anything, he was even worse.

“Wait, is this true? Is that what’s going on?” Thomas asked, looking at the three sides around him. He had no idea what had happened in the mindscape, but if what Patton said was even close to the truth, they’d have a big problem to fix.

“I think we should go to Roman’s room,” Virgil said suddenly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I think Patton is right and… we… we need to talk to him about this whole… thing.”

“Yeah, you do,” Patton nodded sternly. It was so weird to hear Patton like this. He hardly acted like this with all of them there. Something must have happened.

“Can someone please explain what’s happened?” Thomas tried once more. “What’s been going on?”

“Well,” Patton hesitated as he snuck a few glances at the two other sides, “I think it started after the Christmas video. Roman has been acting weird ever since. And lately, he’s been struggling to come up with ideas… mostly because most of his ideas get turned down. I think that’s been really though on him.”

“This has been going on since Christmas?” Thomas asked incredulously. “That’s been weeks! Why am I only hearing about this now?”

Patton shrugged and turned to the two remaining sides for answers. He wanted to know the answer to that question himself. He had brought the issue up to them multiple times, but neither Logan nor Virgil seemed to actually realise the severity of it. Sure, when Patton mentioned it, they promised they’d watch what they said, but it was as if they thought that Roman would be able to take it. Granted, he did act like their comments never hurt him, but Patton saw something behind his façade. The same pain he had seen in Virgil’s eyes.

“I wasn’t thinking, I think,” Virgil said. “I don’t know, I fucked up, okay? We both did. But we’re not going to solve anything by discussing this here, so are we going to his room or not?”

“We’re going down there,” Patton agreed. “And you guys need to apologize to Roman.”

“Sure thing, dad,” Virgil said. “Let’s just get this over with.”

The three sides all looked at Thomas expectantly. The man closed his eyes. Roman was the creative side so Thomas tried thinking creative thoughts. Thoughts of Disney, musicals and performances filled his mind and he could feel himself getting weightless for a few moments. It was as if he faded out of existence, dissipating into nothingness. And when he opened his eyes, Thomas expected himself to be standing in some sort of Disney Valhalla. He didn’t know exactly what he was expecting. Countless posters, all his acting awards on a shelf maybe, playbills, merchandise. Maybe some decorative statues or plants? Maybe Thomas had expected a gorgeous room, much like a room in a castle or palace would look like, with marble pillars and large windows, rich decorations and a huge chandelier in the middle of the ceiling with shards of glass in many colours, making the room look like a work of art. But what he actually saw, was a little… disappointing.

Disappointing and unsettling.

The room, like both rooms Thomas had visited before, looked like his living room. Only this room was practically empty, void of any furniture or decorations. Thomas could see small scraps of paper stuck to the wall where a poster had been ripped off the wall. He could see a total of five posters still on the walls, but they had been slashed and stabbed by the prince’s sword. Some had been torn apart - by his own hands it seemed. The room even seemed colder than his own living room.

“This is Roman’s room?” Thomas asked in surprise. “This is not at all what I had expected.”

As Thomas spoke, his eyes were drawn to a poster in front of him. He knew it was a poster for Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. But only because he had seen it so often. The poster itself was almost unrecognizable. The poster had been slashed in half, the bottom half hanging down sadly, leaving only the trio’s faces to be seen. Harry’s face had been stabbed too, tearing the paper. It was oddly disturbing.

Patton had wandered over to something red in the far corner of the room. He picked it up and frowned as he studied the smooth fabric in his hands. It had been broken as Roman had torn it away from his body, tossing it aside without looking back at it. It was his sash.

There was something disquieting about seeing the sash on the ground, tossed aside without a second thought. It had always been a part of Roman’s outfit, the bright red colour of the fabric making him stand out even more, contrasting the white and black of his clothing. By ripping away the sash, it was as if Roman had torn away a part of himself. As if he wasn’t worthy of it.

“Guys,” Virgil’s voice pulled the two away from their thoughts and the two of them turned to the anxious side, who had walked to something in another corner of the room, but his body hid it from Thomas’ sight. He sat on his knees, holding something in his hands. “You might want to take a look at this.”

Thomas walked over to where Virgil sat, followed closely by Patton, who still clutched the red sash in his two hands.

“What is that?” Patton asked as he came to a halt behind the younger side. Soon enough, Thomas caught up to them. In front of him, he saw a small, red bin. It was filled to the brim with crumpled up papers. In fact, it was so full that a bunch of the papers didn’t even fit anymore.

“His ideas, I think,” Virgil said, as he stared at the paper he held in his hands. “Look at this: 'Cartoon Therapy: Dot and Larry’ the next bit is illegible, but I can see… I think it’s Star vs the Forces of Evil? I don’t know, it looks like it. I think these things were his ideas.”

“Why would he do this?” Thomas frowned as he picked up another piece of paper. He unfolded it and attempted to read the text on it. But everything had been crossed out to forcefully that the pen had ripped through the paper. Thomas could not make out a single word. His heart sank. Roman must have felt so lost, so… forlorn. He couldn’t imagine what must have been going on in the prince’s head. It was horrible.

Meanwhile, Logan was eyeing something much, much bigger. He had looked around and behind them, he noticed something that unsettled him more than anything else in the room.

“I think we might have a bigger problem at hand,” he stated monotonously as he looked at the picture in front of him. Thomas, Virgil and Patton looked up at the sound of his voice. Patton gasped when he saw what the logical side meant. They were looking at a mirror. A huge, ornate mirror on the wall. A mirror that would have been beautiful if it hadn’t been destroyed almost completely. The wooden frame had been slashed and chipped - by Roman’s sword, they reasoned. The dark wood had been so gorgeous, the design so intricate, but it had been ruined by the prince’s weapon. Pieces had been cut off or completely destroyed by scratches and cuts. But that wasn’t all. Of course it wasn’t all.

What was even worse, was the mirror itself. It was completely shattered. The ground around it was littered with shards of the glass, some just tiny strips of glass, others big and pointed. You could see several marks of impact, where something had made contact with the mirror. Most likely a fist, Logan reasoned.

But there was one thing that stood out. Literally.

In the middle of the mirror, at eye level, he saw Roman’s sword sticking out of the mirror.

Right between the eyes.

[thevarkey]

S/o Muhammadkutty

My name is Rashid. I am in the 8rd standard. I go to the local government school . I am going to tell you a story. Once upon a time, there lived a boy. He lived with his father, mother and 3 sisters in a small house next to a big mango tree. We have a cow and a cat. The cow's name is _ and the cat's name is Chacki. Chacki likes to drink _s milk. He also eats fish. My father's name is Kunji Mohammed but people always call him Mammootty. My mother's name is Ayesha. And my sisters are Amina and Fatima. My father sells bed sheets going from house to house. Sometimes, I ask my father if I can go with him but he never agrees. My mother and eldest two sisters also go to work at some local homes to supplement my father's income. He doesn't like it but knows well that he doesn't bring in enough to keep us fed and clothed. So he lets them go. But they have to give him their salary the day they get it. He is very strict in that. My parents fight badly when my mother forgets to do this and is a few days late. It mostly ends up badly for my mother. She gets beaten by my father. And then she cries. I feel sad, but I know that if I went near her now,  I would also get a share

We have lots of plants in our house. We have a mango tree, a coconut tree, lots of flowering plants and some vegetables that my mother grows. Mom will never let me into the vegetable patch because she thinks I will destroy the plants. At a certain time every year, all these plants will have fruit. Then, we get different curries with that vegetable in different forms. There will be pachadi, olathiyathu, mappas and a lot of combinations of the stuff readily available. I and my dad usually eat first, so there is not even a remote possibility that one of these things will get over and I won't have to eat it. Whatever, mother has made, I have to eat. i t gets better during festivals like Id or Ramzan. Then my father will buy meat. It is usually chicken or beef. Then the food is really tasty. Amma’s beef biriyani is very famous with everybody in the neighbourhood. Ramzan is also a time of good food. All the adults have to fast throughout the day and they can’t even swallow their spit. But that doesn't apply to me and my younger sister yet. So we sleep when the others get up in the morning to eat. And when we wake up their remaining food will be there. Who doesn't want to eat samosa and dates in the morning. And then we would go to school. There we would eat whatever Amma had packed usually rice and some curry that she had put together. And then when evening came we would go to the mosque to pray. I being a child don’t have to pray. Me and my friends just play around till the prayer gets over making sure our parents don’t see us. And then comes iftar. All the good stuff come out then. Sometimes, neighbours and relatives invite us to their house for iftar. And whoever makes it there is sure to be lots of variety

We have 2 months holiday once every year in April and May. In the beginning, all of my friends are here and we play all day. We play cricket and football in a small ground in our neighbourhood. Sometimes we even play Robber-Police and hide and seek. It is lots of fun in the beginning but then we start to get bored. And then people start going to visit their relatives. By the time it becomes May, almost all the other children have gone to live with their grandparents. But I can’t go like that because all my grandparents died before I was even born. My sisters who have met them tell me they were really nice. They would not scold you and they would buy you lots of chocolate and other nice things. They would even buy you new clothes for my sisters’ on their birthdays. They once even gave them some money to when my sisters went to the local fair for them to buy whatever they wanted.

Another big highlight of the summer holidays is mangoes. It is in May that mangoes become ripe. And if your house has a mango tree, you know what I am talking about when I say it is one of the best times of the year. And we certainly had a mango tree. And there was lots of flowers on it. But when the time came for the actual mangoes, there were very few mangoes. And a lot of the mangoes that did come had works in them. And some were too high up in the tree to be plucked. So we waited for them to fall down. We would then pick them up and give to our mother. She would peel it make it pieces and give it to us to eat. We would do the same for most of the mangoes even if some birds had taken a bit or two. 

One Friday in May, we got a call from my grandfather's phone. Somebody was calling to tell us that he had had an accident. When he was walking down the street, a scooter had come and hit him. He fell to the ground and had been taken to the local private hospital. When my father heard this, he rushed to the hospital as fast as he could. The hospital staff told him that from the blood test they had conducted,they had a doubt if my grandfather had a growth on his leg and that they needed to do a scan.. We couldn't afford to take him into a scan at the private hospital and so my father and his father went to the Medical College hospital. They got the scan there. They said it would take some time and asked my father to come back to the room after and hour. My dad went to the canteen and bought his father his lunch and asked him to wait till he could go to the scan room and get the result. When he came back, I heard my dad talk about a man very sick man who was waiting outside the scan room next to him. My dad felt really bad for him and prayed to Allah to save him. He got the scan result and went to the canteen to eat his lunch. And then they went to the doctor. The doctor told them that the growth was nothing to worry about. And then they came home with this good news.

For the next few weeks, life went on like normal. We went to school, my dad went to try and sell the bedsheets and my grandparents lived happily. And then one day, my father got sick . First it was just a cold. And then he got a fever and seemed confusedThis was bad news though not a cause for concern. We had enough stuff at home to eat with my mother and sisters going to work and all. But when my father's sickness became worse we were worried. We didn't think he would die but it would take a lot of money to treat him. When his condition got worse on the 4th continuous day, we called the hospital. And they sent a group of people in white to take my father. It was one of the most frightening days of my life. And then we got the news. My father had the Red fever.

By then we knew what the Red fever was. It was all over the news and all the people in the district were very, very scared. Only about 10 or 20 people actually got the disease but the disease scare had basically turned out city and the surrounding areas into a ghost town. All the shops were closed, most people remained home and life generally came to a standstill. Our schools closed and we the children would have been sent to live with our relatives if we had anybody somewhere else. But we didn't, so we sat at home and watched TV or slept. I thought that it was very boring. But when it was discovered that my father had Red fever, life became worse. All of us children had not been near our father when he was sick. But my mother had. So when he was taken to the hospital, she was also placed under observation and the children were sent to live with our grandparents. When our parents were taken away, we the children were very, very sad. Yes, we had my grandparents, but our parents weren't there. The day the white men came will always be one of the worst days of my life.

My father had been sick for 4 days. And he was visibly getting worse. And my Dad also somehow knew enough to keep all his children away from him during the time of illness. Only my mother could go into the room in which he was lying. We were all very afraid of our father. He did not really have an issue beating us once in a while. So even in the time of his illness, none of us had enough courage to go into a room he had told us not to go into. Our mother seemed worried every time she came out of the room. Father’s condition was becoming worse. The first day he only had a cold. Then he had a high fever, and then sometimes would start shaking violently like he was possessed. We didn't see him in that situation. We heard the sound of the bed shaking and we called mother. She went into the room, took one look at him and called the hospital. Something tells me I am not missing anything. After some time, an ambulance pulled into our courtyard. A group of people dressed in white came out and went straight into my father’s room. And came out with my father on a stretcher. He looked very, very sick.His skin was white and he was considerably skinnier. I don’t know why mom didn’t call the hospital before. Not that that would have helped. Red fever has a very high death rate. That was the worst my dad would ever look and that was the last time we would look at him. They took him to the ambulance. And then asked my mother to get in. She had looked after my father. She also may have the disease. My mother called my grandparents, told them what was happening, asked them to come to the house and get us. Turning to us, she told my oldest sister to wait till our uncle's came and then go with them. Having said goodbye to her crying children for what could well have been the last time she would see them, she calmly turned around and got on the ambulance. Some women I have in my life. 

My uncle and aunt came and took us to their house. Life changed drastically. Before, some people would come to our house every so often to talk to us. Even after the crisis situation started, people would at least call us from their relatives homes. Now even that stopped. It was as if we were the scum of the earth and talking to us even on the phone would spread the illness. I really did want to return the favour when they came to us during the flood time. But my mother is way too nice to allow me to do that. She says that judging is Allah’s work and we needn’t do it for him. Only Abdullah, my best friend in the world, called to even confirm if we were all right. He wouldn’t visit us of course but then who walks around with that kind of a death wish. Also he was at his uncle's place. And so we ended up being isolated from society in a ghost town. 

We stayed with our uncle's family for quite a while. It was some of the worst days of my life. Both my parents had been taken away from me and I didn't know if I would ever see them again. Also nobody was willing to even look at us. Our parents were diseased and so were we. We dealt with it the best we could. That is to say, we sat at home and wept. I as a boy is not supposed to cry. But I couldn't really care less. Sadness was so deep that I could literally feel the pain. I didn't want to live anymore. I knew that I had to live for my parents and my sisters, but I didn't want to.  I took a knife and cut myself. It felt so good. Not good, more like relieved. My emotional sadness was now physical.  My aunt saw me bleeding and tied it up. We would normally just take me to a hospital. But not now. Nobody wanted to go to a hospital if there was a way around it. My uncle and aunt got really worried. So much that they took me to a shrine and got me blessed. I didn't want to go but there wasn't really any choice. Still, I argued and whined with my grandparents for a long time, but they had seen enough to decide that I was "possessed". And so they dragged me to the shrine. Having done this we came home. 

The next day came with news. Good news. My mother was alright. By some miracle of Allah, She had not gotten Red fever. And she would come home the next day. This was a great relief for all of us. But my father was still critical and was getting worse. The day we put him in hospital, he had such a high fever that he got something called a seizure. By the next day, he was already vomiting everything he ate and drank. By the next day, blood was in his vomit. And by the next, he was in the ventilator, barely being kept alive my machines. The disease progressed fast and there was no cure for it. Eventually, six days after he was diagnosed with Red Fever,  My father died.

We were not allowed to bury my father by ourselves. First, there was talk about burning the body. It was supposed to be the safest thing to do with it so that the disease wouldn't spread. But the mullah of our mosque objected as did we. There was an epidemic going on and we understood that we needed to be careful. But in Muslim tradition, burning a dead man's body is to desecrate it. So we insisted that it be buried. Eventually, we got our way. But nobody was allowed to go anywhere near the body. The doctors brought it in in a blue body bag wearing their white suits all the time. The mullah stood some distance away and prayed and when the time came, the men in white lowered the bag containing my dad into a deep hole in the ground.

I was heartbroken to see my dad go and we all cried a lot. And we got a lot of time to grieve in peace. The land outside was empty since everybody was at home afraid of catching the fever. We had already done a lot of our crying when we came to know that he had the disease and we were too tired to cry anymore. We had gotten our mother back and we were willing to take what Allah had given us and move on. All my sisters had to go to work if we had to eat. And I had to go to school to study hard and make my father proud. He had done a lot for me in his life. Now it was time for me to pay him back.

[missylou22]

Oops I did it again… 

Yup, another giant adventure. New Orleans was making me melt, so it was time to venture back up north towards the family.

But in all honesty, one of my teammates vacated his North Carolina position and I jumped at the opportunity to be a quick 6 hours from home instead of 17. No more missed birthdays, buying flights for holidays or trying to figure out appropriate vacation time.

So after a few back and forths for details, I was offered the same position I’m currently holding, just for North & South Carolina! It was a busy, hectic, and stressful few weeks trying to finish up regular work while also needing to fly up to find a suitable new apartment, pack my tiny 1 bedroom in New Orleans, move it all up to Charlotte, NC

I took a few days back in March to do the apartment searching. And because work has conditioned me so well, I plugged the few places I had in mind into mapquest route planner and scheduled out 6 visits in about 4 hours :)

Luckily my teammate and I are good friends and I was able to arrange a private tour of my new city with him and his wife and indulge in some North Carolina BBQ for dinner. Because I came in on a weekend, I was able to knock out about 3 more locations on Sunday and had one last one to see Monday before a flight back to NOLA on Tuesday afternoon. I figured 4 days would be decent since that’s what dad and I took to find my NOLA apartment but found it on day 1. I have another friend (former Redskins coworker) in the area too so it was nice to be able to have someone with me for a few of the places.

It came down to 2 locations on Monday – a third floor 1 bedroom 1 bathroom with sunroom (for my office), but no elevators or washer & dryer in unit, or a 4th floor, 2 bedroom, 2 bathrooom with everything but a little more than what I was already paying. Guess which one I chose…

Yup, welcome to the 2 bedroom life!! It was really going to suck having to lug suitcases up and down 3 flights of stairs… I pay for convenience.  Now I have a dedicated office AND a guest bedroom!! All I had left to do was pack up my New Orleans apartment, find movers, and get on the road…. crap.

How the hell am I going to pack all this junk into appropriate boxes and where the hell am I going to put it when I get there?

Packing your entire life in 672 sq feet while also trying to keep life normal is very difficult. I took my mother’s advice and packed a few boxes every night for a week or two until I didn’t have any more space to put boxes, suitcases, etc. in my living room.

While trying to keep up with that “normal” life idea I tried to keep work as fluid as possible while also saying see ya later to the friends I made in the Big Easy. Luckily those friends are lifelong ones and made sure to give me the proper sendoff with  all-you-can-eat Crawfish, booze, baseball and Beauty & the Beast on my final weekend.

I also got some help from our Junior in Atlanta who drove all the way down to clean out my storage unit. Since the process of hiring my replacement is ongoing we wanted that BDM to be able to start fresh with a new storage unit – meaning it was up to us to completely clean it out and ship back whatever wasn’t taken/recycled. We loaded & unloaded the car 3 times, returned my corporate vehicle, and FedEx’d stuff to corporate all in one day. It was only fair that I introduce him to Crawfish and Bourbon Street. We celebrated hard on Bourbon Street – go big or go home right?!

Go big we did. I’m pretty sure I was still inebriated when I woke up before the movers arrived… It was a rough morning trying to pack the rest of my crap. I had to be careful not to stand up too quickly and rehydrate. By the time the movers got there and started taking the pre-packed boxes, I was just shoving the rest of it in garbage bags going “I’ll figure out what’s in what when I get there”. It took them about 3/3.5 hours to load everything and off they went. By the way, Abba Movers, a local business in New Orleans was AMAZING. I liked the idea of not having my stuff thrown in a storage unit somewhere to await another 18wheeler loaded with random people’s belongings and then maybe being delivered the next 7-10 days…. These guys assured me they would load everything securely, drive to Charlotte, and unload all within 3 days. Yes please!

Once the big stuff was out, it was just the little stuff and cleaning left before I closed the door on my NOLA life. Sir Quilliam Thatcher was the last thing in the car before heading out to return my Cox router for the 5.5 hour drive to Auburn.

We were loaded down and ready for the next road trip adventure! I arrived to Auburn around 10:30 that evening, threw myself in the shower and flopped into bed. I don’t have a large travel home for Quilliam yet, so I set him up in the spacious jacuzzi tub of the hotel. 

Because hedgehogs are nocturnal, he decided that 4am was a good time to throw all the plastic pieces/toys around which got him locked back in hedgie jail.

Thursday we loaded back into the car and continued through Atlanta to our new home and upon arrival, I had already forgotten how big the new space was. I spent that evening locating an air mattress for myself to sleep on and sitting on the floor in the middle of the giant living room just appreciating the quiet.

The movers weren’t due to arrive till 10am on Friday but I got a call asking if they could move it up to 9am… ummm ABSOLUTELY. And at 8:45am they arrived ready to unload and while I worked my way through e-mails and created a newsletter, they unloaded everything into my new 1,187 sq foot space, not one thing missing or broken! That’s a LOT more space than I realized and all my furniture looked too small… Good thing Mom & Dad were on their way down to help me organize, decorate and check out some new furniture!

The super clutch piece to the whole weekend was the flatbed cart the apartment complex had available to help me move everything in and out. The only casualty of the entire move was a small hair I found wrapped around poor Quilliam’s tiny foot, luckily my bff is a vet with vet friends all over the place and she was able to find me a local team that see’s exotics.

Once the parental support arrived we unpacked the essentials, picked up an aggrivated Quilly, and shopped around until my hangriness got out of hand and we had to check out the restaurant downstairs.

Saturday morning we’d hit the ground running for some big girl furniture. I initially saw this fantastic looking white buffet piece to put my TV on at the Value City Furniture store. I found it in my original apartment search trip, went back to look at it when I arrived Thursday and this was my 3rd trip to the store to confirm I liked it. While I did like it, I was annoyed I couldn’t take it home with me immediately. So after declining to wait for it to be delivered, because I am impatient (and the Kitchen table we were looking at was sold right underneath our noses) I did some googling to find top rated furniture stores in Charlotte.

Welcome to Nadeau! Furniture with my soul captured as soon as I crossed the front door threshold. I was entranced. It was almost an antique setup store with furniture piled on top of each other and on my treasure hunt I went. We were overwhelmed by the amount of quality looking pieces in there, I wanted everything. And after much deliberation between pieces, what I wanted my apartment to look like, the ideas that had been stored in my brain for years and checking prices, I left with 3 items purchased.

We were able to load the small table and the bench into mom’s new car at once, but the buffet would be trip #2. As we excitedly got the pieces into the space I could see it all coming together. I was still bummed about missing out on the other table and was deciding which style I wanted for my very first kitchen table. Circle?! Square?! Rectangle!? If I get a circle farm style table I’d want to move this light a foot over, can maintenance do that? But what if I get a rectangle table? I could slide this bench over and not have to buy chairs? WHY IS ADULTING SO HARD?!

Once I decided on the colors of the first 3 pieces, I knew the style I was looking for but still hadn’t decided on shape. We went back to pick up the buffett and took another look around at the tables and there it was. A beautiful Mango wood rectangular table. I’ve never been more in love with a piece of wood… I’m hoping it lasts me a while. And my jaw about hit the floor when the sales kid told me it was only $289…. I just looked at dad with the most surprised expression while dollar signs flashed in my eyes. Yup. Mine.

We stopped at Home Depot after loading the last 2 pieces and then dad got to work attaching the legs… funny, I’m pretty sure I have the same photo of him putting together my desk 2.5 years ago :) (except this time we didn’t have to load & unload it all ourselves!! WIN!)

Now that I had some new furnishings, it was time to really make this apartment home. On to the decorating we went!

My mind is still boggled by how much space I have. I’m used to living on top of all my posessions. Here, everything is put away. It’s clean, it doesn’t look cluttered, it’s so zen!

Because I have 2 giant walk-in closets, I no longer needed my homemade garment rack, Mom and I decided to turn it into a display/headboard piece for the spare room/office. Yes the air mattress is currently in there until I find a new sectional sofa and move this tiny/semi-broken one in there.

The spare room now is not only my office, but also a reminder of all the fun things I’ve done so far. Mardi Gras items, signed sports stuff, my favorite books, etc.

The last piece of the puzzle was my master bedroom suite. I’m pretty excited to have my bathroom right in my bedroom actually. Again, because of all the space my bedroom is quite empty now that I’ve put everything away. There’s no longer a bike or grill next to my bed, clothes out in the open or crafting flowers laying around.

I legitimately don’t know what to do with myself…. Maybe I’ll add a really cool & fun chair somewhere. I also needed a little extra storage space in my bathroom so I found a cabinet unit at WalMart and put it together after Mom & Dad hit the road.

My first dinner at my very own kitchen table was a turkey sandwich, as was my first lunch. I’ll get to cooking eventually :)

I spent my office day for work on our normal conference call which was very odd because I’m used to waking up and having to get right on the call since I was an hour behind the rest of the team. It’ll take some getting used to having a whole hour before the call now. I actually had time to make coffee!! I set up my office space as well, and started planning out some sales calls for my first few days after I pick up the company car and check out the storage unit.

I’ll make the first 6 hour drive home this weekend for Nugget’s 3rd birthday and Easter. I’m super excited to be back within driving distance from the family. Can’t wait to see what this new adventure brings!

That’s enough adulting for now. I’m tired.

Queen City Oops I did it again...