#unlike me my mom doesn’t like her food burnt so i decided to go the steam-then-fry route

[danothan]

decided to watch tutorials for cleaning fresh produce after washing my brussel sprouts for an hour straight and thinking “wait… something’s not right about this.”

you’re telling me you can just let them soak in a bowl and come back to it later?? occam’s razor, you tricky son of a bitch.

[ryuu-to-sobakasu-hime]

Ryuu to Sobakasu no Hime (Belle) Novel | English Translation | Chapter 3

**This is a machine translation. I put it together by extracting text page-by-page from a .pdf version of the Japanese novel, and running it through Google translate. I have only minorly edited some of the more confusing lines to make it more read-able. It is still a very rough translation, but it’s good enough to understand what’s going on. If there is anyone out there who wants to properly translate the novel, I am more than happy to edit it, if you’ll contact me.**

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Chapter 3: Memory

"Mother."

"What is it, Suzu?"

When I called, my mother turned around and replied.

Eleven years ago. The house was still new. There was no garage yet, and potted flowers were lined up all over the garden. "Do not cut my hair."

I told her that and ran down the slope in front of my house. Mom walked down the stairs opposite her, resting her hand on her waist and waiting. I ran away in the opposite direction, bouncing, saying that I would never let my hair be cut. But I was taken back without a hitch. She was seated on a bench in the garden and dressed in a haircut cape. “I’m going to make you look cute, Suzu.” After cutting my hair, I don't like the tingling of my hair. She shook her legs and sharpened her lips. But when she held the scissors without hesitation, she cut my hair all at once. "Because you’re going to be an elementary school student," I hope the hair on both sides doesn't stick to my shoulders. The bangs were far above the eyebrows. Even when I went to school, my neck was tingling for a while.

I played a lot with my mother. I took a sumo wrestling on the lawn of the riverbed in the evening. I pushed her by force and my mother rolled on the grass. I won, I laughed happily. Mother also laughed. I asked why? Won’t she cry if she loses? Mom shook her head. “I'm glad that the weak Suzu has become stronger.” Dad was laughing while lying on the grass. My mother often made salted seared meat. She lightly sprinkles salt and roasts the bonito stabbed on a gold skewer from her lenticel over an open flame on the stove. I was staring from the top of the chair. Since the fat drips, the microwave oven will not get dirty if you bake it while sucking it with cooking paper. When it gets burnt, dip it in ice water to cool it, and then drain it. It was a style. So as a kid, I had a hard time holding a thick piece of salted meat with chopsticks, and I had a hard time putting it in my mouth. Mom was waiting for dad's return, holding a mug and watching my struggle.

My dad was a salaryman at that time, and he wore a tie and went out to the city every day. Perhaps because of that, we had some money in our house in the old days. Mother bought a state-of-the-art smartphone at the time. I decided to try out the performance of the on-board camera, and on dad's lap, I pointed my smartphone at my mom. I asked dad to help put mom in the frame and pressed the shutter. She is dressed in white.

The smiling mother, she was beautiful. The photo of her was printed on paper and is still at the house. I was a cheerful child running around, unlike now. I definitely liked playing outside rather than inside the house. If there were trees, I climbed, if there were leaves, I tore them, and if there were insects, I chased them. But it didn't burn in the sun. I must have been such a constitution. Instead, my face is freckled.

I was often injured. My knee was also full of scratches. In the woods, on the riverbed, on the slope in front of my house, I often stumbled and fell. My mother ran up in a hurry and she hugged me tightly, crying in pain. Mysteriously, it hurts somewhere. That's when I was happy. I don't know how many times I fell because I ran around vigorously and wanted mother to hug me. Every time mother rushed in as if it was a big deal for her daughter and worried. Every day was like summer vacation. I clung to mother doing the laundry and cleaning and played. After lunch, she opened the tatami mat, laid a summer futon on the tatami mats, and we took a nap together. The smoke of the mosquito coil was rising slowly. When I woke up, most of the time, I couldn't see my mother sleeping next to me, and she was busy doing housework. In retrospect, she never been told me that she is busy. She was always with me when I asked for it. Since my house was in the mountains, I rarely went out to eat somewhere, and instead my mother cooked any kind of food. One day she saw it in a picture book, and she said she wanted to eat yakitori. She had never eaten it before. My mother made yakitori by sticking chicken on skewers one by one. For the first time in my life, I saw yakitori with the naked eye. I didn't know how to eat it, so I couldn't do well by chewing the meat and removing it from the skewers. Dad and mom were staring at me. Never missing what her daughter experiences for the first time in her life. The place where we, who live in the mountains, go out to play is not an amusement park or a shopping mall, but a campsite further in the mountains from our house.

On a sunny summer day, my mom and I wore a wide-brimmed hat and crossed the subsidence bridge. Dad was carrying a lot of camping equipment. The water crystal pool in the depths of the Yasui Valley was a breathtaking blue color even for us living in the area. The water is so transparent that you can clearly see your shadow on the bottom of the river. I feel a little scared as if I were floating in the air. My mother was an advanced swimmer. She boasted that her mother, who was once a local kid, swam like a kappa every day in the summer. She knew all about the fun of the river. At the same time, she never let her swim in dangerous places on dangerous days. Mom wraps around me, floating. She dived into the water to show her off her skills. Still picked up by her, I became anxious and called out. “Mom, don't go.” But mom, she swam in the blue water, as if she couldn't hear me.

One evening, I was playing with my mother's smartphone and saw a strange app. I put it on. When you launch the app, you'll see white and black horizontal stripes lined up. I pointed to what this was and asked my dad who was next to me. Dad looked it and twisted his neck, calling mother, who was preparing dinner. After dinner, mother's hand fixed the smartphone I was holding vertically. I laid it down and found it to be a piano keyboard. As prompted, I pressed one of the keys. There was a "do" sound. I looked at my mother's face. My mother also saw my face, saying that she had come out. It's mom’s music production app. Only then did I look around my mother's room and notice. Old records, cassette tapes, and CDs are lined up on the shelves to the end. And if you set them on a record player or cassette deck and pass them through an amplifier, music will be played from the left and right speakers. The collection was a brilliant one that accurately captured the main points of the history of classical, jazz and rock. I didn’t know at the time, the value and meaning of such a lineup being packed in a room at the end of the world.

In that room, I pressed the keys of the app one after another and recorded. When played, each sound sounds in the order in which they are arranged. Even if you enter an insane scale, it will play back in a lawful manner. I was so happy that I bounced on my chair. My mother was laughing too. Warm incandescent light was illuminating us. After that, I was crazy about this app. I had my mother lend me a smartphone and I was playing around with it day, night and morning. The operation was intuitive and easy to use. There were words that I couldn’t read because it wasn’t a children's app. And there were many functions I didn't understand. But I was absorbed in that kind of thing. I was completely absorbed in the exciting new experience of writing songs. I composed a number of songs and previewed them in front of my mother. The mother who finished listening gave me advice in short words each time. If you do xxx, it will be better, or the trick is to do xxx. She sometimes took out some of the records in the collection and listened to them for reference. My mother is neither a musician nor a composer.

I think each piece of advice is accurate even if I look back on it now. Over and over again, she listened to my melody, and she said she noticed something, and she sang herself to make sure it was. When I asked, she said it wasn't bad. She said she was smirking at me as she said. I put the sound in a place that I wouldn't normally put it. I'm sure this song was a failure, and all the work I've done so far will be ruined. But as it gradually takes shape, it seems strangely cohesive, she said. I felt as happy as I wanted to. I'm sure it's my parents' favor, but even if my mother added, I was happy. For me, I'm not making it with the intention of letting someone else listen to it. It would have been nice if only my mother could listen to it. My mother sings along with the song I typed in. Take the tempo with her right hand and sing gently. The voice of mother, who was also a member of the chorus made by her friends, echoed and was transparent.

She listened to my weird songs many times. I was happy and sang along with it. Anyway, it’s a song that is as nice as my mother.

I couldn't. Happy memories of me and mother suddenly end here. And that August has come. After this, all I have is a painful, painful memory. The voice of a little girl crying and crying echoed in the riverbank. A girl was left alone on a sandbar. Is she 4 or 5 years old? She looked smaller than I was. It was so sunny just a while ago, but I noticed it wasn't a blue sky, and it was covered with overcast clouds. The beautiful and calm river was cloudy, flooded, driftwood-filled, and surprisingly fast. I can imagine that it is raining heavily upstream. Before this happened, there were people happily making noise on the opposite bank when the flow was still transparent. They are now staring at the girl on this shore. She wore colorful outdoor clothing that made it easy to see that she probably came from the city, not a local. The girls' clothes were also bright colors that I had never seen. Why did people from the city overlook the girls' flashy colored clothes? Why did she forget her existence and she came back to this shore? What to do with friends, their families, and those who enjoyed fishing and canoeing on the riverbanks.

It seemed that she couldn't do anything, and she had no choice but to stand and look like a stick. It's no wonder you're standing. The violent flow of the river separated the girl from the people. Everyone realized that it couldn't be helped. One of the adults was talking to someone on his cell phone. However, everyone can see that where the girl is, is gradually narrowing. Everyone is aware that it is very unlikely that the rescue team will arrive in time. Therefore, I have no choice but to stand up without being able to do anything. Is it just listening to the girl's crying as it is? At that time, someone picked up the red life jacket beside the canoe.

I went forward while staring at the girl. She was a mother. Mommy, and I hurriedly clung to the hem of her mother's clothes. She realized that what her mother was trying to do was too dangerous. She wouldn't have been anxious. She screamed and pulled hard, trying not to let her go. Mom crouched down and squeezed my hand, and she told me something. At that time I can't remember what mother said. Maybe I was screaming and not ready to hear the words. Mom stood up to shake off my chasing and ran, locking the buckle on her life jacket. I fell down on a stone in the riverbank trying to chase her. Still, I got up and shouted at mother's back. Don't go. I think mom didn’t hear my words. While checking the girl's whereabouts, I went around the river, went into the water, and got in the stream to help. It started to rain.

How long has it passed since then? Suddenly the surroundings became noisy. The girl was rescued from the river. Adults are pulling the soaked and tired girl out of the river. I was staring at while getting wet in the rain. People running up. A mixture of joyful voices and crying voices. Are you okay? Open your eyes. I'm glad I was saved ... The girl was wearing the same red life jacket that her mother wore. At that moment, I understood at once what was happening. Mom isn’t here.

"Mother ..... Mother .....!"

I looked left and right, searching for her.

Not anywhere.

"Mother ...!"

In the distance, I heard an ambulance siren. The girl was wrapped in a blanket.

Carried by many adults, she leaves the riverbank. Everyone is crazy about it and realizes that my mom isn't there.

She isn't.

"Mom!" Only I raised my voice and kept calling. Many times. Many times. Many times. I don't remember much after that. When I heard that my mother was found all the way down the river, it seemed like a lie. It wasn't long before I realized that the mug that mother was using was missing. Dad put a picture of mother, which he took someday, in a picture frame and put it in a corner of the kitchen. He had to add flowers every day next to it. Neighbors bothered to talk to me every time I met them on the road, listened to me in a friendly way, and encouraged me with tears. Meanwhile, the Internet was flooded with anonymous posts about the accident.

"It's a suicide act to jump into a river flooded by rain"

"It seems that she was confident in swimming, but it's different from the pool."

《It is irresponsible for my child to help someone else's child and die》

《If there is an accident, playing in the river will be a nuisance and annoying》

《Because helping people is a good person, this is what happens》

The person who wrote it probably didn't know anything about the actual situation, and the day after he wrote it, he probably forgot what he wrote. However, the person who wrote it keeps sticking in my chest forever. Immediately after the accident, an acquaintance told me with resentment that it was terrible when I saw this. In front of these words, I was too young to understand all the meanings. However, as I grew up and became able to understand the meaning of the words accurately, I continued to suffer from the unconscious malice contained in them. Losing mother.

How should I pass on these writings as a bereaved family, even though I still can't accept them, as if the mother who helped me was all bad?

Aside from me, my mother just smiled in the picture frame in the kitchen. From that accident, I think something has changed decisively from what I used to be. One evening, in mother's room, where dust began to build up, I stood on her chair, hoping to return to her happy memories. And I sang the song I sang with mother. But when I started singing, I realized I couldn't sing at all. My voice became stuck in the back of my throat and couldn't get out of my mouth. I was confused. Something in my heart was suppressing me from singing. Why can't I sing? Tears came out.

Hey mom. Why can't I sing?

It was clear that the reason why singing was so fun and necessary was because my mother listened to it.

However, just because you can't sing... You don't have to worry about anything. Even if you can't sing, no one will blame you. Life just goes on. I went to a local junior high school. The jumper skirt uniform was stuffy. Many of the elementary school classmates went to the town as they went on to school, and there were not half of the students remaining in the local area, so even in junior high school, it became a compound class. Therefore, the chorus practice was accompanied by the vice-principal teacher, and it was decided to sing in all grades. There were three people in all grades. Because there were only three people, I quickly realized that I was just lip-synching without singing. I was asked why I didn't sing, but I didn't say anything. I thought they would get angry, but they didn't get angry. It means that only I can visit from the next practice.

I sat alone in a corner of the music class and watched everyone practice. I may have looked like a lethargic girl who was just silent. But inside that, there are things that can't be translated into words.

I think it was swirling. When I left school and returned home, I irresistibly entered mother's room in the twilight. The twilight light was shining through the window. Cardboard boxes containing tableware and seasonal home appliances that are no longer in use are piled up on the table. It was completely turned into a storeroom. It's been many years since then. It has passed. I listened to the large number of records there, one by one from the edge of the shelf. Days, days, days. By listening earnestly, I managed to calm my rough feelings. But one day, there was a moment when I thought I couldn't bear it anymore. Upon returning, I entered my mother's room, sat down in front of the keyboard, quickly opened the report sheet, and began to write fiercely with a pen to spit out the incomprehensible feelings in my chest. I was almost suffocating if I didn't spit it out. I turned over the paper and continued to write forever. -Why did mother leave me in the river? Why did she choose to help the child who she didn't even know her name rather than live with me? Why am I alone? Why, why, why – I added paper, supplemented with post-it notes, and wrote long, long lyrics. The scale that springs up is notated long and long. Those that were neither were spit out as pictures. It was a swirl of many kinds. It was like a whirlpool floating on the surface, like a black hole that swallowed everything, and like a hole in the top of my head. The floor of the room was filled with pieces of paper with a mixture of lyrics, pictures and sheet music. But suddenly..... I returned to myself and stopped writing. Right now, I've noticed the worthlessness, meaninglessness, ugliness, and helplessness of the words, pictures, and scales I wrote.

What are you doing? I broke the paper. Everything I've written so far.

I threw it in the trash can without hesitation. The bundle of paper looked like a vomit that I had just spit out. Then I became a high school student.

I finally found myself worthless. The uniform tie was stuffy. I crossed the subsidence bridge while looking down and went to school. I took an exam and passed the exam at a junior and senior high school in the center of the city, and transferred from high school. There, I met my childhood friend Shinobu-kun again.

"Shizu.."

"Shinobu-kun ..."

Now that I was in high school, Shinobu-kun looked tall and shining, all different. On the other hand, I didn't seem to have grown at all since then, and I was irresistibly embarrassed and couldn't even talk. What have I been doing so far? I started a new life going to the city from the mountains, but I couldn't get into studying. Even though I had a hard time taking the exam, I just looked out the window during class. Knowing that this shouldn't be the case. Club activities didn't go anywhere. There were very few such students. On the way home, you can see the students devoting themselves to club activities. The track and field club is jumping the training hurdle in a line in the courtyard. The volleyball club is running on the ground. A percussionist in the brass band with a metronome in his ear is striking a stick in the hallway. The Naginata club sits upright in the martial arts hall with a good posture, and thank you for your cooperation, saying before the practice. The first-year students of the baseball club, who have not yet been numbered, stand side by side and watch as if they are digging into the practice of their seniors. I didn't belong anywhere, so I left school quickly. It was already winter. There is a river called Kagami River that flows from east to west in the center of the city. Since the flow is often gentle, the TV tower and buildings on the opposite bank are reflected like a mirror. When I returned to the station through the road beside it, the girls of the light music club carrying the "Chahahaha" musical instrument case overtook me with a light step while laughing. A cute cat-shaped stuffed animal attached to the school bag is shaking. Attached to my school bag was a cheesy plastic plate of "Gutto Koremaru". "Gutto Koremaru" is an egg-shaped character who can poke his hand against the wall and endure the pain. I have a crack in my head, probably because I endured it too much. Of course, it's not cute.

In a dark and narrow corridor.

I resisted, "I can't do it! Hey!", But I was pulled into the room, saying "OK." The soundproof door slammed behind me. Shinboku "Ah!" There was a flashy room in a karaoke box, and the pink and purple lights were spinning mysteriously. It smells of incense. Only for girls in the class.

I heard that it was a social gathering, but when I saw the frenzy of the girls standing on the sofa and shaking their heads, I thought that I could not get into this tension very much.

"Peggie Sue is cute"

"This is the one that is popular in" U ", isn't it?" On the monitor screen on the wall, the popular Az of "U", Peggy Sue, was seen singing in a black rubber dress. Purple lipstick that shakes silver hair. An eccentric beauty with red eyes. Peggy Sue? "U"? Az? Is it popular? I don't know anything. It's like an event in a different world from me. Then, Hitomi suddenly offered a microphone, "Yes." Sing, and so on. "Huh?" Puzzled. Neither the coat nor the muffler is taken off. But "yes" the microphone was pointed again. Why for a child like me who is at the end of a class?

"Sing together?"

"Hey, sing."

The shadows of the girls press the microphones. What do you mean?

"Are you not going to sing alone?"

"Isn't it a lie that you can't sing?"

I see, so it’s this situation.

Dozens of microphones are forced against my face one after another. "Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu"

"Sing"

"Hey, sing?"

"Sing"

Those voices sound like a threat.

"You're telling me to sing."

"Sing!"

"Sing!"

Ahh!

Immediately, the microphone popped off and fell to the floor.

The girls dancing on the sofa suddenly saw me. It's calming down as if I was taken aback.

"What happened? Suzu-chan"

The mic and the shadows of the girls disappeared like a phantom.

"No, nothing. I'm sorry. Hey ..."

Without saying anything, I pushed the door of the karaoke box open by force and went out like crawling. Someone might have heard and told everyone that I couldn't sing.

When I got off the bus, powder snow was flying. I almost slipped down the slope from the bus stop. Even in Kochi, it usually snows in the mountains, aside from the city. When I crossed the subsidence bridge, I heard a crackling sound of thin ice. The surface of the concrete bridge is frozen.

Cold. It's not dexterous enough to get used to everyone, and it's not divisible. On the other hand, I’m not strong enough to be alone, not prepared, and have no idea.

I don't do anything selfish. Rumors that you can't sing, that's a lie. I'm just not confident in myself for a while. I want to get along with everyone. Really. I know. Of course I know. So "Ah ... Ah ..."

In the middle of the bridge, I impulsively exhaled my voice.

"Ah ... ah ... ah ah"

As I breathed in, cold air sank into my throat. Still, I sang towards the river. "Ah..”

Did I sing? It didn't match a song. It's just a growl. The bag slipped off my shoulder. Will you forgive me if I sing? Can I get along with everyone if I sing? It doesn't help to sing alone in such a place. It's like a scream of a dead end before being crushed. Still, I sang that song with my mother with a squeezed voice. I was happy back then. It's different now. Powder snow was swirling in the flow of the river. Suddenly, in front of me it became pitch black. Nausea swelled from the back of my stomach, and I held my mouth with both hands.

"Uuuuu!"

I crouched on my knees. However, I couldn't stand the momentum of the backflowing gastric juice. I pushed my body forward and vomited towards the clear stream under the bridge. The vomit that was about to kneel and vomit fell to the surface of the water, creating a number of ripples. I spit out everything in my stomach and fell on the bridge. My hair is messed up and my mouth is smeared with gastric juice and smells. It's already spicy. I want to get rid of everything. Shivering and crying as if groaning. Drops of tears ooze on my cold cheeks and tingle. I wish I were gone.

I could hear the slight sound of powder snow folding and piled up right next to me. A notification came to the smartphone that slipped off my bag. It was a message from Hiro-chan.

<< Look at this, Suzu. It’s so amazing that I’m seriously laughing. >>

There is a link to somewhere.

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https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Dcx2NedPVBEdbfQaU-WC0pJMRmn20ASn7HSC0KY9R7E/edit?usp=sharing ~ Google Doc of the English-translated novel.

ryuutosobakasuhime.wordpress.com ~ English fan-site for Ryuu to Sobakasu no Hime where translations, scans, and other content is posted.

[sparkle9510]

Baby Robins and Tiny Ladybugs Ch. 2

Hey guys! Happy holidays! I’m so terribly sorry this is so late! Honestly, I got lazy, wanting to do other things (making presents and drawing stuff), but writers block kept getting to me. I wasn’t satisfied where this was going, so I decided to let inspiration hit me and I am so glad I waited cause indeed it did, and I am much more satisfied with this chapter than my previous idea. With that said, let’s move on with the show!

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It was a beautiful day at the city of Paris, France. It was peaceful and quiet. All until laughter filled the air near the Tom & Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie.

“Grayson did what?” Marinette giggled. “I can’t believe he burnt the pancakes.”

“Grayson was always inept in cooking. Though everyone in the family is. You should see father burning the water,” Damian rolled his eyes. “We’re lucky to have Pennyworth with us.”  

Marinette chuckled, understanding that Damian was actually showing that he cares for his family. It has been 2 years since they had first met and exchanged numbers. They had exchanged emails very frequently, and emails then turned to phone calls before it turned into video calls. All that time spent talking to each other helped them both know each other’s quirks. At least, she hoped so.

“I’m glad your father’s back safe and sound,” Marinette smiled. 

Damian had informed her that his father, who was missing or most likely dead, had been found. He was injured and needed time to heal, but overall, was relatively safe and sound. She was so happy to hear that, especially since his mother figure was not a part of his life anymore so he said.

“I am too, although,” Damian frowned. “now that he’s back, things will be different.” Will I be accepted? He seemed to radiate, from what Marinette can tell.

“Damian,” Marinette decided to interrupt his thoughts. “you are amazing, and from what I hear, your dad will love you.” 

“Angel, thank you,” Damian gave her a small grateful smile.

Marinette grinned, opening her mouth to respond when her mom called her. 

“Dami, I got to go,” She frowned. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Giving their goodbyes, she ended the call before heading downstairs. Down in the kitchen, her dad was kneading some dough and her mom was nearby, a phone in hand.

“Maman?” Marinette called. “What did you need?” 

“Marinette, we just got a huge order of catering, though the location is pretty far.”

“Where Maman?”

“Gotham.”

———-

Damian sighed, hands in the pockets of his jackets. He observed his father looking over the decorations and progress of the setup. His father had decided to hold a gala in honor of his return. He had understood his father had to show he wasn’t fazed and pick his playboy facade back up, but Damian so did not like these meaningless social interactions.

“Why the sigh, Lil’ D?” Dick asked. “You’ve been doing it more often.”

“Probably cause he hasn’t done his weekly thing,” Tim yawned, typing away on his laptop. “Whatever that is.”

Damian scowled and looked away. He couldn’t be bothered with Drake at the moment. It’s been around 2 weeks since he had last called Marinette. She hadn’t shown up and picked up the call the last two times he called, the most recent being yesterday. She had said she was busy and went awol. O-of course he wasn’t really worried, he told himself. She could just be really busy.

“Ooh, you may be right, Replacement,” Jason smirked, leaning onto Dick. “The demon spawn hasn’t stayed his room for hours. I wonder, maybe he’s hasn’t been-” 

Before he could continue, Dick elbowed Jason in the ribs, earning a yelp from the latter. Jason glared at his older brother, only to receive an annoyed look that said, ‘Are you serious?’ In return, he stuck his tongue playfully. 

“You don’t know what you’re saying Todd,” Damian scoffed, narrowing his eyes when he felt someone ruffle his hair. “Cease that, Grayson.”

“Dami, you know what you need?” Dick grinned. “Sugar. And you know what? they have some desserts at the cater table and I’ll bet they’ll let you have something sweet.”

“You know I don’t care for sweets.”

“Just have something, Lil’ D. If anything, you can check on the food,” 

“Very well.”

And with that, Damian begun heading over to the food, but not without hearing Jason whispering to Dick. 

“Dickie Bird, you’re up to something. Spill,” Jason interrogated Dick.

“Just being a good big brother,” Dick cheerily replied.

A good brother? Very unlikely. Damian rolled his eyes. When he got to the area, he saw a large man and a woman setting up the food. It smelled good, and somewhat…familiar? There was one place he thought up, but how could it be here when it was at-

“Maman, Papa! Here are the rest of the order!” a girl, carrying multiple boxes tried to rush past him. 

However, she didn’t notice him and bumped into him, sending her almost tumbling down. That is, until Damian helped steady her. 

“I’m sorry,” the girl replied. “I’m so clumsy. I-”

Damian’s eyes widen. He knew that voice anywhere. Adding the clumsiness, that could only mean…

“Angel?”

———

Marinette’s eyes widen, realizing who it was that stopped her. She figured there was a good chance of seeing him, but she thought it would be more of her telling him than running into him.

“…We’ve got to stop running into each other,” she smiled, slightly embarrassed she had yet again, ran into him. 

“I don’t mind,” Damian chuckled. “Let me help you.”

Grabbing two-third of the boxes, he begun to walk to the table. Marinette immediately followed, still stuck in a dazed state. 

“Oh! Thank you, sir,” Sabine quickly relieved Damian’s load. “I hope our daughter didn’t cause you any trouble.” 

“It’s no problem, Mlle.” Damian smiled. “It’s an honor to finally meet Marinette’s parents. She told me so much about you during our chats.”

“Chats?” Tom questioned. “Oh! You must be that boy she calls frequently. She mentioned how-”

“Papa!” Marinette called. “Don’t you need to finish setting these up or something?”

Her dad chuckled before going back to his work. Marinette sighed, feeling the heat still on her face. Damian didn’t need to hear what she said about him. 

“Marinette,” her mother called, catching her attention. “We’re almost done here. If you want, you can go spend some time with your friend.” 

“Really?! Thanks Maman!” Marinette kissed her parent’s cheeks before grabbing Damian’s hand. “Let’s go!”

———-

“So that’s the Wayne Memorial Clock Tower, that’s the Wayne Animal Sanctuary, and here we are at the Gotham City Central Park.” Damian pointed out to Marinette. 

“The park’s beautiful Damian!” Marinette grinned. 

The plants looked really taken care of. The flowers planted were blooming and bright and beautiful. But before she could say anymore, she felt her stomach rumble, and it wasn’t quiet at all.

“…I’m feeling a bit famished.” Damian looked away. “Do you want to accompany me?”

“S-sure!”

“I know the perfect place.”

———-

“Welcome to the Wayne Manor,” Damian smirked and gave a playful bow. 

“Damian, a-are you sure?” Marinette seemed unsure. “It’s a bit sudden and what if your family doesn’t like me?”

“It’ll be alright. They're probably still handling the arrangements for the gala anyways,” Damian assured her. “Nevertheless, they will like you, I’m sure.”

After all, Damian inwardly, this was all set up by at least Dick.

“Welcome home, Master Damian,” Alfred greeted them. “And I see you brought a guest. I hope he has been well behaved?” 

Marinette giggled and stuck her hand out.

“He’s been quite the gentleman,” she replied. “Though I’m guessing that might not be normal? I’m Marinette Dupain Cheng. Is it safe to guess you’re the all knowing Pennyworth?”

“How right you are Mrs. Dupain Cheng,” Alfred confirmed, reaching out and shaking her hand. “Just Alfred is fine. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m glad Damian made a friend. As you may guess, he has some difficulty getting along with many of his age.”

“He has his quirks,” Marinette admitted. “But he’s a sweet guy once you get underneath the tough layer.” 

“Pennyworth,” Damian interrupted. “I would like to request a meal prepared for both of us.” 

Alfred nodded. “Very well, young Master. While I do that, you may keep yourself occupied in the living room.”

Damian took that time to do a quick tour of the house. Of course, he avoided the areas that could reveal the family’s nighttime occupation. They may have made it hard for visitors to figure it out, but Marinette wasn’t normal. Of that, he knew. She probably will figure it out within the day if he wasn’t careful enough.

He did show her a quick view of his room. It was the place where they chatted anyways, so Marinette was somewhat familiar with it. She complimented many of his drawings hanging on the wall (No, he was not blushing. It was just kinda hot in the room), and was curious about his weapons in the room. Not long after, they decided to hang in the living room, where they quietly conversed.

“Alfie!” Dick’s voice rang out. “We’re home~ We got hungry and thought we might as well have some of your wonderful cooking.” 

Oh no. This is going to get troublesome pretty quickly.

“Hey, look who the demon spawn brought in,” Jason’s voice rang from the door entrance of the living room. “Looks like the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” 

“Close your mouth before you sprout even more ridiculous ideas, Todd,” Damian spat. “What are you doing here.” 

“We got hungry,” Tim replied, walking into the room while typing on his laptop. “We didn’t want to go out and eat.” 

Damian scoffed. “Nice cover up. Did Grayson tell you to say that?”

“Chill, Lil’ D,” Dick appeared right behind him. “Let’s not have our usual fights while your friend is here. Speaking of which, introductions are due. Hello miss, I’m-”

“Grayson,” Marinette interrupted. “And you’re probably Drake, and that’s Todd. A-ah! I’m sorry I interrupted! I’m Marinette Dupain Cheng.”

“It’s all good cupcake,” Jason grinned, “but call me Jason. Jason Todd’s my full name.”

“Tim Drake’s mine.”

“Richard Grayson, but call me Dick.” 

“D-dick? But isn’t that…?” Marinette questioned, but decided to drop it, deciding to turn to Damian. “Wait, I thought- Damian, you didn’t tell me that those were their last name.”

“It wasn’t important,” Damian shrugged. “They’re not of importance.”

He looked at Marinette to see her eyebrow raised. A silent scolding clear on her face that made him feel a twinge of guilt.

“Ignore him,” Marinette turned back to the group. “He doesn’t say it often, but he does care about each of you.”

“Marinette,” Damian glared at her, but unfortunately it didn’t seem to faze her.

“So, the Demon Spawn actually cares for us,” Jason grinned, earning Damian’s death glare, “How sweet~ The devil has a soft side.”

“Todd,” Damian began before he was interrupted. 

“Demon Spawn?” Marinette asked. “Isn’t that a bit harsh?”

“It’s a bit of an inside joke,” Tim explained. “Though he does acts like one sometimes.”

“It’s a term of endearment,” Dick whispered to her. 

Marinette nodded, “Ah. Wait, Dami, is that also why you call me Angel now and then? You know, Demons and Angels are...?”

Damian winced. Maybe it was a mistake bringing her to the manor. He wasn’t going to escape with his dignity intact.

“He calls you Angel?” Jason’s eyes bulged in glee. “Ah, this is good blackmail.” 

“Don’t you dare,” Marinette warned. “You’re not gonna use this as blackmail.”

“And what are you going to do about it, munchkin?” Jason smirked. “You can’t stop me.”

“Can too,” Marinette stuck out her tongue. “Bet this tiny girl can beat your butt.”

With that, they decided to have a match after lunch. Damian knew she could take care of herself. Hell, that was a part of why he quickly was taken in. But Jason was older and had more experience, he was sure. Plus, his violent tendencies might take over, and he didn’t want her to get too hurt.

———-

Marinette was in awe when she got into their workout room. It was huge, with many equipment that she had not seen used as a workout as well. But luckily, there was a large empty area, with mats she assumes is the area where they spar. Damian had told her they do that to practice their self defense.

“Ten bucks that Marinette is going to beat Jason,” Tim grinned, looking over to Dick. 

“Fine,” Dick agreed. “She’s a firecracker, but don’t think it’s enough to beat Jason just yet.”

“Tt,” Damian scoffed. “Imbeciles. Betting over things like this?”

“Dami, it’s alright,” Marinette grinned, feeling a bit mischievous. “It’s nice that Tim believes in me. And if anything, it’ll be fun to rub the fact I wiped the floor with Jason to both him and Dick right?” 

“No mercy,” Damian smirked. 

Marinette shared his smirk, taking position on the mat.

“I’ll go easy on you,” Jason announced. 

“Big mistake,” she chuckled. 

With that, they began. She sent a big punch followed by a side sweep, predicting where he would move next. He was good, dodging and landing his own hits, but she also was able to land her own. After a few minutes, she did see a certain pattern. He tended to reply on his fists more than his feet and left his side open. It wasn’t a big blind spot from what she could tell, but a blind spot, nonetheless. It was obvious that he spent some training making sure his weaknesses were minimal.

Looking for the right opening, she noticed he still had his leather jacket on. Maybe she could… She looked at her surroundings. Okay, nothing else to work with but she could still do something.

Dodging a right punch, she spun behind him. Before he could react, she grabbed onto the back of his leather jacket, and flipped over him, letting the jacket go over his head. She yanked on it so that it started to come off, but before it completely came off the sleeves, she dived under him before using that sudden weight and pull to keep him pretty subdued as she dragged them both on the floor, her being on top of him.

“Owned by a pixie,” Dick teased. 

“Fuck you,” Jason replied. “though he’s right. You got me. Nice job kiddo. Clever idea. Though… hm, I think there might be a slight rip now.”

“Ah! Sorry,” Marinette apologized. “I tend to use my environment to help me, and your jacket was the only thing…”

“It’s alright,” Jason waved off. “I can get Alfred to fix this.”

“No, wait, lemme fix it since I caused it.” She insisted.

Relenting, Jason handed over the jacket. Quickly, she grabbed her sewing kit that she carried everywhere with her. Taking out the necessary items, she quickly went to work. It took 10 minutes, she fixed up the jacket. It was just the stitching that came undone.

“Good as new,” she cheered, handing it back to him. 

“Thanks Tinkerbell,” he grinned. 

“Tinkerbell?” Tim raised his eyebrow. 

“Yeah, she can find things and make something new out of it, assuming she can, and she can fix things,” Jason shrugged. “Plus, she’s as small as a pixie.”

Marinette rolled her eyes at his jab at her height. Damian walked next to her and gave his hand.

“Good job Angel,” he praised. “Knew you could do it.” 

“Thanks Damian,” Marinette smiled. 

“Dick, you lost the bet, so pay up,” Tim cackled. 

“So you were betting instead of getting ready for the gala?” 

Everyone turned and standing at the doorway was a man in a suit. Tim and Dick had quickly walked over to him and informed him of what was going on, from what Marinette was hearing. 

“Welcome to the manor,” the man smiled, sticking his hand out. “I’m Bruce Wayne. Thank you for taking my son down a peg or two.”

“A pleasure,” she replied. “wait, Wayne, then does that mean?” 

She swiveled to Damian, who only smirked and nodded. Oh dear. Ooooh dear. She was with the Waynes. The rich billionaire family, and she just beat one of them. 

“Wait,” Dick was laughing when he realized. “Marinette, you didn’t realize we were Waynes?” 

“I-I just thought,” Marinette sputtered, rambling off a bit. “the W-waynes were pretty common. I didn’t think you guys were the Waynes. Though I guess the manor and butler should've tipped it off.....”

“… I like her,” Jason grinned. “Can we keep her?” 

Marinette still felt a bit embarrassed, though Damian gave her a small pat.

“She’s not a pet,” Bruce joked back. “Marinette, I know your parents will be catering during the Gala, but how would you like to accompany my sons and keep them entertained during that time? They tend to find trouble when bored.”

And that was how Marinette got swept up into more of the Wayne’s shenanigans (with her parents’ permission of course). They gave her a beautiful dress to wear (where did they get it so quickly?). And at night, they came to the gala by limo. 

“Ready, Angel?” Damian offered his arm as Marinette came out of the limo. 

“It’s now or never,” Marinette took it, letting him lead into the building. 

 The night was fun. She danced with all of the members of the Wayne family. Jason, pulling her into a very energetic tango. But she danced with Damian the most. Though like Bruce had predicted, she had to stop the boys from starting bits of trouble here and there, especially when they would try to do it behind her back. Jason did take a picture and suspiciously began typing on his phone, but she did not give it any thoughts. Before they knew it, the night was over, and they dropped her off to the  Gotham Royal Hotel.

“I had a great time,” Marinette chuckled. “Thank you, guys! I had a great time!”

“No prob, Tinkerbell,” Jason grinned. “We’ll keep in touch.”

“We’ll come visit,” Dick winked. 

Waving them off, Marinette stood by the doors for a few seconds. She then felt the vibration from her phone. Pulling it out, she saw she had a new message, from Damian. It was a link followed by a, ‘Todd is an imbecile’.”

She pressed it, noticing it took her to the social platform, Tweeter. 

@JayTodd

Welcoming Tinkerbell as an honorary member of the Wayne family. Don’t let looks fool you. This pixie can beat your ass.

The picture earlier! She realized. At least, he didn’t actually show her face, not completely where people can identify her. But this tweet he sent was already at 1.3K and counting. 

“JASON!”

———-

And after that, they did meet up more often. Sometimes Damian and his family would visit her, and sometimes they flew her over. She felt bad and didn’t want to keep having them fly her over, but they insisted.

After the first social media fiasco, Marinette did appear more frequently on their social media, though hidden. She ended up making an account for it though, but everyone didn’t know who she was, only knowing her as Tinkerbell.

It was a fun time, and she was really happy. She had another family that cared for her, who she cared for. And she wouldn’t change it any other way.She hummed softly, sewing her newest idea when her phone rang. 

“Hello? Jason?” Marinette greeted, a bit curious.

The other line was silent for a while, making her worry.

“Jason what-”

“He’s gone.”

“What?” Marinette’s eyes widen with worry. “Who are you talking about? Who’s gone?”

“Damian, Marinette,” Jason replied, his tone dead. “There was an accident and…”

“He’s gone.”

First Prev Next

Masterlist

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ANNNNND THERE WE HAVE IT! THE NEXT CHAPTER FINISHED. AND THIS WAS TOTALLY LONGER THAN THE LAST ONE AS A TREAT. (Ahhh I wrote a lot of interruptions haha ^^;)I hope you guys liked it!! Any questions, then let me know here or in my ask, whatever’s fine! Btw him disappearing is during the time he died from Heretic. So, he’s gonna be dead for a bit 0w0. 

Taglist (let me know if I forgot anyone):

@mooshoon @bluerosette23 @zestyzealot @luciferge @gingerdaile @crazylittlemunchkin @queenmj10 @hypnosharkrebeldreamer @razzledazzle247 @dorkus-minimus @this-is-vander​

[heartofsnark]

This Is Love (Chapter Six):Burnt Offering

Notes: So, given that the last chapter was kind of short, at least by my standards. I decided to go ahead and post the next chapter this month. We're starting to near the point where what I post and where I'm at in writing are meeting up, I have chapter 7 done and am currently about halfway through writing 8,  so don't be shocked if we end up with a slowdown in chapters like what's had to happen with my other fic series. It just happens, such is life. 

Word Count: 9243

Chapter Warnings: Blood, Domestic Violence, Alcoholism, POV Switches, Talks of the Testicle Festival,

For chapter one and the warnings about this fics overarching themes, please click here!

For the previous chapter; click here!

The cruiser door shuts with a heavy thud, followed by Rook’s boots hitting the asphalt. Staci stifles a laugh, the newest addition to the Sheriff’s Department has a pea sized bladder and a penchant for guzzling energy drinks like an idiot. He’s had to pull into the Golden Valley Gas Station for her to run off to the bathroom, again.

His joints pop and crack as he gets out of the car, taking the chance to stretch his legs. The sun hangs high and bright in the great blue sky, warming his skin as rolls his shoulders to get out the kinks. It’s nearly noon and if he has to be here, he might as well find something to eat, the door of the gas station chiming as he walks in. He looks over the hot food options, garbage mostly, but tasty garbage. Hamburgers, pizza, hot dogs-

“You getting lunch?”

Staci jumps at the sudden question, a voice over his shoulder that he wasn’t ready for catches him off guard. A soft laugh as he turns to look at Rook who’s just scared him, sometimes she’s like a bull in a china shop and other times she’s silent as the grave. He can’t keep up and ends up glaring at the smirking woman. She finds way too much enjoyment in his misery, she’s the probie, he’s supposed to be giving her shit not the other way around.

“Someone needs to put a fuckin’ bell on you, I swear.”

“I thought you could ‘hear me coming a mile away’,” she says trying to imitate his voice when he mocked her earlier.

“That was then, this is now, and right now, you’re a sneaky bitch.”

He can’t resist the chance to wipe that dumb little smirk off her face and grabs her cheek between his fingers, stretching the soft tan skin. A small sharp pain in his wrist when she smacks him away, but it’s more than worth it to see her looking a little less cocky.

“Bite me.” She says and knocks against his side as she grabs a hamburger, nearly throwing him off balance.

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Ew.” Rook grimaces at his little attempt at flirting, like an asshole. Then again, with her, she may not realize he was trying to flirt.

He grabs himself one and follows after her to the drinks, he watches her line of vision immediately go to the large sized slushie cups. They’re nearly the size of the short deputy’s head.

“No,” he tells her, voice low with warning, he already has to worry about pulling over  for her constantly.

“What?”

“You drink that and you’re gonna be needing twelve more bathroom trips before our shift ends.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“You nearly pissed yourself, five minutes ago.”

“I’ll be fine.” Rook rolls her eyes as she fills up the giant cup with blue slush. No matter what he says, he swears she’d break her neck just to do the opposite.

They buy their lunches, if it can even be called that, and leave the gas station. The weather’s too nice to eat in the cruiser, a soft breeze and a clear sky to eat under instead.  Staci instead sits on the trunk of the car, balancing his drink on his thigh as he eats. Rook follows his lead, for once since she’s been here, and sits down on the car as well. She pulls one of her legs up onto the car and under her, keeping her drink in hand.

It’s quiet as they eat, but unlike the awkward still of when they first started patrolling together, this silence is surprisingly pleasant.  Staci has never liked quiet, making those first patrols painful to sit through, but their time spent in silence has grown more bearable with every shift.

Rook is weird, but not bad; he’s decided. She’s quiet and serious, especially so at the start. But, she never misses a chance to talk back or give him hell, which might be his own fault.  She’s dedicated to the job and never seems to shy away from what it entails, only ever seeming bothered by the work when she was stuck pushing papers.  Despite her constant scowling and resting bitch face, Rook is eager to help people.

He doesn’t know much about her, which is only natural with her short time with the department and her lackluster communicative skills. She likes her job, Hudson, animals, and giving him hell. She hates crowds, churches, and talking. That’s about all he’s got. And dress codes he guesses? Though since the Drubman incident she’s stuck with modest tanks and tees under her uniform, other than buttoning it up, it’s the same damn thing. Hell, even Hudson and him don’t button it up all the way. 

When she was first hired, the week separating her hire and her actual first day, he asked Whitehorse what he was thinking when he hired someone so young. The sheriff just laughed, saying she had a good heart. He supposes her jumping to help Mary May the day of her interview was proof of that.

There are a lot of reasons why people become cops, not all of them necessarily good or right. Staci himself is exhibit A of that. He’s always been honest with himself and others that he became a cop to get laid, it was nothing short of a whim. Something women are attracted to and didn’t require too much education, so he could avoid debt. No ideas of helping people or delusions of keeping the peace; he chose his career based entirely on the prospect of getting his dick wet.

Hudson is better than him in that regard, well, in many regards but that’s beside the point. But, her choice mostly stems from her family. Almost everyone in her family has had a career in either the military or law enforcement. Her mom is a veteran and her dad a veteran turned police officer, retiring early due to injury.  One of her brothers works as an officer in Billings and the other currently in basic training. It only seemed natural she’d follow one of those paths, becoming a cop because it’s what they do in her family. A fact she’s always taken pride in. 

Danny, not to speak ill of the dead, was probably a hall monitor in high school. He was a stickler for details and rules, he enjoyed being the one enforcing order. But Staci isn’t confident that Danny enjoyed it because he believed in what was best for the public so much as he liked rules for the sake of rules and being the one to crack the whip. It’s strange to say after so many years of butting heads, but Staci misses that asshole. It hit Joey hardest, Danny being her partner, but it hit him too. Danny was with the station since before him or Joey were hired on, for him to just be gone one day… Hope County is a sleepy little place, it can be easy to forget how dangerous this kind of job can be when speeding and hunting violations are the biggest crimes. Danny was a grim reminder and hopefully, the last one Staci will ever get.

“That’s gonna fall,” Rook’s voice cuts through the quiet, her finger pointed at the drink balanced on Staci’s thigh.

“It’s fine,” he dismisses her out of hand, and she rolls her eyes, sunlight making the brown look nearly gold. 

She’s cute, it’s something he’s had to admit, as much as he’d rather not. While he’s always been a bit of a womanizer, it still feels weird acknowledging he’s attracted to his newly acquired pain in the ass. But…Rook is real easy on the eyes. Even with her constant sourpuss of a face, she's cute. Though the rare times he’s seen her smile… It’s a good look on her.  Hell, it's a good enough look that he asked her out on an impromptu date to the F.A.N.G Center the moment he saw it. Though that ended up being botched; the Junior Deputy inviting Joey along and then abandoning them partway through the day.

He’s gotten to spend hardly any time with her outside of work, between that and her never tagging along to The Spread Eagle, a part of him has to wonder if she just doesn’t want to deal with him when she doesn’t have to. God knows, it’s not Hudson, he’s pretty sure Rook would break her neck to spend more time with Joey.

Staci’s mind is drawn back to Rook’s dismissal of his mild flirting, she seemed uncomfortable with Adelaide’s more…forward tendencies too. But there’s no denying she has a huge annoying crush on Joey. Her face going redder than a lobster anytime the two are near each other. He’s asking her on dates without even meaning to and he’s not even sure what way she swings.

“So, what’s your deal?” He decides to just ask, it might be a long shot, but no harm in seeing if he has a chance. Right?

“My deal with what?” She raises an eyebrow and takes another slurp of her drink.

“Well, I know you’re into women; so are you gay?” Rook chokes on her slushie, blue dribbling down her chin as he continues, “Bi? Pan?”  

“What the fuck, dude?!” She yells, scrubbing her slushie covered hand against her jeans, her blue stained tongue catching his eye as she freaks out.

“It’s just a question.”

“A real fuckin’ personal one.” Her face is a vivid red, making her blue chin and tongue stand out even brighter.

“What? You worried ‘cause, ya know, Montana?”

“No, I’m not worried because of that.”

“Good, because I promise you most people here don’t give a fuck.”

“No, it’s not, I just don’t like talking…”

“You can honestly stop that sentence right there.”

“Pff,” she lets out a soft laugh and the corner of her mouth curves up as she says in a gentler voice, “I don’t like talking.”

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” He gives her the out and she groans.

“Look, dude, not that it’s any of your business but I barely know what the fuck’s going on in my own head. If I can’t figure that shit out, how the hell am I supposed to explain it?”

“I know you like Hudson.”

“Yeah, I do… I can’t say I’m not attracted to men? I don’t think, I’ve thought men are attractive. I just, women catch my eye more,” she shrugs, face still red, “though I don’t know if that’s because of me or ‘cause of the….selection here.”

“What do you mean?”

She glares at him, dark eyebrows furrowed as if she’s trying to figure out if he’s serious while she slurps on her slushie. He can nearly see the gears in her head desperately trying to turn.

“Dude, seriously?” She asks raises an eyebrow when he doesn’t budge.

“Seriously, you make it sound like the men here are drooling apes.”

“Women in Hope County.”

Rook points out a woman stepping out of her car, long tanned legs and daisy duke shorts.

“Men in Hope County.”

She gestures towards a man at the gas pumps, bent over with his jeans half falling off his ass with plumber crack on display for the world.

It’s his turn to choke, pop catching in his windpipe as her sputters and gags on his laugh, leg jerking and sending his entire drink falling into his lap.

“Jesus fuck,” he manages to cough out as cola soaks his crotch.

“Told you it was gonna fall.”

“At least I don’t look like I blew a Smurf.”

“Fuck off.” She roughly shoves him as they both laugh.

“So, all us Hope County men are just too ugly for you?” He says with mock hurt in his voice as he stands from the trunk, walking around the cruiser.

“Don’t say it like that.”

“No, no, I get it, I mean, how could anyone stand to even look at me.”

“What do you want from me?” She’s glaring at him now from over the cruiser, each at their respective doors as they talk.

“Nah, it’s my cross to bear, I have to learn how to deal with being hideous.”

“I mean, we can always get you a paper bag.” Her face breaks into a smile and she starts laughing halfway through her own joke, blue tongue pressing against her canines.

“Wow, fuckin’ wow, just double down.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

“Unbelievable.”

“I’m sorry,” she rolls her eyes, face still flushed from laughing, “for what it’s worth, you’re one of the more attractive guys in Hope County.”

“Thank you,” Staci can’t help but genuinely smile, between the compliment and her expression, something about the moment settles warm in his chest.

“Which is kinda like being a tall dwarf.”

“Fuck you,” his outburst makes her laugh and he can’t help but laugh right along with her, “you can’t let me have anything can you?”

“Nope.”

They’re still smiling, stomachs and cheeks aching as they climb into the cruiser. He turns the key and starts up the engine, pulling them out of the parking lot. The soft tapping of Rook’s finger against the door is the only sound as they drive through the valley. She’s always moving, he’s not sure he’s ever seen her completely still.

The cola on his jeans has barely started to dry by the time the radio starts to crackle, dispatch putting out a call.

“Units please respond, we have a domestic disturbance at the Ramsey Residence, neighbor reported yelling coming from the home and threats of violence.”

The Ramsey place is about fifteen or twenty minutes out from where Benjamin and Julie live. They’re familiar with the Sheriff’s department. He hates to sound so jaded and cynical, but they’ve done this song and dance so many times.  Benjamin has been an abusive drunk since as long as Staci’s lived in Hope County. No matter how many times they cuff and drag him away; Julie refuses to press charges, bails him out, and welcomes him back with open arms. It’s an endless cycle and Hope County doesn’t have the resources to break it. With that in mind, he grabs the receiver.

“Deputy Pratt and Hale responding, over.”

He flips on the sirens, lights flashing and the speaker squealing as they rush towards the Ramsey house. Tires spitting up gravel as he drives along the backroads, following them to the old farmhouse. It was once a beautiful house, he’s sure, but it’s started to fall apart over the years. The white paint peeling and the wood of the porch starting to rot away.

There’s a tension in the air as the deputies get out of the cruiser, grass crushing underfoot as they make their way to the home. Despite being Staci’s subordinate as far as standing in the department goes, Rook is in front of him and taking the lead. Not because he wants her too; she just does that.

The porch lets out a loud creak when the junior deputy takes a step, straining under her weight. That doesn’t bode well for him, while not a particularly heavy guy, he’s over a foot taller than Rook and fit. She may have muscle mass, but he’s sure he still weighs more at the end of the day. 

“You might wanna be careful,” she warns him, standing next to the door, clearly having gone through the same thought process as him.

“Yeah, this porch has seen better days.”

It strains and creaks, echoing a louder under him as he takes the steps up. Then his foot goes through the porch. He curses as he starts to fall through, broken rotted wood splintering into his jeans and boot. A hand wraps around his wrist, Rook steadying him as gets his bearings. He grips the railing as he his rips his foot back out of the wood; breaking and ripping apart boards with the force of it. The smell of mildew, rotted lumber, and muck getting kicked up from it.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

He has to shift back onto the steps that were able to hold him, he could step over or around the broken gap, but the chances of it just breaking through again are high. Rook lets go of his wrist once he’s on stable footing and turns back to the door. She knocks on the door three times, before calling out.

“Hope County Sheriff’s department, we got a call, just here to make sure everything’s okay.”

There’s no response, of course they’re in no rush to open the door for police. A beat of silence  and then something breaks from inside the home, like glass crashing to the ground.

“You ever deal with them before?” Rook asks as she tries to open the door, but it’s locked.

“Plenty, he always has to be taken kicking and screaming. ”  

“Is he dangerous?” She’s slid a pick into the door lock, twisting and turning it. Why the hell does she know how to pick locks?

“Only to his wife, every time I’ve dealt with him, he’s no worse than a drunk toddler.”

“Hmm,” she nods in understanding, “go around back and see if there’s a back door or something, we can’t take anyone out this way. I’ll head in.”

“Since when do you give the orders, probie?”

“Pratt,” she says his name like a warning, just as the door clicks open. She’s right and he Staci knows that, but that doesn’t mean he has to like being bossed around by the probie he’s supposed to be teaching the ropes.

He waves her off and goes walking around the house, all this trouble and splinters in his shin over some damn drunk who should have been locked away years ago. There’s a set of concrete stairs up to the backdoor, not attached, but sturdier than forty-year-old rotted wood. He shakes the backdoor and finds it’s locked, because of course it is.

Staci slams his shoulder against the door as he hard as he can, putting all of his weight into it. The lock and frame give out from the force, a boom and splintering sound ringing out.

“Fuck!”

It’s Rook’s voice, no mistaking it, a groan of pain punctuating the curse. Staci’s blood runs cold and he runs into the house; feet hitting the floor in heavy thuds as he runs to where he heard the sound. Nearly tripping over himself as he enters the living room.

Adrenaline coursing through him, Staci recognizes two figures instantly as he enters. Ben Ramsey standing over a curled up figure dressed in the familiar green of their uniform, blood is on the carpet, soaking it through.

Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! What’d he do? What did that son of bitch do to her?

From his angle, Ben’s back to him, Pratt can’t make out anything other than her fallen body. He can’t tell if she’s breathing, if she’s moving, where the blood is coming from, if she’s even alive.

Words stick in his throat and his mind only spins curses, his hand pauses, body frozen. Only a moment in reality, but in eternity to Staci; just enough time for the old drunk to pull his leg back and slam a boot into the young deputy on the ground. A sickening crack and curse from the young woman.

And for the first in his career, Staci pulls his gun out. It may be too quick of a move and maybe in the hours after he’ll think of how he should have gone for the baton or taser, but his hand is on his gun. Pointed at another human being. There’s a shake to his hands.

“Ben Ramsey, you’re under, under arrest! Put your hands up!” His words stall for a moment and he curses himself for the way fear seeps into his voice at the worst times.

“Fuck you-“

His words are cut off by a yell, Ben’s body convulsing for a second before he hits the ground with a heavy thud. Rook taser in hand moving as it happens, quickly cuffing him, and Staci can breathe again. He’s not going back to the station alone. The side of her head is stained with blood, hair matted in it, her left eye shut and that half of her face red. Her nose and lip are busted open, blood streaking down her chin.  She’s hurt, but she’s alive. His head is swimming, drops his grip on his weapon, his shoulder aching and making him realize just how tense he was. He’s not even certain his finger was on the trigger, he realizes as he holsters the thankfully unused gun.  Her lips move over and over again, but the words don’t cut through the fog of his brain until another moment passes.

“Pratt, radio backup, now!” Her hands are on the man’s cuffed wrists, keeping him in place on the ground, subdued for the moment as the man’s thankfully still dazed from the shock.

He’s hesitated, his delay to grab his radio no doubt wasting precious seconds. Why does he always fucking hesitate? He’s tripping over his words as he talks, because of course he is.

“Officer Pratt, we need backup and, and emergency services to the Ramsey house, immediately. Officer injured, suspect is belligra-belligerent and dangerous.”

“Suspect’s wife is injured as well.”

There’s more than three people in the room, Julie Ramsey curled up in a ball beside the couch, sobbing desperately at the entire scene. He didn’t even notice, fuck, he fucking hell.  He gives the exact address and gets confirmation that someone is coming.  Staci crouches down, closer to Rook’s level where she’s kneeling next to the suspect, he’s able to get a better look at Rook’s injury. He can smell beer, both from the suspect and from her head, shards of brown glass clinging to the blood-soaked skin. He bashed a beer bottle over her head, then kicked her in the face while she was down.

He needs to get something to hold against her head, to help stop the bleeding. Staci’s starts to move to get his overshirt off, thinking it’d be better than nothing, but then sirens screech at them. Police officers for the station and EMTS coming through the house. It’s going to be okay.

No thanks to him. He did nothing. He wants to pull his hair out, scream at himself, why the hell is he this fucking pathetic?

Ben Ramsey is arrested and charged, taken to one of the officer’s police car. Meanwhile Julie and Rook are assessed before being taken to the back of ambulance. Staci follows them, moving on instinct to follow and make sure Rook is okay.

He doesn’t speak the entire way, just grateful to be allowed in the ambulance, he listens as they access her. Lacerations, contusions, possible skull fracture; the words swim around his head as they look her over in the ambulance. He watches as the EMT forces Rook’s left eye open, seeing why it’s been shut, blood vessels damaged across part of the white, red irritation in the other half that goes into the brown, blurring the edge of the iris.

Ideas of her losing vision in that eye flood through his mind, how severe is the damage, could it impact her career? Is she going to be out of here before she’s even finished probationary hire? He was supposed to be looking out for her.

He sits outside her room at the Hope County Clinic, privacy or some sort of doctor crap, he can barely even remember the rest of the ride there. His back against the wall as he sits on the floor, ringing his hands, mind racing through a million possibilities. 

“What the hell happened?” Whitehorse’s voice is what ends the frenetic mess in his head, if only for a second. The presence of the sheriff easing some of his nerves, knowing the older man will be able to handle this, whatever the situation may be.

He scrambles to his feet and explains everything that happened; from the porch falling in, him pulling his weapon but not firing, and an injured Rook having to subdue the suspect. Each word of it making him feel just a bit more pathetic, a bit weaker, he really fucked this up.

Whitehorse squeezes his shoulder, a warm heavy hand to comfort him.

“It’s okay, Pratt. Everything is gonna be fine, Rook’s made of tougher stuff than this.”

He sighs, unsure of how he feels by the statement. It’s meant to comfort him, and it does some part of him. He wants Rook to be okay, fuck does he need her to be okay.  But, Whitehorse’s unwavering faith in her strength, makes him feel all the more pathetic in comparison.

The hospital room door opens, a doctor walking out, looking over at Whitehorse and Staci.

“You can come in now, if you’d like.”

Staci follows behind Whitehorse as they walk into the little clinic room, off white walls and floors greeting them. Rook’s sitting on the side of the white sheeted bed; seeing her cleaned up and moving is instant relief for Staci’s frayed nerves. Her face is bruised, her eye still messed up, but she’s no longer painted red with her own blood. His hands twitch, he realizes he wants to hug her, to pull her close and feel that she’s truly okay. But he can’t find the nerve to do it, unsure of how the young woman would react. 

“So, what’re you dealing with?” Whitehorse asks her and she sighs. 

“Needed some stitches, some glass scratched my cornea so vision in this eye is gonna be a little blurry, but it will heal. Minor skull fracture.” 

“Skull fracture?” Staci can’t help but blurt out, that’s  bad, isn’t it? Skulls are kind of important, being the thing that protects your brain. Why the hell is she just shrugging it off?

“It’s not bad, they don’t do anything for it. My head is gonna hurt like hell for a bit,” she shrugs, “if spinal fluid starts coming out my ears and nose, call 911, though I think that’s the rule for everyone.” 

“Alright,” Whitehorse speaks up, “there’s gonna be some paperwork to take care of with your injury and your time off.” 

“I’m not taking time off.” She’s emphatic, shaking her head like the sheriff is ridiculous to even suggest something like that. 

“I’m not sending you out like this, Rookie, you need to worry about healing up.” 

“You want me to take time off, during my probationary hire, that’s ridiculous.” 

“Don’t stress, it’s not going to affect anything, just take two weeks off-” 

“One week, max.” 

“Fine, one week," Whitehorse gives him with a hefty sigh, "just take it easy. And actually take it easy, not doing anything to hurt yourself in the meantime.” 

“Pfff,” she huffs out a breath and rolls her eyes, hopping up from the bed. 

“We’ll go back to the station and take care of the paperwork.” 

Whitehorse puts a hand on Staci’s back; the other on Rook’s as he walks them out the door. Staci feels exhausted as he gets into Whitehorse’s truck with them, someone having taken the cruiser back to the station for them. His body slackening into dead weight as he leans against the door; his nerves are shot to hell and back, he just wants to collapse after everything. She’s okay and that’s what matters most; his own insecurities be damned. 

They arrive at the station; since it’s regarding just her injury and leave, Staci isn’t needed for the paperwork on this one. He instead waits outside, he’s not sure why, but he doesn’t feel ready to just go home yet. It’s after shift and usually he’d be at The Spread Eagle by now, sipping cheap beer and shooting the shit with Joey. 

Speak of the devil, the older  deputy is coming down the hall, nearly jogging towards him. And he’s wondering if she’s felt the way he did when he heard something happened to Danny, before they told him about the former deputy’s death. That anxiety of knowing something is wrong but not knowing the details, fear building ideas of what could have happened. 

“What the hell is going on?” 

“Rook got hurt, she’s gonna be okay, but, uh, Whitehorse is giving her the week off.” 

“Thank god,” Joey lets out a sigh of relief, tension noticeably leaving her body, “I thought, jesus, I don’t know what I thought.” 

“Yeah, uh, been a rough day…” 

“How you holding up?” 

“I fucking choked, Joey. The asshole was trying to kick her damn brains in and I choked.” 

“You can’t blame yourself,” she tells him, a faraway look in her eye, “I get it, I do, but you can’t blame anyone but the asshole who hurt her.” 

“It's not just that…” He sighs; is he really going to have this conversation? It feels so damn pathetic. 

“So, what is it?” 

“I...don’t worry about it.” 

“Well, I’m certainly not gonna complain about skipping the feely talks. But, uh, for what it’s worth, hindsight is twenty-twenty. Beating yourself up over what you should have done, what you wish you’d have done, is pointless. You do your best in the moment and it’s all you can do.” 

“I guess…” 

“So...how this affect your little crush on Rook?” She asks after a beat of silence, trying to turn the conversation light-hearted.

“Ugh, don’t call it that. The only crush around here is Rook’s on you.” 

“Yeah, right. You got it bad and we both know it.”

“I might have asked her if she’s gay.”

“Seriously, Pratt?” 

“What,” he says halfway through a laugh, “she always follow you around like a puppy dog, I had to make sure I even had a chance.” 

“Well, do you?” 

“Maybe…if she stops crushing on you.” 

“Eh, that’s nothing, she’ll be over it before you know it.” 

“What makes you so sure?” 

“The only reason she’s like that with me is ‘cause she thinks I’m pretty, it’s completely superficial, like a little kid.”

“Well, do me a favor and stop being pretty?” 

“No can do, you just gotta sack up and ask her out.” 

“‘Cause the F.A.N.G Center went so well.” 

“Okay, so ask her out and this time, be specific and talk slow.” 

“She’s oblivious, not brain damaged.” 

“Ehhh, debatable.” 

He thinks for a moment, he likes Rook, he does. She’s cute and spending time with her is nice; being able to tease each other has made his job way less mind numbing. Relationships that go beyond the bedroom have never been his forte; it’s honestly been a while since he’s been on an actual date. But, he thinks it could be nice with her. There’s no telling if they’d actually click romantically, that’s not something you find out until you try it. It could be worth a shot. 

But he thinks about today and thinks about the future for a moment, something he’s not fond of doing. Rook is still on probationary hire; who’s to say she’ll be here after the six month period. He doubts Whitehorse will get rid of her, maybe due to her age, he handles her with kid gloves and he’s always been a bit soft as far as sheriffs go anyway. But,  it’s always a possibility if she crosses too big of a line or does something unforgivable. 

Hell, she might decide she wants to leave, might realize Hope County is just not the place for her and head back to Louisiana. 

 At the moment he just likes her, nothing intense, nothing he can’t deal with losing. If he found out tomorrow she was fired and leaving, he’d be bummed sure, but he’d recover relatively quickly. But if they started dating, if it worked out and one date led to another. If they hit it off, meshed as well as he thinks they could and that ‘like’ grew into something more and then she had to leave... 

“Once her probationary hire is over, I’ll do it,” he says out loud, committing himself to the action in front of Joey. Once that threshold has been crossed, once he has a little more reassurance that he can pursue Rook without fear of her leaving, he’ll go for it. 

“You sure you can hold out that long?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You tell me, Mister asked her out on the first day.” 

“Shut up.” 

Dahlia signs the last of the paperwork, her hand cramping, all of this fuss because someone hit her with a beer bottle. She’s still sick from the idea of having to take off a week, better than two, but she’d rather just do her job. So, her vision in one eye is a little blurry and her head hurts like crazy, big deal. 

“There’s something else to address.” 

“What’s that?” She raises an eyebrow at Whitehorse, let her out of paperwork hell, please. 

“It’s up to you if you want us to press charges against him for assaulting you.” 

“Oh.” 

“If it matters, we’ve dealt with Ben a lot, he’s been beating his wife black and blue for years. But, she’s never willing to press charges and nothing’s been severe enough to bring him up on charges from the state.”

“Let’s do it, then.” She’s not sure how much it will help, without counseling and after care, who knows if the cycle can break. But, if she can get the guy put away, it will at least give her a chance to get out without fear of repercussions. 

There’s some more paperwork associated with that, filling out a statement and the like. But, that’s more than worth it. She finishes it up and is massaging her hand to help alleviate the muscles that are cramping in distress. 

“Also-”

“If I have to sign one more piece of paper, I’m gonna kill you.” She cuts him off and earns a chuckle in response. 

“No, I just wanted to tell you, hell of a job, today.” 

“All I did was get beat up.” 

“You were in a high stress situation and you resolved it as best you could, you subdued him without deadly force, and showed you know how to handle yourself.”

“The standards are low, aren’t they?” 

“You did good, be proud of yourself for a moment,” he tells her, squeezing her shoulder as he passes by.  Her heart warms at the gesture, he thinks she did good. Despite being stuck taking a week off, he still thinks she did well. 

Hands in her pockets, she’s grinning as she leaves the office, Hudson and Pratt are just outside; talking about who knows what. They’re usually off drinking right now, but he seemed freaked out about her injury, maybe he’s trying to make sure she’s okay. She’d appreciate it if that were the case. 

“Hey, Rook,” Hudson greets her, bright smile, and Dahlia gives a small nod of her head. Unable to force words out of her throat. 

“Everything taken care of?” 

“Yeah...guess I’ll get to see you guys in a week,” she grumbles, still upset about it. 

“Hey,” Hudson stops her before she can leave, “why don’t you come out to The Spread Eagle with us?” 

“You know I can’t drink, right?” 

“They serve water and pop,” Hudson says, shrugging. 

“Um, okay…”  Dahlia scratches sheepishly at the back of her neck, she gets to go out with them, her heart is warm. Between Whitehorse’s praise and being invited out with the other deputies, this is a pretty good night. 

“Is that why you weren’t tagging along with us?” Pratt asks as they start to head towards the door. 

“I didn’t know you wanted me to tag along…” 

“Oh my god, you awkward little disaster.” Pratt ruffles her hair as he insults her and she playfully smacks his side, happy to see him joking around again. 

The neon sign of The Spread Eagle flickers above Dahlia’s head as they walk to the old bar. It’s cheesy and ridiculous the logo of a scantily clad woman with she assumes eagle wings.

 “So, I'm gonna live my life like it's my last damn night.”

“Cause when the clock strikes twelve, we're all gonna go to hell”

 The jukebox and lowlight greet them, people spread around drinking at the bar and cozied up over the wooden tables. A little stage in the corner for those nights when they have live music. Behind the bar, Mary May works away at getting people their drinks, honey blonde hair tied up in a bun and her flannel’s sleeves pushed up to her elbows. A window behind her shows a glimmer of the kitchen, an older man with dark hair slaving over the orders.

“You’re late,” Mary May teases Hudson and Pratt as the deputies all grab seats at the bar, Dahlia between the two of them.  

She’s never sat at a bar before and something about it feels decidedly mature to the young officer. That is until she can barely climb up there and unlike her two coworkers, her legs aren’t long enough for her feet to comfortable rest on the ground or even part of the stool. Her legs left to swing like a child’s.

“You can blame the probie for that one.” 

“I’m sorry, I’ll try not to get my ass kicked in the future.” 

“You finally gonna get your round of free drinks, hero?” Mary May asks her, a slight smile on her face and dear god, why must the women in this county be so pretty? The apples of Dahlia’s cheeks are growing warm. 

“‘Fraid I can’t, still got a year before that’s legal,” she says, never mind if it’s maybe a bit closer to a year and three months. 

“Well, a free meal it is then.” 

“No, no, I can’t do that,” She quickly dismisses the idea, local businesses tend to need every dime they can get, she’s not letting Mary May cut herself short just because Dahlia did her job. 

“Seriously, if it weren’t for you, I’d be shut down for the month, it is the least I can do.” 

“Give it up, Rook, she’s not gonna budge,” Pratt tells her. 

“She’s stubborn as a mule,” Hudson warns. 

“You heard them, cowboy, your money’s no good here.” The cowboy nickname is a new one, but Dahlia doesn’t mind it, or the way it makes her smile. 

“Fine, free meal, but I’m tipping.” 

“Okay, okay, I can work with that.” 

Hudson and Pratt get cheap weak beers and Dahlia gets a pop as they look over the food options. Everything makes her stomach growl; desperate for something more than convenience store food or microwave meals. There’s a sign below the window into the kitchen, saying they deliver, she wonders if the trailer park is too far away for it.

She decides to try something she’s never eaten before, a burger with huckleberry barbecue sauce, never having heard of the condiment before. Orders in, she can’t help but look around the room, taking in the decorations. Newspaper clippings beneath a neon blinking sign for Lease Lager, a little flag for Hope County Cougars, and a smaller flyer advertising something she’s seen billboards for all over; the Testicle Festival, advertised with a little screaming cartoon bull.

“The fuck is a Testicle Festival?”

“Pffff,” Pratt laughs and chokes on his beer, pulling it away and licking the beer away from his lips. Hudson cracks a big grin, pressing a hand to her mouth to hold back chuckles.

“I mean, it’s basically exactly what you sound like,” the older woman says, shrugging her shoulders.

“People get together and eat bull balls,” Pratt adds.

“Willingly?”

They both laugh as Dahlia looks at them wide eyed, that’s so fucking gross, why the fuck would someone eat that? She’s never been one to turn her nose up at any meal, but that so disgusting, her stomach churning at the very idea.

“Yeah, it’s a thing, I, don’t know what to tell you.”

“Montana is gross…”

“Oh, shut up, I’m sure they eat gross shit in Louisiana too.”

“Not really,” she shakes her head at Pratt, trying to think of the weirdest food she’s ate, well weird to them, “I mean, I’ve had alligator before.”

“You’ve ate alligator?”

“Yeah.”

“And you don’t think that’s weird?”

“I didn’t eat it’s balls!”

They cackle and laugh at her outburst, she’s joining along before she knows it, face flushing as she cracks up. She barely can remember the ache in her head or the blur in her vision, the more painful moments of the day forgotten as she loses herself in dumb banter and jokes. The burger is incredible, she’d lick the plate clean if she wasn’t in public. Hell, that fact is barely holding her back. She’s not sure how many colas she’s drank her way through, but at some point, her bladder is screaming at her.

“Let me guess, you gotta piss,” Pratt taunts her, reminding her of their little bickering match this evening, she’s an adult she’s allowed to piss.

“Fuck off.” She grabs a grimy fry off the ground andt she drops it down into his beer as she walks by.

She uses the bathroom and washes her hands, catching her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she does so. It’s the first time she’s got a proper look at herself since she was beat up. Stitches over the laceration under her eye, the skin bruised, the white of her eye purple with busted blood vessel with the brown of her eye blurring into it. An absolute mess and she grins.

There’s something fulfilling about getting in a fight, not starting but, making it through one.  Having the marks to show it, knowing she held her own. Whether it was fights in school or when she’d fight back against her step-father, no matter how it ended up, she’d feel proud of herself. Whether because she fought back or simply because she survived. The aftermath was nothing more than a badge of honor marking what she went through. She’d take a thousand more stitches and bruises over the week off, if she’s being completely honest. Dahlia leaves the bathroom once her hands dry, shoving them in her pocket as she goes.

Oooh, oooh, ooh~

If I told you a lie, you could smile, my love.

You’d never understand.

The jukebox hums and Dahlia finds her eyes looking around the room, taking in the faces of the patrons. A shift of a door and the step of boots draws her eyes towards the door. Her breath catches in her throat, what the hell is a Seed doing here?

John Seed, the youngest of the brothers, is walking through the door. All of the siblings make her uncomfortable in some fashion, largely to do with their religiosity, but then they each have their own unique brand of unsettling. John reminds her of a sleazy car salesman, too sharp smiles that don’t reach his eyes. Even when he shook her hand at the church, something about him felt off, like he’s wearing a mask but she can’t quite tell what’s under it.

If I told you a tale, you’d cry, my love.

You’d never hold my hand.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Mary May yells over the bar, when she sees him.

There’s a glimmer of something in his eyes when he looks at her, not unlike a cat finding a mouse to tear apart.  He strides to the bar with purposeful steps and he smirks, but unlike those salesman smiles, it reaches his eyes.

“I just thought I’d check in,” his eyes lazily scan the room, looking at the beer bottles and glasses of whiskey in patron’s hands, “do we really need to have this conversation again?”  

“It’s a bar, the hell you expect me to serve?”

“I expect,” John puts his hand on the bar with a sharp sound, “you to listen to reason and start to understand your position.”

“Is something wrong?” Dahlia’s question escapes her without another thought, everything about John’s body language putting her on edge. 

When it all bleeds out, you don’t know.”

When it all bleeds out.

John’s eyes leave Mary May and land on Dahlia, those piercing blue eyes cutting through to her core. He looks her up and down, as if she’s the mouse now. But she doesn’t shrink away or avoid his gaze, unwilling to show any signs of backing down in the face of his intensity. 

Wake up, little man.

Don’t you break her heart. 

“Dep-yoo-tee,” John speaks in a low drawn out way, emphasizing every syllable with the slow drag of his gaze on her.

“Stay out of it, Rook,” Pratt warns her as she walks past him and Hudson at the bar. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, why the fuck would she stay out of it? Supposedly, John already tried to get members of Eden’s Gate to steal Mary May’s alcohol shipment and now he’s showing up to push her around; fuck that shit.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Oh c’mon, little man.

Don’t you fall apart. 

“I was just trying to have a little talk with Mary May, though she’s never been one for civility. More importantly, what happened here?”

He reaches out towards her face and she flinches out of reflex, John’s fingers grazing her bruised cheek before she smacks his hand away. Not sharp enough to truly hurt, but enough to force him away.

When the devil’s got you, but only by the hand. 

“Hazard of the job and, please, don’t touch me.”

John’s eyebrows furrow, eyes growing dark and face scrunching for a moment in anger before he forces a soft smile. It doesn’t touch the stormy look in his eyes; another little mask hiding whatever’s lurking beneath the surface.

Let go, little man.

Let go, little man.

“Ah, you poor thing, you” his voice deepens with concern, but it feels more like pity. He fidgets with his sleeves and lets out a sigh, irritation seeping through the false concern. She has to resist the urge to smile, something satisfying in seeing his true emotions bubbling up.

“It is what it is, are you done with your ‘little talk’ now?”

His nostrils flare and he bites his lip, it feels like poking a bear, but she’s having fun with it. He gives another fake smile and she wants to wipe it off his face.

“With Mary May, yes, but I was hoping to speak with you more. Though,” he looks around, “this is hardly an ideal setting. Have you given any more thought to tomorrow?”

“Like, I said before, I have to work,” she says the white lie and dismisses him with a shrug, hopeful it will appease the Gucci wearing gremlin in front of her.

“You know, it’s not often The Father goes to the trouble of inviting someone himself,” he tells her, as if it’s meant to entice her. Instead the title ‘The Father’ just makes her skin crawl, not unlike the title her step-father took on with his own church. As if she needed more reasons to avoid these people.

“What are you talking about, Rook? You got a week off for your injury, remember?”  Pratt pipes up and Dahlia’s blood runs cold, why the fuck would he do that to her? Why would he do that? John’s eyes go bright and a sly smile stretches across his face.

“Wonderful, I’ll see you there, dep-yoo-ty, service begins at nine in the morning.” John gives her arm a hard squeeze before he leaves, Dahlia’s skin crawling beneath his touch. Empty air where he once was within the next moment.

Yeah, I vow to the moon, yeah, I howl at the wind.

I’m bleeding and I can’t stay clean.

 She’s expected to come to the service, dear god. The air is punched out of her lungs. Even being outside of a church put her nerves on edge, she’s not sure if she could step foot in one without getting sick.  She moves behind Pratt and puts her hand on his shoulders.

“Hey, Rook, what are you-uuck-” Pratt’s words cut off as she moves and wraps her hands on either side around his throat. Not hard enough to genuinely hurt him, but enough to feel it as she shakes him and pretends to wring his neck .

“Why the fuck would you do that?!”

“It was funny,” he defends himself when she lets go and throws herself onto her chair, bringing one foot up into the seat as she leans back. Her body going slack with exasperation, she’s seriously going to have to go church?

“I fucking hate you, I actually fucking hate you.”

“God, you’re dramatic. It’s church, not like I volunteered you for a root canal.”

“I’d rather have the root canal.” She tosses her head back with a sigh, staring at the ceiling. Pratt doesn’t know her issue with religion, she knows that, so she can’t truly be angry at him. But, fuck, would it have killed him to keep his mouth shut?

“Well, I think I should probably get out of here before Rook kills me,” Pratt says as he pays for his meal and drink, standing up from his seat.

“I’m gonna head home too,” Hudson stands up and ruffles Dahlia’s hair, “cheer up, Rookie.”

Dahlia doesn’t even have the energy to get worked up about Hudson’s touch, peacefully letting the casual touch come and go with a mere blush. Then the two have left and Dahlia is trying to gather the energy to get up, with the looming reality that she’s expected to go to church in the morning, she no longer wants this night to end.

“Deputy,” Mary May says after a moment, baby blues watching Dahlia sigh and rub a hand down her face.

“Hmm?” Dahlia straightens her posture enough to look at Mary May properly, realizing how somber the bartender’s expression and posture really is. The blonde chews her lip, looking away, visibly searching for her words.

“Eden’s Gate has been in this county for a long time, hell, I was in high school when they moved in on us. They started buying places out left and right, they own half the damn county, now.”

“They have that much money?” Dahlia can’t help but ask, aren’t churches relatively low profit ventures, assuming you aren’t selling snake oil or asking people to donate money for Jesus.

“Got that much money, that much power, and they know how to twist the law to suit their needs. They want the entire county and everyone in it under their thumb…”

Her knuckles whiten as she grips the edge of the bar, a far away look in her soft blue eyes. Dahlia puts her hand over Mary May’s, hoping the warmth of her touch can help ease the sting, even if she’s not sure what’s hurting the blonde. It’s enough in the moment, it seems, Mary May looking up at her and giving a soft smile, speaking again after a beat of silence.

“You’re one of the few people around here who’s not rolling over and letting them do whatever the hell they want. I don’t wanna see that change. Just do me a favor, don’t drink the Kool-Aid.”

“Look at me,” Dahlia looks directly into Mary May’s eyes, “I’d rather play jump rope with my own intestines than join a church.”

“Good.”

Mary May is satisfied with that answer, smiling as she’s called away to get someone else a drink. Dahlia’s not sure what the history is there with her and John, but clearly something has happened. Other than the Eden’s Gate members stealing alcohol and Lonny’s asshole behavior, there’s not conclusive evidence that they’ve done anything more than petty theft. John’s opinion on Mary May selling alcohol, supporting that he might ask them to do that. Otherwise, anything else is just bad feelings and hearsay. She wants to trust they’re good people, just staunch in their beliefs and a little strange, always wanting the believe the best of people. But, she’s going to be sure to keep an ear to the ground and stay wary of them, knowing she’s apparently not the only one concerned about their shit.

Dahlia shakes her head and gets out her wallet, getting out enough for the meal and then some, calling it all a tip for the sake of getting past Mary May’s generosity. She puts it down on the bar under her plate, letting the bartender know she’s taking off for the night.

The night air chills her skin as she leaves the bar before she’s caught. She pulls a cigarette out as she loiters outside the bar, leaning back against the building’s porch. Dahlia takes a deep inhale looking off into the distance.

Even in the valley, the statue of Joseph Seed is looming in the distance, the tallest thing in the entire county. There must be light around it, setting the statue aglow at night. She lets out the smoke in her lungs as she’s reminded of the real man. It wasn’t long ago she could barely believe he was a real living person. The statue makes him seem too large, too imposing, too important to be tangible. Meeting him and his family still feels like a fever dream.

Faith is like a living fairy, floating along in a white dress with flowers in her hair. An ethereal being with long dirty blonde hair and bright green eyes. Dahlia’s dream or perhaps exhaustion induced hallucinations of chasing after her still making the woman feel like a specter.

John feels like someone pretending to be human or maybe it’s just how out of place he seems in the rustic little county.  Dark slicked back hair, designer shades always on top of his head, silk shirts, and tailored vests; he looks like a Ken doll someone drew tattoos on.

The brother who didn’t bother to offer his name cuts possibly the most intimidating figure of them. He seemed larger than life. At least six foot six and wider than a door, dressed in army attire with his ginger hair shaved at the sides. The man could snap her spine in half if he had a half a mind to.

Then there’s Joseph, The Father, goosebumps raise on her skin when she thinks of his title. It’s bias, projections of her trauma that bring up those gross feelings when in reality he’s done nothing to her. His statue is true to his likeness in some ways, dark hair pulled back in a small bun and the full beard that seems standard for all men in Eden’s Gate. But at the end of it all, the statue is a composed sterilized version of the intense man who stood in front of her. The concrete can’t capture the intensity of his blue eyes, the way they cut through her, the way his choice of sunglasses turn them green. His unblinking stare as he stood out in the cold of night, shirtless with ink and scars marring his skin, sweat still sticking to him and strands of hair falling into his face.

But despite the wild appearance, he spoke calmly, he spoke deliberately and with devotion. He’s intense and he’s all encompassing, everything about him is too much, from his stare to the way his touch lingered for a moment more than it should have. His presences like a raging fire that can’t be ignored. 

She has no real reason to dislike him, he’s done nothing cruel, he hasn’t wronged her. But every fiber of her being screams at her to stay away, that he’s everything she doesn’t want near her. A forest fire that her body is urging her to run away, lest she be burned to ashes.

It may be paranoia and experience perverting her feelings; and it may be gut instinct trying to save her.  

But regardless, it seems she’ll be burned alive come morning.

[thermopylod]

Lunch for Two

Souyo, 1.9k words, gen. Yosuke and his mom bond over his attempts at cooking.

Thirty minutes ago, Yosuke had held a pretty optimistic view of the next 24 hours. First, he was going to make a perfect bento with the ingredients he’d picked up at Junes on the way home, with the vegetables cut into pretty shapes and even some little fake grass decorations. Then, he’d get to school early so he could ask Yu to eat together before anyone else got to him. And finally, he’d give him the bento, and with a single look at it Yu would understand all of Yosuke’s feelings. Then they’d spend the rest of the hour making out, taking a break just so Yu could eat the food and declare it to be even better than his own cooking.

That was before. With two bandages on his fingers where he’d slipped while trying to slice the carrots, steak strips that had managed the unlikely feat of being both burned and raw, and even his rice having come out crunchy, Yosuke was beginning to believe the universe was trying to give him a sign about his projected confession, and it wasn’t a good one.

Signs apart, Yosuke actually thought he had a pretty good chance with Yu. It wasn’t so much that Yu had shown any particular interest in him — there had been no blushes, no shy glances or fleeting touches — but rather, it was who Yu had not shown interest in that comforted him. Yu’d been in Inaba almost a year at this point, and he’d become the very definition of the term chick magnet. Every girl in school, and even some outside of it, even grown women, had thrown herself at him, with shy letters and chocolates and even one hastily rebuffed kiss. Yosuke knew this, because every time it happened, the first thing Yu did afterwards was call him up to complain about it. And every time, the story ended the same way: with Yu explaining how bad he’d felt turning the girl of the day down.

Now, Yosuke could understand being picky. He couldn’t empathise; before his feelings for Yu had manifested themselves, he would have accepted any girl who’d so much as hinted at being interested. Not because he was a pervert, as Chie liked to imply, but because he was a hopeless romantic who wanted nothing more than to have someone special to him; so sue him if that didn’t fit his usual carefree attitude. Yu had had his choice of every kind of girl, though, so it wasn’t likely to be pickiness, which meant he clearly wasn’t interested in dating a girl.

That left two options: either Yu wasn’t interested in dating at all, or he was interested in guys. If it was the first option, well, there wasn’t much Yosuke could do there, but he trusted Yu wouldn’t hold his confession against him. And if it was the second… Yosuke didn’t exactly have great self-esteem, but even he knew there was no one was as close to Yu as him. He got to see sides of Yu most people rarely did — bright laughs, sarcastic jibes, quiet admissions of fear or worry — all sorts of emotions he usually kept smoothly hidden behind his impassive silver eyes. So if Yu liked guys, then Yosuke thought there was a pretty good chance that he might be willing to give him a chance.

Except there was no way a half-burnt, sloppy bento with crunchy rice was ever going to manage to carry his meaning across, which would mean he’d have to confess out loud, putting his feelings into words he knew he’d get wrong because he always did, always managed to end up with his foot in his mouth, and Yu wouldn’t understand, and there would be no bright smile and no making out on the roof and no walking home hand in hand.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He still had enough ingredients left to give this another shot; he’d just save the ugly bento for himself. He picked up a carrot and a knife, trying to cut it into more even slices this time.

Then the front door slammed shut and startled him, he sliced his finger a third time, and he screamed in exasperation as much as pain as drops of blood fell onto the cutting board.

“Yosuke?” a voice called out in a worried tone, before hurried footsteps brought his mom to the kitchen’s door. “Honey, are you alright? What are you doing?”

Yosuke shoved his cut finger in his mouth and glared at the spread of food and tools surrounding him, then at her. “What does it look like I’m doing.”

She blinked at the display, and sure, Yosuke didn’t cook very often — or maybe ever — but she didn’t need to gape like she’d found Chie’s pet dog trying to cook dinner, either. Before he could turn his anger over the whole situation on her, she stepped forward to pull his hand out of his mouth.

“Did you cut yourself?”

Yosuke nodded sullenly, and she grabbed the first aid kit that sat nearby on the floor, where he’d left it after bandaging his previous injuries.

“Alright, let’s get that fixed up, and then maybe you can tell me why you suddenly decided to become a chef?”

“I was trying to make a bento for school tomorrow,” Yosuke replied grumpily as she disinfected his cut and wrapped a band-aid over it.

She gave him a calculating look, but the gods must have decided he’d suffered enough for today, because she didn’t ask the question that was obviously burning on her tongue, ut instead started cleaning up the mess he’d made, looking through the ingredients on the counter.

“Hmm… grilled steak strips, vegetables and rice?”

Yosuke gave a short nod. It wasn’t anything special, as bentos went, but even before his culinary failure he’d known better than to expect too much out of himself.

His mom pulled some items out of cupboards, shuffling items around until she had everything set up to her liking.

“First thing, that knife’s no good,” she explained. “I’ve been meaning to get rid of it, but you know how your dad is with throwing stuff away… It doesn’t take a good edge, so for hard vegetables like carrots it tends to slip.” She handed him another knife, one he’d stayed away from because of how large it looked. He’d been, ironically, afraid of hurting himself with it. “This one will be much better. And let me show you how to hold the carrot so you don’t hurt yourself if you slip.”

With his mom’s help, the meal started to take shape, and soon enough the smell of grilling meat — at the right temperature this time, because apparently turning the heat up so it’d cook faster wasn’t a good strategy — was filling the room while a new batch of rice cooked. Yosuke’s optimism was making a good comeback as he tasted a perfectly cooked carrot, and then his mom had to go and open her mouth.

“So, who’s this bento for?”

Yosuke dropped the bowl of vegetables he’d been holding, scattering them across the counter.

“Nobody! It’s for me!”

Which would have been more convincing, perhaps, if his voice hadn’t cracked in the middle and skipped an octave. Or not — his mom seemed to have some sort of Yosuke-bullshit detector built-in. She said it came with parenthood, which seemed entirely unfair to teenage boys just trying to survive.

“...Who do you think,” he muttered.

“One of those sweet girls who came to see you at work the other day?” she asked, and really, only a mom could call Chie a sweet girl, but he passed on pointing that out in favor of shaking his head. His mom hummed as she worked to gather up the vegetables Yosuke had dropped.

“Then… is it a girl I haven’t met? Is she from school?”

“You’ve met them,” Yosuke replied, reticent but well aware she wouldn’t give up until she found out anyway.

Something seemed to light up in her eyes at his words. “Ah… not a girl, then, hmm.” She smiled knowingly, an all-too-perceptive glint in her eyes. “It wouldn’t happen to be your best friend, would it?”

“He’s my partner, mom, not my best friend,” Yosuke huffed. It wasn’t the same thing. Best friends were for people like Yukiko and Chie, or Daisuke and Kou; what he and Yu had went deeper than that. Partners meant standing side by side, always supporting one another; it meant having each other’s backs in life or death situations, and knowing what the other person needed without even having to ask. And ok, maybe Yukiko and Chie had that, too, but what he had with Yu was special, and that was that.

“Partners, huh?” his mom asked. “So are you two…” she trailed off and raised her eyebrows at him.

It took him a moment to understand what she was hinting at, and he shook his head, feeling his cheeks heating up against his will. “No! No. Not… yet.”

Yosuke’s mom reached forward to pick up the little heart-shaped vegetable cutters he’d bought, then placed them in his hands.

“We’d better get back to work, then. This bento’s going to be perfect,” she told him with a fond smile, ruffling his hair before she turned back to check on the grilling steak.

They finished up a short time later, and after the two bentos were securely in the fridge, Yosuke did the dishes while his mom cleaned up the kitchen.

“Do you… do you think he’ll say yes?” he asked half under his breath, barely audible above the sound of running water.

There was no immediate reply, and he thought she hadn’t heard, but after a few seconds she came to turn the tap off and looked at him with a serious expression.

“I can’t tell you that. He’s the only one who can. But, whatever he says, I’m proud of you. It takes a lot of courage and honesty to confess your feelings,” she said, pulling him into a hug. “He’d be lucky to have you, you know — anybody would. You’re a good kid.”

Yosuke blushed, unused to such praise from his mom; they were close, often pranking each other or playing games together, but they weren’t often emotionally open like that. “Thanks, mom,” he mumbled as he turned back to the dishes.

When they were almost done, Yosuke working on the last pot, she came to lean against the counter next to him with a mischievous smile.

“Now, I meant what I said — he’s the only one who can answer your confession. But, just so you know…I’m pretty sure you have a chance. I’ve seen that kid spend 20 minutes hiding by the door at Junes just so he could ‘accidentally’ run into you on your way home.”

“Wait, what?! You never told me that!”

She winked at him. “I also never told him you stalk the security cams to make sure you can go restock whatever aisle he happens to be in, so I think you two are even.”

Yosuke spluttered. “I— I don’t— I never— erghhhh,” he groaned, pulling his shoulders up to hide his flushed face while his mom patted his back and laughed her way right out of the kitchen.

[comments and kudos very welcome on ao3!]

[tsaitsaii]

Nico is super amazing at cooking and learned a lot from his mom. Jason learns this one afternoon when walking in on Nico singing in Italian and cooking one of his mom's favorite meals. Nico opens up about his mom and Jason gets a great meal.

I faced MAJOR writer’s block around the time this was sent in so I’m so sorry if this didn’t come out the way you wanted it to. 

—

Maria di Angelo’s cookbook is a well loved thing, the edges of the hardcover journal frayed and the pages themselves worn. A few of them have newspaper clippings stuck to them, and there are a few black and white baby pictures of him and his sister in a small pocket at the very back. This is one of Nico’s prized possessions– it’d taken him such a long time to finally decide to remove it from his drawer in Hades’ palace, and into the dorm room he now shared with Jason in Pasadena.

His eyes skim over the pages, fingers tracing her lettering. It’s neat and vintage looking, the letters sharp and thin in width, the paper yellowed with age and use.

He’s distracted for a moment from his aforementioned roommate coming home, presumably from the library. He’s been doing so much research lately for the shrines, Nico thinks those piles of sketchbooks in his closet might start spilling out every time he opens it. The door closes with a click, and Jason’s nose twitches slightly as he takes in the unfamiliar, welcoming smell of food freshly made. It’s a nice change from the cafeteria food and takeout.

Their dorm room comes with a tiny (admittedly sad) kitchen and dining table shoved into the right corner of the room when you walk in, but Nico had made it work. In the left corner was their small, shared bathroom, and straight ahead was their two twin beds, pushed to either side of the room (Jason had gotten the one with the big window). A television stand between the beds with two drawers acted as their night table, and built into the wall was the TV itself. Directly across from it, smack in the middle of the dorm, was a small couch, with only enough space for the two of them to sit in. It’s just big enough that the lack of space isn’t suffocating.

“You got groceries?” says Jason brightly, and Nico nods. “It smells great. I’m already hungry. Is it cool if I eat some or did you make it for yourself?”

“I’m not going to cook for myself and leave you to starve. Who do you think I am?”

Jason looks bashful, but he smiles as sidles up next to Nico in the little kitchen, lifting the glass top of the red pot on the tiny stove. A puff of steam fans over his face, and he leans back a little as his glasses fog up. Nico’s lips twitch at the sight.  “Where did you learn to cook, anyways? I didn’t know you could.”

“Unlike you, it’s physically impossible for me to burn water.” He turns at Jason’s “Hey!” and trails over to the dining table. “A cookbook.” It’s technically true. Jason doesn’t need to know exactly which one. “Don’t expect it to be great. It’s my first time.”

“I’m sure it’s better than the sludge they serve in the main building,” Jason says, and plates clack together as he takes the two that they own out of the cupboard. Nico serves them both glasses of water before he takes out the seasoned, roasted potatoes that were in the oven. The classic chicken marsala smells enticing as it’s placed on the table. Jason watches as he goes to the single window they have, climbing onto Jason’s bed to let some air in.

Nico’s gotten taller.

His forehead is at Jason’s cheek now, his shoulders broader. The black apron tied around his waist pools on the bed between his knees, and Jason’s gaze is drawn to his narrow hips, the bunching of his dark grey crewneck sweater where the apron begins. He wears tight black jeans. He hasn’t cut his hair, so it’s tied up at the back of his head. Some of the shorter dark locks have fallen out of its tail, though, and they brush against his strong jaw. Jason bites the inside of his cheek and feels a little lost for a moment before he remembers where he is, what he’s doing, and finishes setting the table. He’s so distracted that he doesn’t notice when he walks too close to the edge of the counter and it digs into his hip. Startled, he reaches out, and ends up knocking the old journal half hidden underneath a few dish towels to the ground.

In mere seconds, Nico’s at his side, bending to pick it up like it’s a precious thing.

“What’s that?”

“My mother’s cookbook,” Nico says, but it’s rushed and quiet. Oh. Jason watches as he retreats to his closet and puts it high on the top shelf, isolated from his other things.

“Sorry,” Jason worries. “Really. I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” Nico says, with a small sigh. “It won’t break but it’s all I have of her. My dad gave it to me for my birthday after the Giant War. He said I’d have more use for it than him.”

Ah. So just last year, then. “Is that where you got the recipe?”

“Yes. The chicken’s a little burnt because I got distracted looking at it.” Now he looks sheepish. Jason takes this as a good sign. “If you want…” Nico begins hesitantly, “If you want, I can show you me and Bianca’s baby pictures after lunch.” He clears his throat, but his voice never stops sounding hoarse. “Mamma kept them in the back cover.”

[licenselesswriter]

From November to June CH2

December 24, 2017

- You sounded worried on the phone, what happened? - Maya asks her best friend.

Riley looks at her, trying to find something different, but fails after a few minutes.

- Honey? You're being weirder than other days - Maya says and Riley just move her knee to the side poses her arms on her leg.

- Are you dating Lucas? - Riley asks out of nowhere.

- This again? - Maya asks back, tired of the same question.

- Well, it's my right to ask about my best friend private life - Riley defends herself.

- No - Maya corrects her - That's your way to tell me that you saw Lucas being friendly with me, and since you're both not dating, you immediately assume that I'm dating him - Maya explains.

- Which is? - Riley asks.

- False - Maya says and blocks any thought that her best friend mind was playing in her mind.

- Then why? - Riley asks this time.

- I don't have time for this - Maya says and runs from Riley to her kitchen.

- Why not?! - Riley asks, raising her voice from her room while she follows Maya to the kitchen.

- Because we are 17, we have something called, I don't know, college to worry about - Maya lies, avoiding the real reason why she didn't have the time to deal with her best friend drama.

- What are you talking about, we are in the age of living and being worried about this kind of drama - Riley tries to argue.

- Yeah, you might be right, but we've been discussing the same guy since we were 13 - Maya argues back - Don't you think it's exhausting? I think it's exhausting - Maya finally says, trying to get Riley off her back with all the "Lucas thing".

- Ok, one question and I will stop - Riley says.

Maya finally gives her proper attention and put down her spoon and the pint of ice cream - Ok, what's your question? - she asks.

- If I didn't go to the UK, why Lucas doesn't want to continue our relationship? - Riley asks nervous, like the 13-year-old Riley that she assure she left behind.

- My poor sad deer - Maya says and hugs her best friend - The answer for that is probably time and timing - she answers.

- Explain - Riley says laying her head on her best friend shoulder.

- You had two break-ups, and for almost a year you both decide to be only friends, maybe what you both had stopped making sense, if not for you, at least for him - Maya explains and Riley look at her surprised.

- When did you turn into Gandalf? - Riley asks.

- You said one question - Maya remembers her with a soft smile - Also, it was when Galadriel sends Gwaihir looking for me when I became The White - Maya says, surprising Riley - And you can't ever tell Farkle that I read the stupid books he recommended to me or people will never find your body - she adds.

- You are the best Christmas present I can ever ask for - Riley says and hugs her tightly.

- Stick with me kiddo, I'm the best you could ever get - Maya replies opening the chocolate pint and starting to eat.

After a few minutes of eating ice cream, they moved back to Riley's room and Riley put Clueless on Netflix.

After 50 minutes of the movie, Riley was snoring hard. Maya looks at her and giggle. She pulls her phone from her back pocket and records Riley snore - This is gonna be money someday - she softly says to herself. She grabs the remote and turns off the TV. She looks at her friend sleep and covers her with the quilt she gave her last Christmas - Merry Christmas Honey - Maya softly says and put a kiss on her best friend hair.

She closes the door of Riley's room from the outside and walks down, where she finds Topanga cooking.

- Should I expect you tonight? - Topanga asks Maya.

The blonde beauty just hugs her - Even when I'm in Love with your food, Shawn is already cooking for us tonight - she says, surprising the matriarch of the Matthews.

- Shawn Hunter? Cooking? - she asks. and Maya only nods - Wow, he really Loves you and your mother - she jokes and Maya laughs at it - But I know him, so just in case, I will make a bit more for you three - she says and Maya hugs her again.

- Have I ever told you how much I appreciate having you in my life? - Maya asks her and Topanga kiss her forehead in the most maternal ways she had.

- A lot of times sweetie, but I will never get bored to hear it - she answers with a smile on her face before softly and playfully slaps Maya ass - Now go, by now, Shawn must already burn your kitchen - she adds making herself and Maya laugh.

Maya walks to the coat hanger and grabs her coat, she waves goodbye to Topanga and walks out the Matthews residence.

She takes her time with her way home, enjoying the city, still free from any responsibility, still being able to hide her pregnancy, and sadly, the pressure takes the best of her, forcing her to stop for a second to cry in silence. For 7 exact minutes, she cried in silence and alone while the snow keeps covering New York until she felt how someone sits next to her.

- To be honest, I totally suggest to cry under better weather - Cory says and puts his hand on Maya's back, making her cry harder and hide her face on his chest. After several minutes, they both were silent, until Cory finally breaks it - Care to tell me what happened? If you don’t, I'm gonna worry, like way too much for Christmas - she says and Maya get away from him, cleaning the tears on her cheeks.

- Nothing really important Matthews, just a really bad case of a broken heart - she partially lies to him.

- Josh, right? - he says and Maya vaguely nods - Trust me, I would love to have you as my sister in law, but he made his choice - Cory says keep caressing Maya's back.

- Didn't say he can't choose, I'm just mad that I wasn't the one he chooses - she replies.

Cory smiled, recognizing the growth in his student - Correct answer Miss Hunter - he says and Maya just let a blurt of laughter escape her mouth.

- Yeah? What did I win? - she asks.

Cory just put his hand on her head and mess with her hair - Well, if I'm not soon with this at home, you're probably not gonna have me as a teacher when the break ends, so I can treat you a cup of tea in the coffee shop around the corner - he says getting up.

- The one you and your wife own? That's cheap, even for you Matthews - Maya says with a smirk on her face.

- That's the Maya I usually see - Cory replies with a smile on his face. They walk for a bit and get inside Topanga's - Let me guess, Cappuccino with lots of whipped cream? - Cory asks, Maya softly nods, and unconsciously put her hand on her belly - Nah, today I'm in the mood for some chamomile tea - Maya answers and Cory take the whipped cream and attempt to put it back in the fridge - Leave the cream Matthews - she says without even look at him.

Cory just obeys her.

15 minutes later, they both leave Topanga's, they didn't say anything to each other while they enjoy the hot beverages they had, and for some reason, Maya found it comforting.

Maya walks back to her place, and unlike popular belief, his house didn't smell like a burnt dinner.

She opens the front door and takes off her coat.

- Hey Kiddo - Shawn greets her while she cleans his hands with an oven towel.

- Hey Shawn - Maya greets back and put a kiss on his cheek - Mom? -she asks him.

- Went for the dessert - Shawn answers walking back into the kitchen - What did Riley want? - he asks, starting to smash the potatoes he had in a pot.

- Another Lucas Crisis - Maya replies walking into the kitchen - Anything I can do to help? - she asks.

Shawn smile - Yeah, can you pass me the butter, cream cheese and the half and half please - he says while he keeps mashing the potatoes.

Maya pick the ingredients from the fridge and surprised by his cooking skills can't avoid the obvious question - Remember the day I met you? - she asks.

Shawn nods and giggles a bit - Yeah, yeah, Christmas 2014, right? - he says and Maya smile for him remembering that day.

- That day you said you didn't get a lot of home cook meals - she says feeling how her mouth starts to water from the smell of the turkey.

- Yeah, what's with that? - Shawn asks and takes the cream cheese and the butter and start to mix them on low heat with the mashed potatoes.

- Seriously? - Maya says - How can you cook like this and not getting home cook meals every day? - she asks.

- You mistake my cooking skills with my laziness - Shawn explained - Why take all this time to cook for one person when you can survive on Quesadillas and Pepsi? - he asks back.

Maya looked at him a bit in shock - Sometimes it scares me how much alike we are - she answers.

They both stop for a second when they hear a set of keys unlock the door. Maya went to help her mother with the dessert when she was stopped by her voice.

- Thank you, Lucas - she says to the Texan boy.

- It's nothing, Mrs. Hunter - Lucas replies walking into the kitchen.

- “Back to you”? - Maya greets him surprised to see him there.

- “Back to you”? – Shawn asks her.

- It’s our thing now – Maya fastly answers, before putting her attention back on her Mother and Lucas.

- Hey Maya, Mr. Hunter - Lucas greets her and Shawn, putting the bags on the counter.

- What you're doing here “Back to you”? - Maya asks while her mother gives Lucas something wrapped and walks next to Shawn.

- Hey baby girl - Katy says and put a kiss on her daughter's hair and then walks to Shawn and put a kiss on his lips - That smells delicious Mr. Hunter - she says and Shawn smile.

- Anything fo' ma' wife - Shawn replies while Maya takes Lucas to the living room.

- So, what you're doing here? - she asks him again.

- Relax, just came to deliver something before my flight to Texas - he defends himself and gives Maya the gift that Katy previously give back to him.

- You don't need to do this - Maya says and pulls him from his shirt collar to get him really close - I get it, you care about me and what's inside me, but you don't need to do charity work with me - she adds.

Lucas let a long sigh, he was really tired of Maya being unable to trust anyone besides Riley - This is not charity, this is Patrick - he jokes. Maya just punch his shoulder with half of her strength, surprising him - Ok, bad moment to make a joke - he says putting a few feet between them - Anyways, not charity Maya, just friendship, if you don't believe me, ask Farkle, Riley, and Smackle - he listed their friends - They get presents too - he says and get close to her again - Also, this has nothing to be with that situation - he adds and takes a quick look at her belly.

- You need to go - Maya says and starts to push Lucas to the door.

- Ok, ok - he says and stops her - Mr. Hunter Mrs. Hunter, have a merry Christmas - he says leaving the Hunter family apartment.

More than 9 hours later, when all the food was over and presents starts to show, Maya, take a short trip to her room.

She's been grateful for having Shawn on her life, and she was more than open to put her talent to show it - Hey Shawn - Maya calls her adoptive Father from her room - Care to help me a bit? - she asks when she was carrying a wrapped paint.

- Yes, sorry - Shawn apologizes for not noticing the size of what she was carrying.

Shawn finally takes it to the living room and Maya stood in front of her gift.

- Well, this is one of my happiest memories, and I hope it's one of your happiest too - she says and steps away from the gift.

- Thanks, kiddo - Shawn says and fastly unwrapped the painting - My God - he says and covers his mouth with his hand, then he moves to the side and show the painting to his wife, who had the same reaction.

- Baby girl - Katy says looking at the painting that was a vivid painting of the first dance Katy and Shawn had as Husband and Wife.

Shawn gets up and hugs Maya, visibly moved - Thank you, this is the second-best gift you ever gave me - he says and Maya looks at him a bit confused.

- Really? What did I get you last Christmas that this can't top's it? - she asks.

Shawn laughs and Katy stood next to him, fastly being hugged by him - You let me go on a date with your Mother - he answers, making both women cry.

Around 30 minutes later, Maya went to bed, happy, knowing that no matter what happened, she can always count with Shawn. She fastly changes clothes and put on her nightgown and then she notices that Lucas gift was on her bed.

- Ok “Back to you”, let's see what you get me - she says and softly sits on her bed. She takes her time and delicately unwraps the paper on Lucas gift, only to see the very professional, and very expensive, painting palette she wanted for her birthday, also with a complete set of 24 oil paints. She smiles with pure joy and opens the box of oil paints and a note fall into the floor. She picked it up and recognize his handwriting "Keep painting, will help you with the stress" she reads in silence - Sap - she says before putting the sets on her desk.

[andaleduardo]

Rooftop N.8

Ao3   N.7   N.9

Friday 21.05.1993

Unlike the few other parties that Eddie attended, this one was already being different without having started. Usually, he’d be in the company of six, or five if one of them was the host. This time, however, he was able to sit in the back of Bill’s parents’ car without having to squeeze himself between shoulders. There was even an empty seat.

An empty seat.

That’s a big deal for them. As he shut the door on his side of the car along with the other boys, his usual internal pep talk came into play, which happens every time Eddie is forced to attend a social event.

It’s just a party. Everyone goes to parties.

Then he freaks out because everyone is a lot for him.

Still, you’re supposed to have fun.

Despite the short time it takes to get to the barn, the quietness inside the vehicle is enough to break the built-up courage. Eddie busies his hands scuffing the end of the navy pants he reluctantly put on earlier, one ankle balanced on top of his knee. Some minutes ago, as he hopped down the stairs and announced that he was leaving, Eddie felt confident. His mom couldn’t have done much after their fight, they barely interacted, and Eddie had to show her that he was independent enough and responsible by himself. He kind of doubted that, now.

Here, inside this car, he feels unprotected by simply knowing that there’s no one worrying about him at home. Ridiculous way of feeling. So, when Bill parks the car among many others on the street where the Hanlon’s residence is located, Eddie puffs air in his chest and grips the door handle, ready to have a good time.

Or so he hopes.

The four of them approach the dirt trail that guides them towards the reddish barn, although it looks greyish in the night sky only illuminated by the dim lights pouring out of the open gate. Music was already playing as they go inside. He scanned the place only to realise how many people already crowded it. Bad idea.

As per usual, Ben and Eddie stay together, Stan hovers closely, and since Bill doesn’t want to go around alone just yet, the four of them stick together while trying to find their remaining members.

That’s when, while on his toes to see over the heads, Eddie sees the made-up stage. He was awestruck at first, couldn’t look away, but examining it for longer made him notice that it was not that impressive. Sure, it had some height, maybe like two steps higher, and he could see it was made from reclaimed wood from the farm. The setup looked cheap, no surprise there. He could see a full drum set, although the various components had different colours, which was a give-away that it was put together by older parts, and there was also what looked like a keyboard, plus some extra keys that didn’t belong on a piano, set upon a stand so that whoever played would be able to be standing up. In the middle stood two guitar stands, one held an electric, all wood and heavy looking, and the other had an acoustic, which looked incredibly like the one that usually stands on a corner of Richie’s bedroom.

And well, that only meant one unfortunate thing.

“This can’t be happening.” Stan’s words were a little bit muffled by the general noise. Eddie shot him a knowing look, both were desperately hoping it was some kind of joke or coincidence.

“That’s…” Eddie gulped and pointed back to the stage, specifically to the guitar both of them had seen many times before. When Stan nodded and draped a hand over his face, Eddie needed a miracle of some sort. Unaware of their discovery, Bill dragged Ben over to one of the tables filled with food and various coloured drinks, separating the group in half.

“They can’t be that dumb. Tell me they’re not that dumb, Eddie.” Oh, how similar both of them are. Only that Eddie can’t really find words to voice his concern right now. His mouth hung open, ready to answer that yes, they are that dumb, but Mike walked up behind Stan with a nervous grin at that exact moment, shutting Eddie up immediately.

“That’s not the support we were hoping to get.” Mike shot him a wink while Stan turned around in a startled jolt. Eddie didn’t have it in him to be playful back.

“It’s a prank, right?” Stan asked with big eyes. Eddie could see that Mike was taken by surprise, his eyebrows furrowing and the smile faltering. Being mean was a gift to Stan’s existence. “Mike, everyone here isn’t like us, they’re mean.”

Mike shook his head and laughed poorly. “You’re the one being mean. They’re just teenagers, students-”

Stan’s throat did a funny noise. “My point exactly. They’ll make fun of you!” Deciding that this was going too far, Eddie elbowed his ribs, which successfully toned him down. With a long exhale, Stan rubbed his eyelids. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to be the target of mockery.”

There was a hurt frown on Mike’s face. “We’re just having fun here, friends having a good time.” His eyes met Eddie’s, probably expecting backup. He had yet to say something so he chocked up, caught by surprise.

“Uh…” He awkwardly cleared his throat and glanced between the two boys. And if guilt wasn’t already eating up his insides, all Mike did was roll his eyes, nod his head and move to another topic.

“Where are the others, anyway?”

Eddie was sure that the devil had fiery hair and a fuck ton of freckles, because she appeared just then. Beverly came from the back entry, probably there smoking, skipping on her steps with a giddy smile on her lips. There was a happy energy radiating from her that could be noticed miles away. She swung herself on Eddie’s shoulders and started jumping up and down, shaking him in the process. The shame was adding up along with a fastening heartbeat on his chest.

Not now. That’s all he wanted. Don’t panic now.

“You actually came!” She shouted over the other voices. The music playing changed.

In order to keep himself stable, Eddie placed both hands on her wrists. She kept laughing, Eddie wanted to breathe the outside air but she smelled of nicotine instead. With a forceful grip, he tore Beverly’s hands out of his shoulders but didn’t let go of them.

Not now.

But her laughs died down, and he felt even worse for ruining something they probably looked forward too. He shot a glance at the stage again and felt her tugging at his wrists. She was smiling softly, a cure for his worry.

“I think you need a drink, Eddie.” She meant those words.

For the first time in his life, Eddie didn’t think that was such a bad idea. “I think you might be right.”

 -

 Eddie’s little freak-out took him outside, elbows resting against the wooden fence.

Previously, he had pretended to be present while a cup was placed in his hand, he couldn’t remember which of his friends did it. Then, he had hovered around the group religiously and pretended to drink whatever he was given. He just needed the right moment to back away without them noticing.

Ironically, it was beer pong that saved his ass. His thoughts drifting completely from what was in front of him, which was pretending to agree with whatever Stan was babbling on about and watching a fair amount of people (Beverly included) cheer whoever was heavily invested in playing the pointless game. All it took was Stan giving up on being answered, turning his head to the other side to talk with Mike instead, and Eddie was out of there in an instant. He ignored the girl he run into on his way to the back entrance and took the longest breath of his life as soon as the chill air of the night hit his nostrils.

He tried hard to keep his head out of futile worries. With a swirling cup, Eddie’s mind hovered above many things, desperate for a healthy distraction:

Stan is quite talkative when he’s out of his comfort zone, which is very out of character.

Where did Ben and Bill go?

He stared quizzically at the party cup. What the hell do they put in this? Why am I still holding it, anyway?

I wonder what my mom’s doing.

Probably snoring.

I haven’t seen Richie yet.

Damn it. That’s not a healthy thought.

But it was impossible to stop once it set. Richie, what he could be doing. Who he could be with right now. And how they could be together outside, instead. Eddie would probably ruin his wild fun by begging for his company, not that he would do that anyway.

Maybe internally.

He licked his dry lips, then remembered Richie’s.

“I’m a lost case.” He huffed out, exasperated.

“Woah, don’t think so high of yourself.” Every muscle in his body jolted, startled. Yep, there goes the drink spilling out onto his fingers.

Parties, greatest human invention.

It was Richie, he acknowledged without turning around. Eddie was hit with such gratitude and relief that tears prickled his eyes. So, like the lost case he claimed to be, he lowered his head to let it rest against his upper arms that sat upon the wood railing. Now staring at the way his shoes were digging in the grass, the gravity pulled one on him and made it easier for the tears to escape, falling near his feet almost as soon as they abandoned his eyes.

Laboured breathing made its presence, he left the sense of reality behind and began to shake compulsively. Whatever was done to him for the following minutes would go subtly fogged up.

 Up until now, Richie had been with both Bill and Ben inside, convincing them to try the pot brownies they had previously baked for the party. Before, he had taken a little container, filled it up and put it aside to share among the Losers once they were alone.

Bill had agreed to eat them eagerly after listening to how Mike had to steal his mother’s recipe so that the three of them could bake them in his kitchen. How hard it had been to get her to miss the part where they added the best ingredient hidden in Bev’s coat pocket. His mom had bought it when they said the scent came from a burnt batch. Ben refused them kindly, Richie didn’t push him.

There was this annoying press near his heart due to Eddie’s absence that was pushed behind with a stupidly, fake, contented grin as he hung around with his two friends and some other teens that suddenly seemed to realise he existed.

A bunch of turds, if you asked him.

So, there he was, a deep need for a second smoke in less than two hours. Frustrated and disappointed, he snapped out at the sight of some brainless group hanging around the couch meant for his friends and his friends only. He was cursed at while hushing them away, head a bit weary due to the stupid drinks he downed already.

Once he turned back around, Bill and Ben weren’t with him anymore. He kicked the side of the couch with a curse lost among all sounds.

“Hey, easy!” Bev’s careful hand curled around the fabric of his sleeve. He turned to face her, surprised. How did he not see her? Taking a short glance over her head, Richie saw the rest of his friends laughing hysterically at something that he failed to catch.

Bev tugged at his sleeve again so he locked eyes with her.

“Sorry.” He said. “I didn’t-”

“Have you been drinking? You shouldn’t have, Rich.” He shrugged in response, careless. Worried, Beverly took his hand between hers. Richie lowered his eyes to stare at the faint bruises marking his skin.

“It’s healed, you know. I’m fine, all good. Fully operational-” He had to stop himself from babbling on and on.

With an excessively happy smile, she squeezed his fist and nodded her head towards the back-barn doors. “He’s in the back, you know?”

She laughed when his eyebrows disappeared behind his curly bangs. “You should go get him while we finally break in our red beauty.” She motioned towards the sofa he angrily kicked.

Suddenly hopeful but anxious, Richie silently mouthed fuck under his breath. “I shouldn’t have drunk.” He said to the air. As soon as those words left his mouth, Beverly flicked his forehead and hushed him away. Richie complied on heavy feet, unsure of how to approach Eddie.

At the sight of him outside, alone and tense, Richie felt guilty for making him come. He knew Eddie didn’t deal well with these things, and just a few days ago Richie had been the cause of a family fight. Way to go, dickhead.

As he got closer and closer, Boys Don’t Cry by The Cure became less ear deafening and gave him a chance to hear the incoherent mumbling that fell from Eddie’s mouth. Richie was watching his profile, noticing that he was frowning and staring deadly at the cup in his hands.

Now, that’s new. He thought.

Eddie’s distressed expression mirrored into Richie’s features as well. He seemed out of it, not even acknowledging his presence only a step away from touch. Richie was about to lay a careful hand on his shoulder when Eddie’s mumbles became clearer.

“I’m a lost case.”

“Woah, don’t think so high of yourself.” Richie couldn’t help it as the words left his mouth. At least he hadn’t acted like an asshole this time, that alone was a great achievement.

Eddie was startled, that much was expected. He was also waiting for the inevitable bickering that would follow next, but when all that happened was Eddie melting in his own body, hiding his face from the world and shoulders shaking compulsively, Richie had a hard time figuring out if he was laughing or crying.

Slightly freaked, he started by taking the full cup out of Eddie’s hands, which were doing a poor job at keeping it stable anyway. He balanced it on top of one of the vertical wood posts that constituted the fence. Then, he maneuvered Eddie’s body around until he saw how blotchy his face was. There were almost no tears staining his skin, but his breathing was irregular and faltering, a certain rasp to it.

“Hey, hey.” As if he was dealing with a child, Richie ducked his head and pouted, an attempt at making Eddie smile. It didn’t work, Eddie looked away and rubbed his eyes quickly.

“Sorry.” He said between wheezes. Confused, Richie studied him. What was he sorry for? He must have stared for a long time, because Eddie started looking around in every direction, anxiety once again filling him as he stared at the few people crowding the outside space, along with the both of them. Unshed tears filled his vision, fogging his eyes. Richie broke out of his trance once Eddie’s throat gave a pained and squeezed whistling sound as the air passed quickly.

“Don’t apologize, you moron. And don’t look around.” Richie fully crowded his space, hands coming down to circle Eddie’s waist, pulling his body flush against himself close enough so that he’d block the outside from him. “They don’t care about us, promise.”

Eddie stood unmoving. His hands limp by his sides as he let himself be hidden from the world and submerged in the heat Richie was providing. After some hellish minutes of trying to keep his heart at a normal, painless beating rate, he had to admit with, agonizingly but still.

“My mom’s right.” And how it hurt him to say something like that.

Relief washed through Richie. At least Eddie was speaking coherent sentences, mostly. “I don’t know what you think she could possibly be right about, Eds, but your mom is wrong about everything.”

Squeezing him a little bit closer, Richie felt him shake his head against his chest. “I should have just taken the stupid inhaler.”

“What?”

“I’d be better by now and not-”

“Not what? Anxious?” He asked incredulous. “That crap’s fake medicine, wouldn’t have helped you.” Eddie’s arms made a shy way around Richie, making him smile. “You know what’d help, though?” That made him finally look up, searching for another type of comfort out of Richie, which he got just by watching him under the poor lighting. He looked… well, words are overrated.

There was glitter on his cheeks, which was new. Weird, but welcomed.

“Making good use out of that cup.” Richie answered his own question. “Never thought I’d ever see you holding alcohol.”

Ignoring the suggestion, Eddie nodded towards the boy’s glowing cheeks. “You’re sparkly.” He stated. A shit-eating grin took over Richie’s face, smug and victorious. Eddie felt embarrassed for no apparent reason. “What?” He asked in a warning tone.

“Nothing!” With a shrug, Richie tried to hide his amusement.

“No, what is it?” He demanded.

For a second time, Richie shrugged. “S’just, staring at my face calms you down?”

“Like hell it does.”

“Oh, so it’s the opposite? Gets you all worked up?”

“You need to stop putting words in my mouth.” Eddie warned with a typical roll of his eyes.

 See, he could have gone for ‘I could put something else instead.’ But he settled with for other words.

“Yeah? Some nights ago, you wouldn’t have valid arguments.” Which weren’t really better.

Eddie’s face paled up, whatever hints of a smile lost. Richie should really think before speaking.

"Fuck, okay, I'm an asshole." He licked his lip in a nervous habit. Mentally, Eddie stabbed him. "I didn't want to make you uncomfortable… I was too, you know…?"

The confusion behind Eddie’s eyes was noticeable, so he tried to explain it without really doing it. "You know... You couldn't feel it, but..." He spoke sheepishly.

Yeah, there it was, the moment of recognition he was waiting for. Embarrassed, Eddie adverted his eyes somewhere else.

Right.

"Shouldn't have said that, either…? Okay, well, we can just... we can pretend it never happened, right?" Richie gulped down, dry scratched throat. "If that's what you want."

But Eddie’s response never came, despite the fact that neither of them were doing much effort to let each other go of their embrace. Talk about awkward.

With a heavy sigh and pleading eyes, Eddie whispered. “That’s not what I want.” It was enough to relieve the tension, although both of them failed to see how fucked up their friendship was becoming with each and every one of these occurrences.

Whatever. As always, worry about it later. As usual, ignore the consequences.

Deciding it was best to leave it at that, with a much clearer mind there were some things that Eddie needed to confirm. “Just to be clear, hm… the live music is you guys?”

With an enthusiasm that Eddie himself couldn’t feel, Richie nodded eagerly, a large smile taking over his features. “Aye, captain. We sure are!”

Figures. Eddie groaned, dropping his head to let it hit Richie’s chest.

“See lots of excitement right there, uhm?” Despite the twist his stomach did, he hid the disappointment.

“Sorry…” Eddie sighed. “I need to apologize to Mike and Bev, too. I’m being kind of a jerk about this but… I feel embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?” That was weirdly unexpected. “What’s there to be embarrassed about?”

“…Your voice isn’t exactly up to society standards.” Upon seeing the true impact his words had on Richie, Eddie started spitting out words. “I mean, I’m afraid someone may pick on the three of you for it and then turn it into another way to mess up with you guys. And, and I just feel embarrassed, okay? I hate that I do but I’m being honest with you, Richie-”

“Eddie.” He frowned, reluctantly starting to step back from his space. Eddie’s heart broke.

“I’m sorry.” He pleaded.

“Hey, it’s fine. Hear me out.” He placed both hands on Eddie’s shoulders. “Do I need to tell you you’re overthinking? This isn’t really a big deal.” Well. “If it ends up being horrible, I promise you no one here will actually remember most of it.”

“Won’t we?”

“I sure hope not.”

“I’m the asshole tonight.” He said sheepishly. “Not you.”

Turning to look at the plastic cup, Eddie thought ‘fuck it’. He grabbed and gulped it down in one go, almost chocking up. Richie was stunned, looking at him as if he’d grown another head. Once Eddie finished, his face was scrunched up from the burning sensation rolling down his throat.

“You know that doesn’t have any alcohol, right?”

Richie almost lost it when Eddie’s skin burned red, even noticeable in the night, eyes so big and ashamed that, for a moment, he thought the boy would dig a hole in the ground and disappear. He finally cracked up, hunching over the railing to laugh until his eyes stung.

“God, I’m joking! Your face, dude.”

“Fuck you, you’re suck a jerk.” He threw the cup at Richie’s head, feeling guilty as it fell to the floor and picking it up immediately so as to not litter anything.

After straightening himself up and shaking the last remains of chuckles out of him, Richie started pushing Eddie in the direction of the barn once more. “There’s vodka in that, by the way.” It took them a little longer to actually get inside since he fell into another fit of giggles upon seeing the terrified look on Eddie’s face. 

 -

 After what felt like hours for Beverly, Richie finally decided to appear, Eddie by his side. She, along with the other four, were sprawled in the comfortable sofa waiting for them, barely any space to fit anyone else.

 “You turned us into a charity case.” The smile painting Richie’s lips fell at those words. With both hands resting on his hips, he looked at Stan comically.

“What do you mean?”

Stan rolled his eyes, a maddening habit, and spoke as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You guys put this couch here for us.” Eddie hid a laugh under his palm when Richie looked at him, lost but trying to follow along.

“I’m… not following?”

Ben, however, laughed freely. “It feels like you’re protecting us from the beasts.” He motioned around.

Richie kept staring at Eddie, who was having a hard time keeping a serious expression.

“Is that a bad thing? It’s a nice-looking couch.” He stated, still confused. 

“You’re babying us.” Eddie concluded. Richie’s eyebrows shot up.

“No, no I’m not. I’m VIPing our club.”

“That’s not even a verb.”

“Oh, spare me, Stan. If you don’t like it why are you sitting on it?”

The piece of furniture was diagonally positioned to the stage. Now that they were closer, Eddie could see that the stage’s shape wasn’t regular, like the common rectangle. Instead, it was almost hexagonal, which made sense because they’d be standing in the middle of a large room and, this way, people would be able to watch from every corner.

Yeah, it’s not that bad at all.

“So, how long for us to see your talent?” Ben interrupted their little argument. Mike and Richie shared a look along with shrugs.

“We planned waiting until more people were around.” Mike explained.

“Yeah, but how much more can you fit in here?” Bev had a point, the place was crowded with familiar faces who kept trying to stick around their little hangout, but not tonight. Tonight, they had a silent agreement on staying close, for comfort and support.

To say that Eddie felt clingy as soon as the three of them excused themselves to go get ready (more like mentally prepared), was an understatement. The passionate kiss shared between Ben and Bev had him turn his face around, always felling wrongly intrusive when it came to public romantic gestures.

As the time passed, he found himself lower and lower on the couch, until most of him was hidden by the back part of it. Somewhere to their left, he could hear the far, yet familiars, ‘chug! chug! chug!’s over whatever crap was currently playing. A faint scent of what could be recognized as weed mixed with puke painted the air. It’s only been what? Three hours? I mean sure, they never arrive on time to these things, having come probably a little over an hour ago, but people lose their shit too easily.

Ever since he came back inside, his curiosity was stolen by Bill, drinking. Probably for the first time in his life, not probably, for sure, Eddie had finished a full cup of alcohol. He feels slightly looser, but he wasn’t sure it was due to that. Maybe, maybe not. He wouldn’t be caught accepting to be, what his friends called, a lightweight. Back to the main point, he wanted more. Might as well get it over it, get drunk once, regret it, never repeating it again for the rest of his life. But, unfortunately, he wasn’t really able to go get it himself, just because.

Because, well, he’s just Eddie. That’s a valuable reason. And like the coward he is, as soon as Bill gets up with an empty cup in hand, Eddie grabs him by the arm. Bill jumps and curses as if he was being attacked. Drama queen.

Trying to act nonchalantly, Eddie asks him if he could possibly bring something for him, too. He has never felt as thankful before as when Bill simply nodded and asked if he could bring the same stuff he was having. As expected, though, once the drink was in his hand and Bill by his side, there was no courage to actually drink it. Paranoid that everyone else was watching, he just twirled the liquid around for a while.

That’s when the music stops abruptly, a chorus of complaints emerging quickly. Eddie’s heart skipped a bit, looking around for a moment until the lights go off and suddenly, his pupils grow significantly, for the place is nearly pitch black. The grunts of disapproval were replaced by gasps, then an eager silence.

If he could see, Eddie would bet that Stan was probably rolling his eyes from the extravagant and unnecessary suspense that they wanted to cause over something like this. But on the other hand, Eddie was finally excited, even giddy with anticipation. His worries about Richie’s voice failing or any other components were tossed to the side momentarily, and he took this chance to gulp down half of what Bill brought him, which Eddie recognized as the same thing he had outside. Its taste was okay, besides the burn. However, he choked up when, out of nowhere, these beautiful lamps over the stage glowed an orange tinted light over the space.

It was still a dark environment, but warmer and cosier. That turned out to won’t be the big surprise as Mike, Beverly and Richie were already on their spots, having come up while it was room was dark, mysteriously not tripping over the dozens of electric cables crossing the surface. Eddie wanted to melt through the floor.

A round of cheering came and Bill placed two fingers between his lips to give a high pitch whistle that Eddie envied so much. Once the shouting, whistles and clapping began to fade, Richie’s impertinent voice was amplified through the one microphone standing in front of him.

“Fuck yes! What an entrance.”  Even Eddie laughed along with all the others. “So, I’m not gonna make a pretty speech about how thankful we are. You’re all drunk by now, just enjoy the shitty entertainment.”

More cheers. Why is Eddie surprised. He should have guessed this, but now it’s too late to take back that mild insult to Richie’s voice and hope for the best.

He took his time to watch them in this specific setting that he never would have guessed to see them. Beverly was all smiles, torn between looking at Ben and scanning her eyes through the room. Ben, on the other hand, was at the edge of his seat, right by Eddie’s side, giving her a silent pep talk every time they locked eyes.

Mike, his cheeks were glowing. Oh. Now he sees, all of them have glitter on, which he failed to notice and feeds into his guilty state. Mike’s cheeks are the most noticeable due to the contrast between colours. He looks amazing, no doubt, sending goofy, genuine smiles at the back of Richie’s head while he talks nonsense into the mic. His hands are skilfully turning the drumsticks as if they were bendable and the tank-top he chose to wear does him justice on showing off the strong arms he built over the years of hard farm work.

“I’m making the fine assumption that we’re all broke here.”

Right, Richie’s speaking. What’s all of that about? Eddie finishes the second alcoholic drink of his life, distracted by the happy sight in front of him. Richie’s still the same, dishevelled person. Nonmatching clothes and big teeth for a big mouth for a regular-sized face. Uncombed hair, which is the best way to go around it, and a non-filtered brain-to-mouth way.

Yeah, Richie’s still the one Eddie fell for two years ago and hasn’t been able to let go yet. Nor is he trying to. And, holy, if that’s not a hard thing to admit to himself after so much time of dancing around his feelings. So, maybe it’s the vodka-ish drink. Or maybe it’s his screwed-up appearance. Or the lightness that settled upon Eddie’s stomach moments ago.

Right now, in this room, if someone asked him who’s the most attractive person present, Eddie wouldn’t have thought twice before flinging himself at the mess that Richie Tozier is.

“Dear poor, empty-walleted high schoolers, this one was meant for us.” Richie started by running his fingers over the frets in such a rapid motion that Eddie gave up following it with his eyes. The tempo of the song was quick, his ring finger held a golden slide, and the sounds produced by it were actually good. It was really, really good. If there’s one thing that he’s actually committed to, is self-learning guitar. He had begged for one a few years back, and his parents gave in to his request after making him do all types of chores to prove how far he would actually work for it.

Eddie watches, with big shinny eyes, skilful hands and a concentrated face. A bitten tongue as he focused on the repetitive pattern and tried not to mess it up. The rings are missing from his fingers, tonight.

When the first hints of Mike’s drumming skills started to show, Richie began to sing, if you could call it that, and Beverly busied herself with the sound effects produced by the keyboard Eddie’s seen so many times before in her house.

It wasn’t really singing, it seemed to him that Richie was speaking at a fast speed with a certain rhythm, which made perfect sense. They had certainly picked songs that go along with his voice, what a relief.

Eddie paid attention to the words, and an inevitable groan made its way under the music and all types of encouragement everyone was giving as feedback. He was fucking singing about a prostitute, and using his famous voices to impersonate her within the song. He chose what seemed to be British hooker.

‘If you can pay the right price, your evening will be nice But you can go and send me on my way.’ I said, "You're such a sweet young thing, why you do this to yourself?”

And the rest of it went subtly ignored once Eddie turned to stare at Bill who looked like he was having the time of his life. To his right, Ben was laughing, reasons unknown. Stan was hiding his amusement behind a hand. After the prostitute, came a robbery. What the fuck’s this song about? Yeah, got it. Being broke. Unbelievably, Richie was putting another voice into action every time a new character made an appearance.

The robber sounded from the south. But maybe it was a failed attempt at any other accent really.

‘Give me all you've got, I want your money not your life But if you try to make a move I won't think twice I told him, "You can have my cash, but first you know I gotta ask What made you want to live this kind of life?”

Was it bad that Eddie was enjoying it? Richie either had his eyes closed or stuck on his guitar, and if he knew him well enough, it was from being nervous or afraid to face an audience. But if Richie did dare to look, he’d see so many faces of contentment. Everyone seemed to be enjoying their selves once Eddie turned to steal a glance. Mike was killing it, too, lost in his own world and feeling things to their maximum extent. There were other faint background sounds that made everything better, those were Beverly’s contributions. Eddie could hear bass, xylophone, too, played by her skilled moving hands over the keys.

Sure, the song’s also about a priest stealing money from the church.

By the end of it there were so many whistles and cheering that Eddie saw the exact moment of realisation hitting Richie in the face. Take that, he thought. The idiot should think better of himself, and Eddie can be a real horrible being sometimes. To prove his point, he got up from the couch to applaud them that way, a genuine smile to go with it.

Richie seemed surprise, eager to get some kind of support. Eddie shot him a wink and didn’t think twice before puckering up his lips in a quick air kiss.

So, I’m drunk. Okay.

With eyebrows suddenly flying off his face and a stupid grin, Richie didn’t look away from him as he tried to switch guitars, blindly feeling for the stand. When things got messy and he lost his balance for a second, he had to actually look away and do the task properly. Once the electric was hanging around his shoulder and properly connected to the speakers, Richie started a new combination of chords without a word. Eddie let his body hit the couch again, face red and suddenly overly shy. He placed both hands on his cheeks to check the temperature rising on his skin. What’s gotten into me?

It took him exactly 3 seconds to realise what song they were playing. It wasn’t shocking, either, to anyone, that tonight they’d be hearing Teenage Dirtbag. What a classic. Richie sings it all the time at Losers’ hangouts. Once again, it’s obvious that the voices will come into play, for every time he sings or performs, hat song he always sounds like a clogged-up chicken in a puberty-hit preteen boy.

“That’s my Noel impersonation!” It’s what Richie claims once the ‘I’ve got two tickets to Iron Maiden, baby’ part comes along and someone mocks him for how bad it sounds.

Truth is, Eddie doesn’t think it sounds so bad this time. Maybe Richie does it on purpose when they’re all together, but tonight he sounds different, there’s effort, there’s rehearsing. There’s an expectation he put on himself and that he won’t fail to achieve. Eddie is in love. Tipsy, likely, but in love.

It's a great surprise when Beverly’s voice joins Richie’s in some harmonies. Their voices crash, not at all alike. Bev’s serious, Richie’s playing around. When people hear the first words out of her mouth, most of them wowed, stunned, which made her giggle in between words and her chest faulter with quick breaths, probably nerves, after returning her full attention to the keyboard. Ben was ecstatic.

By now, a lot of people are dancing around the weird lyrics, singing along too. This song makes better justice to Beverly’s capacities, along with Mike’s. The electric guitar is louder and different to Eddie’s ears, it does sound amazing, and Richie’s eyes are open for a change. Something quite great strikes his chest when that famous girly voice comes out of his lips. Eddie laughs because it sounds girlier and perkier than ever before, improved. And what were the chances of Richie singing those exact words without breaking the eye contact with him.

‘I've got two tickets to Iron Maiden, baby Come with me Friday, don't say maybe I'm just a teenage dirtbag, baby, like you.’

Instinctively, Eddie bites his lip, and it stays between his teeth right until the very end of the song. The only thing that pulls him out of it is the intervention that follows.

“Alright, alright, chaps! There’s one last song we’re gonna play, and if you wanna get yourself laid tonight, you should take care of the arrangements in the next three minutes.” Richie took a small step back to laugh at his own joke and catch his tired breath. “I’d like to dedicate it, personally, to a lovely human being tonight.”

That’s when Richie winked in his direction.

That’s when his heart stopped.

“Eds, this one goes to your mom and all the amazing nights we spend together.” If he hadn’t looked away right in that moment, Richie would have seen the disappointment painting Eddie’s face. A hand made contact with his elbow, Bill was babbling on while the beginnings of a new song were born.

“A duh-douchebag once, a douchebag f-for life.” He’s high, Eddie thinks. He doesn’t bother with a reply, instead sinking down on the couch seat and trying to pay attention on this lovely tribute aimed for his overbearing mother. He begun to lose hope after some horrid words like:

‘I hope it's not a one-night stand

It's just you're so cool, and I wanna steal this moment with you.’

The images in his mind were worse than ever. But some made him laugh.

‘I miss your pain, I miss your brain, I miss your kiss, already’

And Richie was using this as a way to mock her, so Eddie felt thankful for the obvious hatred behind the words he was singing. Things only started turning the wrong way, a better one, when something changed in his voice. Eddie just knew, right when their eyes met without further interruption. Eddie was sure, when hating sentences softened and eased the lines on the skin of their foreheads. It was clear that, unlike before, Richie had a new subject of dedication. It was Eddie.

‘I'll hold you dear I hope that you don't think I'm weird’   I don’t.

‘Pretend it never happened’   That’s not what I want. That’s not what I want, Richie.

‘Cause we made a pact And I'll try my best not to get attached …I'm such a fool for you’

And like all good moments, there’s only one person to ruin them.

‘Well, I miss your sex, I miss your lips, I miss your tits I miss your kiss, already’   Richie smiles playfully, still a hint of seriousness hiding underneath. This time, Eddie blushes and mouths at the edge of his cheap party cup with a fire growing inside his chest.

Maybe parties aren’t so bad after all.

 -

 Eddie didn’t have any sense of what time it was. Late, probably.

“Why’s everyone leaving?” He pouted and turned to look at his friends, who were entertained by the sight of Eddie and Bill dancing comically in front of them. They had their arms linked, facing different directions and spinning around in circles. “Woah, the room’s spinning.”

Beverly lowered the cigarette from her mouth, Mike allowed her to smoke inside now that the space was clearing up. “That’s because we shut the power down half an hour ago so they’d get bored and leave.” Tightening the grip he had on Bev’s mid-section, Ben chuckled.

“You’ve been dancing without any music.” Bill started to sing some tune they all remembered from childhood, tugging on Eddie’s arm to keep spinning. He wasn’t prepared for such movement so he fell on his butt and dragged Bill along by the arm, who started laughing as soon as he hit the floor, and Eddie.

Their little show had ended some hours ago, with a lot of success, anyone would say. A group hug was shared, along with some drunken apologies from the ones that hadn’t shown support previously. Needless to say, everyone was forgiven without resentments.

Eddie let his head hit the floor, laying there with Bill half on top of him. It was very warm inside.

“So, what now?” Stan asked, although he would regret this as soon as Richie dizzily got up without a word. “Oh, no.”

“Shhhh.” Richie said while rounding the couch to stand behind it. He placed both hands on the cushioned back and pulled so hard his knuckles turned white. At last, he gave up and huffed out an exhausted breath.

“What, exactly, are you trying to accomplish?”

“Stanley, I’m starting to believe you have a fixation on me. I’m flattered.” He ducked his head to lick a long stripe on the side of Stan’s face. He jolted with disgust and desperately rubbed the spot with the back of Mike’s hand.

��Such weirdos.’ Eddie thought. But he was still on the floor, maybe Bill was snoring by now. Who’s the weirdo, in the end?

“Miikeeeey.” Richie keened. “Come save me with your guns.”

The said boy turned his head around in his seat. “My what, now?” But he got up anyway at the sight of Richie’s baby pout. They both stood behind the sofa and started pulling again, moving the piece of furniture along, gaining speed at each step.

“What the fuck?!” Stan jolted in his seat while being moved backwards.

“We wheeled the couch, babes!”

“Why would you do that?!” But Stanley didn’t get an answer, watching Ben and Beverly have fun. The room was moving in the background. Soon, Mike and Richie were giving one final tug and running out of the way, the couch rolled around at a fast speed until it stopped right before hitting a wall. Richie mocked Stan for the high-pitch scream he let out.

Eddie sat up, shaking Bill out of his sleepy state, to stare with amusement at the little wheels he failed to notice drilled on the couch feet. When Richie and Mike resumed their previous place ready to push their friends to the opposite wall of the barn, Eddie got up and tried to run without falling. He messily threw himself on top of the legs of those who were sitting, earning a groan in response. No one tried to move him away.

“I don’t think we can move the four of you as easily.” Mike stated.

“Cowards, do it.” Eddie retorted back, and everyone laughed at him. What’s so funny?

“Hop off, Eddie. I’ll help.” Beverly pushed Eddie off of the couch. He ended up on the floor for the second time that night before sitting on Bev’s previous spot and bending his legs underneath his weight.

Bill stumbled to his feet and tried to look for the main power switch to turn on the stage lights again while Bev, Mike and Richie finally started their little race. A collective scream came from the group at the speed they were gaining. The barn was wide, sure, but they were close to hit the wall if it wasn’t for the sudden turn the ‘drivers’ managed to do. The sofa started to spin at a slower speed until they decided to keep doing that instead of running around. The three of them pushed the right places to keep the couch rotating until Ben begged them, with tears streaming down his face from laughing, to “Please, stop, I’m going to pass out.”

It was the most stupid thing they could have done, but it was also the most fun.

That fun was instantly killed when Eddie threw up outside after getting up. He had ended up crying, too, maybe because he was pissed, or maybe because his feelings were all over the place.

It was probably around 4 a.m. that Mike announced he would get everyone some blankets and throw pillows from his house. He was gone, approximately, 15 minutes. That time was enough for Bill to park his car inside the barn and scrape his right rear-view mirror even though the barn entrance could fit a bus.

By the time Mike came back, the lights were already off and he was greeted with the sight of Bill’s car inside, every door opened and the couch placed directly underneath the trunk. Both Beverly and Ben were already squeezed on the red sofa.

Bill was awkwardly trying to curl himself inside the trunk without stepping on the couple sleeping. Mike suppressed the urge to laugh and helped his drunk friend inside while giving him one of the many blankets he brought, along with a pillow.

Another one was draped over Ben and Bev, but no pillows for those two, lucky ones. When Mike peered inside the car, he saw, fondly, that the backseat was slightly tilted back, minimizing even more Bill’s space. Richie and Eddie looked very uncomfortable in there, bigger legs hanging outside. He threw them a blanket aggressively, startling both of them up. He was flipped off, worth it.

Lastly, both front seats had also been tilted back as much as they could go. Stan stood on the driver seat, laying sideways and looking at Mike with interest. He was minorly tipsy, but his cheeks were the most flushed. No words were spoken as he climbed on the passenger seat and gave Stan the last pillow. His arms curled around it. The remaining two blankets were sorted between them, deep breaths already being heard by some of their sleeping friends.

That night, the only reason Eddie woke up was to curl around Richie’s body and being held tighter right back.

Happiness was truly intoxicating.

rooftop taglist:   @richietoaster   @rainydayriots   @reddieloves    @thetrashmouthclub   @lemonboi03 @noodleboyshane    @pillsandglasses   @studpuffin      @dandelion-stan     @reddiesetrichie     @squishynonbinarytwink      @itschunky      @burymestanding     @duderrific    @its-rye @salty-kaspbrak  @youtubequeens   @reddieseggrolls   @addimagination   @pastelstozier @sleepysirenprincess @constantreaderfool   @mrs-vh @eds-trashmouth

perma taglist:  @constantreaderfool   @mrs-vh  @eds-trashmouth @girasol-eddie

[istheresomebodywhocanimagine]

♤Hi! May I please get a ship for Queen & Bo Rhap? I’m 26 but I have already decided that I don’t want kids in the future, I prefer to focus on my career and my dream is to become an editor in a major media. I love reading, writing and watching movies. I’m usually the quiet person at the corner of the room who dresses in all black and tries to avoid all attention. I don’t consider myself a romantic person so I don’t like grand gestures. I also don't like rom coms. Have lots of insecurities.

hellooooooo

i’m taking a break from writing to do this HI i love that you want to be an editor.  respect that so much

anyWAYS on to the part that u actually care about

below the cut ;)

For Queen, I ship you with Brian May!

Roger for sure would scare you away with grand gestures, he sometimes has issues differing between romance and spending needlessly on gooey crap.

And even though Brian is such a lowkey dad, I think he would 100% respect your decision to not have kids, unlike Deacon.

In fact, when you hardly knew Brian, he came to your defense when Deacon was giving you a hard time for wanting to focus on your future and not have to worry about providing for children. You were all seated around a table playing board games (Freddie was having a game night), but Roger and Freddie were wanting to finish their Scrabble game before you started anything else, so they were at the other end swearing at each other.

“I just think that you would be a good mom,” Deacon replied simply, setting his hands on the table and spreading out his fingers as he pressed the palms to the cool, grainy wood. He seemed perplexed by your aversion to kids, seeing as he’d always been such a family-oriented person.

“Oh, lay off of her, would you Deacon? You’re being a bit harsh,” Brian interjected from Deacon’s left. You sighed a bit in relief, thanking God that you didn’t have to endure any more of Deacon’s haranguing. 

“Thank you, Brian,” you mumbled, and he nodded politely, sending you a particularly soft smile before continuing.

“Besides, I think it’s nice she wants to focus on her career. You're one to talk, you were deadset on electrical engineering before oh-so-graciously deciding you would join Queen after all.” John rolled his eyes, partially ignoring Brian as he tapped his fingers on the table, shaking his head. “Y/N’s got a good head on her shoulders. We should all be a little more like her sometimes.” 

Brian’s kind, unwarranted words made a blush come to your cheeks, and you ducked your head as John scoffed, still looking down at his hands. “You think I don’t have a good head on my shoulders?

Brian’s response was simple, but sharp, and came accompanied with a pat to Deacon’s head. “Nope, you’ve got this mess flopping around.” 

When Brian’s hand came to rest on top of his head, you saw Deacon’s expression sour before he smacked his hand away, scooting away from him. “Touch me again and I’ll really give you a good smack. Also, who are you kidding? You can’t even get to your stupid head through that mess,” he sneered, tugging on a curl of Brian’s rather hard and making him yelp, which got all of you to laughing.

Brian 100% started using any excuse he could after that to come hang out with you. He’d ask if he could borrow a book, or ask your opinion on a movie, and then finagle his way into a library date or movie night with you as a result. 

You let him ‘finagle’ it out of you. Brian was cute, and his kind, soft demeanor was a great complement to your need for a subdued, temperate lifestyle.

He was absolutely infatuated with you, so when he decided he was ready to ask you to be his girlfriend, he had to ask the boys how they thought he should do it.

Roger and Freddie came up with some ideas that would have genuinely humiliated you, while Deacon offered an approach that would have you swooning for days, and Brian was incredibly nervous to make it happen - he was pretty whipped by you, so he wanted to get everything right.

And from the beginning, everything went wrong. 

The garlic toast was burnt, the sauce was flavorless, and the pasta was overcooked when you showed up to Brian’s. He’d called you and asked you to come over to help him with a song he’d been working on, so you hadn’t expected for him to be cooking a fancy meal gone wrong when you walked in.

“Shit, I’ve ruined it all,” he cursed as you peeked around the corner of the kitchen. He was standing over the charred garlic toast with his hands on his hips, looking frustrated and pretty much defeated as he tried to reckon with the situation. When you cleared your throat, he jumped in surprise, not knowing that you’d come in.

“Hello, Bri,” you murmured gently, giving him a polite kiss on the check when he gave you a mildly frustrated smile and came over to greet you. “Having some problems? Thought you were working on a song?”

“Well, d’you want to know the truth?” he asked, sounding a bit exasperated as he threw the dish towel over his shoulder, walking back over to shut the burners off on the stove top. When you nodded, he sighed and leaned back against the counter, giving you a pitiful look as he gestured to the food. “I asked the boys what I should do for you tonight. I wanted to do something nice for you to show you that I appreciate you. Want to know what Roger and Freddie said?”

You were a bit red in the face at his particularly sentimental words that were laced with a bit of frustration, but you nodded for him to continue.

“They suggested I take you to wine and dine, then go for a private boat ride down the river that ended in a fireworks show. The whole 9 yards.” You wrinkled your nose a bit at the grandiose idea - perfect for those two, but not quite your style. “But then Deacon had the perfect idea - cook a homemade dinner, stay in, and watch a movie. And I’ve fucked it all up from the get-go, made myself look like an absolute moron who can’t even cook pasta. It’s a wonder you even hang around with me.”

“Brian, I think it’s sweet,” you laughed softly, coming over to poke the garlic bread with your pinky and meeting a remarkably hard surface. “And you haven’t ruined it. How about we just get delivery and stay in? We can watch The French Connection?”

And so you did. You ordered in some Chinese, settled in on the couch, and you were watching the car chase scene when Brian shifted uncomfortably, clearing his throat as he looked over at you with a sort of wistful expression. He was pale, his eyes searching your face with an unreadable stare.

“What is it?” you asked, glancing at him for a moment before looking back at the screen. “Food didn’t make you sick, did it?”

“No, no,” he chuckled airily, scratching his head before turning a bit more to you. “I was just going to ask you something, but I don’t know if I can handle your answer.”

“Well, now you’ve got to ask it,” you replied, raising an eyebrow as you looked at him curiously.

“Well, I said I brought you over here just to make sure you know I appreciated you, but I actually brought you over so I could ask.... would you be my girlfriend?”

Laughing, you cocked your head before nodding and trying not to blush as hard as your body was about to. “Even though you timed this to be during one of the best scenes of the movie, I suppose I’ll still say yes,” you teased gently, reaching over to take his hand and squeeze it.

A brilliant smile took over his face as he squeezed your hand in return before kissing your knuckles affectionately and letting your intertwined hands drop to his lap. “Well, isn’t that good timing? Now you’ll remember this as your favorite scene because of me.”

“Mmm, pretty sure I’ll still mainly remember it for the beautiful, tasteful cut sequences, but you’re a close second.”

And for BoRhap, I ship you with Rami Malek!

Your aversion to grand gestures and intense public scrutiny is very similar to Rami’s avoidance of social media and broadcasting his day to day to everyone. You’re both content with being out of the spotlight if at all possible, and Rami’s low profile public appearances are perfect for your relationship. 

You were a friend of Gwilym’s before you met Rami, and Gwil noticed that both of you were a bit lonely while Rami was over in London for principal photography for BoRhap, so he set you up on a blind date together.

The location? A lowbrow cafe in a less populated part of London. That way, you were out of the public eye as much as possible without having to stay in, and you could get to know each other over some comfort food.

Within a half an hour, you had already warmed up to Rami’s easy-going way of conversing, and his gentle charm was enough to bring you out of your shell. It felt like you’d known him for years by the time your food arrived on the table.

After the cafe, it was dark enough that Rami asked if you’d like to take a walk, no longer fearing that the paparazzi would hound him if he just kept a low profile. 

“So what do you do? I never got a chance to ask you that back there,” Rami asked, his arm held out so you could link yours into it as you started to head down the street.

“I’m an editor at Daily Mail. Not my preferred place of work, but not bad,” you replied, resting your other hand on his arm as you stuck close to his side, trying not to run into anyone.

“Not bad at all,” he chuckled, looking down at you with a small twinkle in his eye before he looked ahead, crossing the street with you. “Gwilym told me you’re into movies, is that right?”

“Gwilym told you something about me? I thought this was supposed to be a blind date, that dickhead!” you laughed, shaking your head as you looked forward. “Didn’t even tell me anything about you, how unfair!”

“I sort of got him drunk enough that he’d tell me the other night, so....” Rami shrugged, smiling sheepishly as you giggled at the thought of Drunk Gwilym trying to describe you. “I was nervous. Wanted to impress you, I haven’t been on a date in... gosh, forever. I’ve been so busy with filming, I basically dropped off the face of the dating world.”

“Still doesn’t make it fair, but props to you for thinking of the drunk thing. That’s a lot farther than I got when I tried to pry information out of him.” After a small pause, you looked down at your feet and smiled, then looked up at him. “And yes, I do like film. I’m a big movie girl.”

“Well... if you weren’t aware, I’m in a few films,” Rami said nonchalantly, an impish grin playing at his lips as he met your gaze for a moment. “I’m an actor, so that’s pretty much my thing.”

“You’re an actor? Gosh, that’s crazy! Never knew that,” you replied in faux excitement, sarcasm lacing your voice, and Rami laughed as you started giggling, the two of you an adorable sight to all the passerby. 

And an adorable sight you continued to be as you went out for a second, and third, and even fourth date at hole in the wall places around London. When principal photography was wrapping up, Rami asked you to be his girlfriend, and even though the distance thing made you nervous, you knew that there was no reason to worry about trust or anything. So, you said yes.

A couple weeks after he’d departed London, he was preparing for the press tours and you were in the midst of a big project when he called you out of the blue, dragging you from a meeting you’d been bored to tears by anyways.

“Hello?” you answered, pressing your phone to your ear as you stepped back into your office, shutting the door behind you. 

“Hi, beautiful. How’s your day?”

Rami’s voice made you grin ear to ear, filling your whole body with an inexplicable warmth. “It’s going. You almost packed?”

“Of course not,” he laughed over the phone, making you giggle softly. “I’m trying, but I really had to get something off my chest before I got to work here.”

“Okay, shoot,” you said casually, though you were confused by ‘get something off my chest,’ so you raised an eyebrow, very interested in what he had to say.

“So, what would you say if I flew into London tomorrow, and you came with me to help me choose my place?”

“Choose your place?” you asked, baffled by the question. You weren’t really sure what he was proposing, but he sounded somewhat excited.

“Well, I really miss you, and Ben, and Gwilym - especially you - so I figured why not get myself a house in London so I can be there as often as I want without imposing on all of you?”

You almost choked as you realized Rami was literally considering buying a home in London to be close to you. It seemed an awful lot like an expensive attempt at a romantic gesture, and you didn’t want that at all. “Babe, please don’t feel like you have to do this just to be a good boyfriend-”

“No, no, I want to!” he interrupted, sounding genuine as he chuckled a little, then cleared his throat. “Also, it’s not just for you, if that worries you. I miss London in general. And Ben and Gwilym. Those two... are something. Can’t believe I miss them as much as I do.”

“More than me?” you teased, Rami’s laugh filling your ear and making you grin as you let the temporary nerves wear off. Rami in London. Now that was something you could get used to.

[casuallyattractive-blog]

I’ve written some more that I think turned out okay, keep in mind that english isn’t my first language, so most of the writing have been translated from norwegian (: It’s a conversation between a mother and daughter, where they’re talking to each other, but at the same time they’re more talking over their heads

[no title yet]

When you come home, the cloth is on the table. When you come home, the candles are lit. And when you come home, the dinner’s ready. When you come home, the door stands tall and wide. Even the mirror stands ready, to put on your face.

When I get home, the cloth lies ready. It’s dirty. When I get home, you light the candles. And when I get home, the dinner has been ready for an hour. When I get home, the door is too low, the stairs too narrow. You’ve tried to wash the mirror, to put on my face.

When I leave, the cloth is gone. When I leave, the candles have burnt down. And when I leave, the cold dinner is eaten up. When I leave, the door is still too low, the stairs are still too narrow. And the mirror has reverted to its regular, dusted self, to hide your face.

My mother teaches me how to lie. And I start to excuse myself. Shortcuts through the bushes, long roads through the woods. I lie to myself in front of the mirror.

My daughter has learned to lie. She tries to excuse herself. There are no shortcuts, because there are no bushes. The long roads do not go through the woods. She is only fooling herself. Nobody tells her that she’s changing.

Let me go. Let me loose. Could the roses sing, they would sing about the air, about love. Could they whisper, they would whisper about the sun. Could they scream, they would scream for more water. More water, for fucks sake!

Come back. I need you. The roses do not sing, they beg for their freedom. They can’t whisper, but they talk about the skies that never comes. They can’t scream, but long for the rain. Just come back. Please.

She wants me back. I don’t know what she wants me back from, but I’m living my own life. I decide for myself. For far too long I’ve let myself be ruled by others, let others decide what I should do, without telling me why. And now, that I finally get to decide for myself, my mom just wants me back. Well tough luck, mom. The more you drag something to you, the more it slips away.

I’ve always let you decide for yourself. Can you remember anything I’ve forced you to do? I just want to help you. The life you’re living, what you’re doing, it’s not going to last. You can’t hide yourself, can’t forget yourself.

I’m fine with this. You’re not going to help me, you’re going to force me to go to places where others are going to force me to “get my life turned straight”. What if the road I’m walking on now is the one I want to walk on? Doesn’t that make it the right one? And I’m not hiding, I’m not forgetting myself, I’m letting the world see me.

No matter how many times you tell yourself otherwise, you’re hiding yourself. The only ones you’re showing yourself to are people who looks for girls like you. They only want you for your body, because it’s young, and beautiful.

I am not fucking beautiful. The other girls I meet at my friends are there because of their bodies, I’m there because people enjoy my company. Have you seen me? My body is terrible.

Your body is not terrible, no matter what you say. It’s no surprise you’re low on confidence when you’re with people who only judge girls for their looks. That’s why you get drunk every night and try to sneak in at three in the morning. I can hear you.

I get drunk every night because I like it. I sneak myself through the window at three in the morning because you’re asleep and can’t hear me. I don’t get judged for my looks because I’m not good enough. I’m there to have someone that objectively can judge others looks, and to give the other girls someone to talk to, someone who understands what they’re talking about when they talk about “girly things”.

You talk about “girly things” with the other girls because you have to stick together in that hell hole you call home. I know you want to live there, but with me you get free food, so you get by the few hours asleep until you’ve eaten breakfast/lunch, before running away again.

I live with you because the bed is better, and because I get a break from all the middle school problems. I get time to think about what to tell them tomorrow, telling them that everything will get better the next year, or in two, three years, when there’s no school to pressure them.

You’re not qualified to talk to the girls about school. You’re in a bad spiral, dragging each other down.

Maybe you grown-ups don’t like it, because we’re not what you expected. All of our pressure comes from grown-ups like you, saying “do this” and “do that”. You’ve always wanted to control our lives, to turn us into people like you; sad, tired forty-year-olds dragging themselves to work every day because at home there’s a “troubled kid”, that wants something else. What if we want to be free, from everything, for once in our lives? Free like the birds.

You say you want to be free like the birds, but what you don’t understand is that birds are taken care of by their parents until they’re ready to fly. They don’t try to leave the nest before their parents think that they’re ready. That’s the difference between you and a bird, you’ve flown out far too early, and fly towards others you think are able to take care of you. They like to take care of you because you’re young, beautiful, and too stupid to understand that they don’t care about you, only about your asses, your tits, and your pussies.

They care about us. Let us choose what we want to do. What if we want to give our bodies to someone that can pleasure us in a way our parents never could’ve done, unless they want to go to jail.

The ones that give you this «pleasure» you’re talking about would go to jail as well, if you only wanted to admit that what they’re doing is illegal. It’s just that you’ll never do it, because you’re addicted to them, grown-ups that never wants to do anything good for you.

They’re the ones that gives us the chance to become humans, with free will, unlike the teachers, who force knowledge we never asked for down our throats, unlike our parents, who force us to live like them, ignoring the fact that we actually want to live like human beings, not just “get by”, like we’re simple robots.

You would never be forced to “get by”, like a robot. The only robots in your life are your parents, who sacrifice our interests to give you a good life.

[ninjakitty15]

Chapter 6: The Plot Thickens (Loki X OFC Pairing)

"Loki, have you seen Nell, she's not in her room," a voice on the outside of Loki's room called in, waking me up from my much needed sleep curled up next to him.

"Tell him I'm not here," I whispered.

"You know he could just have that automated voice system Friday tell him you're here," Loki mused next to, already wide awake and apparently reading something while he waited for me to wake.

I groaned and buried myself deeper under the covers. "No Nell esta aqui!"

"As far as I'm aware, no one here is Hispanic, especially not Loki, nice try though," Tony responded.

"Chingate," I cursed and begrudingly pulled myself up into a sitting position. "Whaddaya want?"

"Breakfast is ready, I'm told you favor pancakes which lucky for you are the main dish so hurry up before Thor and Clint eat them all."

"Pancakes you say?" I perked up, "Why didn't you start with that?" I didn't even care that I couldn't find my own shirt as I grabbed one of Loki's long green ones that sufficiently covered what I didn't feel like flashing to the team. Loki himself grabbing a tunic and leisure pants before leading me out of his room to where the smell of much needed food teased my senses. I could feel at least one pair of eyes on me and what I was wearing and all I did in turn was arch an eyebrow in challenge.

"Getting a bit cozy with Loki, I see," mused Nat, offering me bacon as I snatched a stack of pancakes.

I shrugged and drenched everything in maple syrup. "I've only known him less than a week and if anything were to happen to him, I'd kill everyone in this building and then myself."

Tony choked on his screwdriver drink while Nat just laughed at my declaration. "Is that even possible? I mean I looked at your dna samples and you weren't wrong, it matches a dead body's sample exactly, nothing to suggest it came from someone that can still walk and think and live. You can't kill something already dead."

"Medically speaking, you are correct, but they say there's more than one way to skin a rabbit."

"I thought it was a cat," Clint piped up.

"No one's skinning cats as long as I'm still moving."

"So how does one end something already dead?" Tony spoke up.

"For most things you simply destroy it, just remember, what is dead can never die."

"Settle down there, Yara," teased Clint.

"Go on and make me, Euron," I retorted.

"Why am I Euron?"

"Theon wouldn't treat me that way."

"How many of you necromancers are there?" interrupted Tony.

"Not as much as there were before I was caught," I replied glumly. "We're becoming  the next Siberian tigers, if we reach white rhino status we're fucked."

"Is it just the ability to cheat death and create your own army that would make you a good hunting target?"

I shrugged and finished my breakfast. "They certainly have a certain appeal, could be any number of reasons why we're sought after."

"You said nothing would come of them taking stuff from you, I'm just thinking, if I couldn't steal what makes you a necromancer to use myself, my next plan of action would be to somehow make you do it for me since the power stays in you and only you."

I arched an eyebrow, not a bad point there. I looked over at Loki who was probably thinking the same thing.

"Your friend said they were found as husks, shells empty of everything. Do you think they did that on purpose or maybe were forced into it?" he asked me quietly.

"That makes more sense than the theory I came up with before where they burnt themselves out to make them inaccessible even in death. They could've just gutted themselves with their blades to do that."

"Hydra are many things," noted Nat. "And mess many things up, but they know how to make a person bend to their will."

"I know about Steve's super soldier boyfriend, Bucky and how he was brainwashed by them. I don't know if that would work on us, if it's how I think they do it, it wouldn't work on me."

"How do you think they do it?"

"Rewrite your past in your mind so the memories that come up are edited to fit them as the good guys and their enemies as the bad guys."

"And that won't work because..."

"A lot of my past has already been erased from me, it was part of a deal to gain more power, I had to sacrifice something of myself to get it. I don't remember any of my family, they in turn don't know I even exist, they can't be used against me if we don't know each other. Imagine the bad guys finding my mom and threatening to kill her and we just look at each other like we literally just met, kinda kills the mood...pun intended."

"So brainwashing is more or less out of the equation then. Would there be another way to control a necromancer?"

"It would depend on the necromancer I guess. One thing I can tell you though is that no matter what you do to us to make us bend, the dead don't have to listen or respond. You also need to have a lot of power to make the dead do your bidding if they don't want to. For instance, if you were in a Jewish community and asked if anyone wants to fuck up some Neo Nazis, you'd have an army larger than China. But if you were in say Texas and asked who wants to march for the Pride Parade and fight for equal rights, you'd have barely enough corpses to make a difference and youd need more power, more effort to raise more when they've already voted no."

"You're saying they aren't just mindless corpses doing what they're told then," Nat spoke up.

"The living are far better puppets than the dead, its all about physics here, a body alive, in motion can keep going in motion in any direction, a body in rest prefers to stay in rest." That's when something clicked in my head again. "That's why they were burnt out dead, they were forced to do what Hydra wants but none of the dead wanted to follow..."

"Hydra as I understand them, don't usually take no for an answer and probably just made the necromancers suffer more till they were all used up. Did they do anything like that to you?" Loki asked.

"They seemed to think pain was the best way to break me, no one else thought to ask nicely in the five fucking years they had me."

"They had you for five years but you mentioned to Strange that there were missing ones before you were even caught. To me that sounds like they gave up on using up necromancers that didn't give them the results they wanted and focused on you and how to get you to do their will since you didn't burn out like the others."

That for some reason gave me chills. "Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Oh and once again I've become the sloppy second. What else is new? There's still the issue of a turncoat among them too. I told one person I would be flying back from England, I didn't even tell her which airline or what time it landed so in the extremely unlikely event she was the rat that sold me out, she still wouldn't have known where to find me. Someone had to have kept tabs on me or my aliases and sold me out and I want to know who."

"Could it have been another necromancer? Someone that wants you out of the group or jealous of your power?" offered Loki beside me.

"Outing another death mage isn't unheard of but its usually downhill for the rat bastard that does it. The dead are always watching, if they see something unfavorable like a backstabbing they'll be less likely to follow the one with the knife which means more effort is needed to get an army going. You need to have a lot of strength and power to force your will upon things that would rather stay still than help you. Imagine trying to wake up a hungover teenager for school who's clearly not over their rebellious streak and has no friends to look forward to there. Then amplify that by like a 100. Necromancy is a natural form of magic and to wield any kind of magic there must be a flow to it, natural magic requires you go with the flow rather than force it the way you want it to work."

"So whoever did it to you, they are either pretty strong or pretty worn out and probably not in the habit of wielding their magic unless necessary."

"Could be either or, I might be among the most powerful but that doesn't mean everyone else is at level one here, hell they could even be my level in the time ive been locked away, lots can happen in five years."

"How does one get to your level exactly?"

"There's certain tests you need to pass with flying colors, a sacrifice to prove you're all or nothing for it, the bigger and more meaningful the sacrifice the more power you're likely to get."

"Who or what determines all this? You make it sound like you don't just get it yourself."

"I didn't and I can't answer that question either, it disturbs the natural order. If you don't know then you aren't meant to know unless something decides otherwise."

Everyone including Loki was quiet for a moment, absorbing what I had told them before Tony spoke up. "What kinda tests?"

"A situation or scenario happens that determines if you can handle yourself and your surroundings, you don't know its a test until probably much later if at all but it happens regardless. You can't prepare for it either, either accept or fail."

"Are people just randomly chosen or is there some sort of telltale sign?" asked Nat suddenly more interested.

"You ever see things, hear things as a kid, things you were certain of being there but no one believed you when you told them?"

She was silent for a moment, probably attempting to recall that far back before shaking her head. "Not that I can recall."

"Then probably not for you, it starts with being an open mind and a clean slate as a kid and not letting anything or anyone put doubt in you. That's the problem though init, a child sees a sad wailing women at the foot of her bed and usually they go running to their parents in fear, parents come in, say theres nothing there because most of the time adults can't see them regardless and eventually the child starts to listen to their parents over the clearly upset woman that just wants to be listened to herself. Tony probably isn't compatible, those with too much knowledge leave little room for the possible but improbable, scientists usually are."

"What about your lover beside you?" asked Tony. "A god itself is possible but improbable and he wields magic as well."

I turned to Loki curiously. "What did you see when we were fighting Hydra the other day?"

"What you mortals would call zombies? What else would I see?"

I studied him for a moment, curious if he was bluffing or not as he was still very much a God of Lies. "You might be a wildcard on this. You sure that's all you saw?" He nodded stiffly. "Tell me if that changes at any point."

"What else would he have seen?" asked Nat.

I beckoned her to come closer and leaned into her ear. "The dead comes in more than one form, spirits are always nearby, everyone has a few at least. Victims, loved ones, depends on the person."

"What was he supposed to see then?"

"They told me to take his hand when he put himself between me and Strange and they collected the spirit of an agent that almost shot me down on the battlefield."

"They can do that?" she asked louder and pulling away from me.

"If poltergeists can wreak havoc in someone's home, a bunch of vengeful spirits can get even with the one that outed them first."

"Why wouldn't they do that beforehand though?"

"They didn't have me."

"You give them their vengeance," Tony started.

"I give them what would bring them peace, they linger as their bodies rot for a reason. The sad wailing woman isn't whining for attention like some teenage drama queen, she's hurt and needs closure. The ghosts linger because there's unfinished business and I'm their business woman for the job, except unlike the psychics and mediums of today's age, I do it for free and not for entertainment purposes."

"So if someone got wind you can commune with the dead and wanted to know something about their deceased what would you do?"

"Tell em to bugger off unless in that moment their deceased makes an entrance, I'll relay a message only that person would've known about and then tell em to bugger off and let the dead rest. They'll get the same kind of response as a misogynistic man telling me to smile, I'm not here for your entertainment so you can kiss the southbound end of a northbound horse."

[auselessthoughtboard]

part 2

He was me but his eyes were green, not green eye colour but bright green, and as I looked closer I realized it was me but I was female. And I wore a long, dark green dress, and a snake’s tail protruded out from under the dress. I stared at the tail until I laughed with a hissing like sound and my attention was drawn back towards my face. The head was bald, the teeth showing through the laugh small and sharp and pointed, the tongue forked. And I filled up with jealousy so strong it made my blood feel hot instead of cold, so jealous of this beautiful creature, this version of myself so calm, so poised, so strong and powerful, so uncaring of what everybody else thought of myself... 

So envious of this version of myself that was everything I ever wished I was. I laughed even harder, of course I knew exactly what I was feeling right now and it satisfied me somehow, seeing me reacting this way, as if this was exactly how i was supposed to react. There were many versions of this version of myself in the room; but fewer versions than some, and greater numbers than others; this version of myself fell somewhere in the middle, and that must have meant something, somehow. 

I turned away, I needed to know more, and right behind me was a version of myself bent over with a hunch back, my face pock marked, dark hair greasy and unkept. My skin was scaly and grey and my hands had small dark claws, and I smelled bad. How loathsome! How vile and how revolting, what a pain, what a deep pain to see one’s self looking at this! How it filled my warm blood with that cold feeling again, how i despised it, how I wanted to annihilate it, how ashamed I was for recognizing this horrible, horrible being as myself... and how ashamed I was for recognizing that beautiful woman as myself... I wanted to tear its head from its body... I wanted to tear my head from my body, I corrected myself. This one was greater in number than the beautiful woman, and that made me even angrier; was my hideous self that much more significant than the horrible, the beautiful but horrible self? 

I turned back to myself. 

“You’re figuring it out,” I laughed slightly. “I’m going to leave you to it... like I said, I have goodbyes to say.”

“But how do you tell them all apart?”

“The ones you don’t recognize, it’s because you haven’t committed them yet. They’re all tokens of a type, that much you know already. Soon you’ll meet some tokens from your recent past, and if you want, you can talk to them too, there’s nothing holding you back but yourself.” 

And just like that, I disappeared within the sea of my selves, and so I looked for a me that was new to me. 

I almost tripped over this version of myself--the most horrible one yet. And as I looked around, I saw there were many of this me, all over the ground. Horrible, just horrible, misshapen blobs, my body without a form, just soft, squishy, lumps of me. Snails without smells. The eyes, and the mouth, and the hair, they were all there, but they weren’t in order. And they moved around; the features were fluid and moving across the soft skin; the brain was in there somewhere, it had to have been, but it was slower than the other ones I met. There were so many of these blobs... if the me’s got worse than this I wasn’t convinced I was going to survive this night... 

I couldn’t pull my eyes away from the blobs though; but this one didn’t mean that much to me beyond the recognition of it as myself, so I walked around it, and to the next one; the same body with the eyes and mouth in different places, and it didn’t register with me any more than the last one did, so I walked on to a third. I was sinking even more, and then I sunk further when I recognized it. This... this me, this blob... it was the time I didn’t help my grandmother when she fell in the tub. 

I was so young when it happened, eleven or twelve maybe. The memory had almost faded from my memory but now that I was looking at it again it hit me so strong it was like watching a movie. I’d heard the thud from the washroom, followed by a sickening crack, and I froze. I didn’t want to go help, didn’t want to see her horribly old, and wrinkled naked body... didn’t want to have that impression of my grandmother burned into my memory... and so I sat on the couch still, reading comics, and two hours later when my mom came home from work and she found the washroom door was locked but nobody answered when she knocked on it, she knew something was wrong...

Why hadn’t I done anything? I was young, yes, I was only eleven or twelve...

I could have done something. I knew that now. I hadn’t known it before. 

I pulled myself away from this putrid amoeba that reflected my own soul in agony, pulling on my hair only to realize it aroused no sensation. I pulled harder and nothing yet, I pinched myself. After--moments?--passed I remembered I didn’t have a body here, I didn’t know what I was but I had no body, and that I couldn’t hurt myself, and so I tried to regain composure... the sooner I figured out what I was doing here, the sooner I could escape, drink myself into oblivion and forget this ever happened... 

I turned away from the blob and looked around, and saw there was a patch of the room devoid of the amebas; in fact, they were all clustered around the doors, as if they were one of the things that had to be encountered and dealt with first and then I could move past them.

But how did I know I’d dealt with this one? It was still there. Its dead eyes slid around to follow me after I’d moved around it, and with horror, I realized the flow of movement of all of the eyes, on all of the amebas, had been sliding around to follow my movement the whole time...

As I slowly turned my head in a circle I realized they were all turned towards me, facing me, or the other me, the one that I brought here today. They only existed in relation to us. They only existed if we needed them to. 

I could make the amebas go away somehow, me and myself, I could deal with the ones I recognized as myself and he would deal with the parts of myself that were to come for me, that he had already experienced... 

The next one that was new to me was red. Pure red. Unlike the blob which had a body, although a fluid one, this one too had no form, it was just redness. It was hot, it ran hot, and it was a part of me, and I recognized it as a part of me; unlike the green lady who was what I wanted in me, this, this was me, and it was beautiful and I wanted to protect it at all costs. 

“You see, that one is dangerous,” I appeared to my left again, “because you don’t want to say goodbye to it; you don’t want to let go of it.” And then I was gone again.

I decided I wanted to talk to one of my selves and so I chose a new one again; a me in a dark blue suit with a large moustache, who was standing next to an elaborately decorated table adorned with what must have been food in large crystal bowls. I noticed that all of the me’s of this variety were within arms length of the table. 

Before I could look myself in the eye, my eyes sweeped over the spread, oh, was there anything appealing I could rest my eyes on, that could comfort me in a second, that could stop the sinking? No... a bowl of eyes, of very small yellow eyes with bright blue pupils... a bowl of thick, fat and short purple worms that still squirmed in discomfort, they knew exactly when their fate was going to be and nobody should know exactly when their fate is going to be, nobody should... bread that was burnt to a crisp, that you couldn’t distinguish from coal, that was hard and black and... 

I turned to talk to me, the very large me in the blue suit, but I caught my own attention again when I saw me reaching for two slabs of that dark black coal bread and happily smearing a thick, red goopy liquid on it with a rusty old knife... 

“How can you eat that?” I asked myself. “You don’t have a body.” 

“And this, it doesn’t occupy space,” I laughed, and the laughter was making me so uncomfortable, yes, they were all laughing at me because i was the only one here who wasn’t in on the joke... I must have been the joke, me, so naive, not of this world yet, unlike everybody else here, having to face the horrors that one of my kind had never experienced yet, that I was never supposed to experience...

“It’s my last meal, body or not I’m going to enjoy it.” 

“But how... you’re me and how can I even recognize that as something I’d want to put in my body...” 

“You’ll understand one day, I’m afraid.” 

I looked at my plate of food in even greater horror, and not just because I couldn’t imagine anybody voluntarily consuming such filth, but just because I was so filled with sadness at the thought that this would be the last meal I’d ever eat, and that I’d be aware of the fact that it was going to be the last meal I ever ate... One should never know with such certainty their own fate, no, never! 

“Does it taste good to me?”

“No, no it does not...” 

“Then why bother?” 

I smiled. “No, it doesn’t taste good at all, it tastes exactly how it looks like it would taste, far worse actually. But we are redeemed in our suffering, at least some of the time...” 

Finally I decided to speak to me in the blue suit.

“I don’t know when in my life I was you,” I asked, “because i don’t recognize you, so I haven’t done you yet. But tell me, what did you learn about me from the act that was yourself?” 

“Well,” I said, and I noticed this me, his voice was low and frail. This belonged to a very old me. “I didn’t give the five dollar bill on me to a lady who was hungry on the streets, and I didn’t need the bill one bit, I knew i was sick and didn’t have long, and I never had a family, so I had nobody else to give the money to. And it was the last sin of this variety I ever performed before I perished, so I am the oldest us in blue here. I learned that, over the course of my whole life, I remained rotten up until the end, from myself.” 

And I sunk. No family... I was never to find somebody. Or maybe I had, and i’d lost her, and that was even worse maybe. 

No man should ever know this much about their own destiny.

But maybe knowing this much about it meant I could change it. 

I noticed clouds of pale purple starting to spring up in the room; there had been some when I first walked in, but there were more now, I was watching them materialize in front of me. 

I looked for myself again. He had finished the black bread, and he was drinking a pale yellow liquid from a tarnished glass. 

“Why... how are the...” 

“Why, you’re still committing them right now, don’t you understand? You’re bringing more of us into existence as we speak... but you can make them go away. These ones, they don’t belong to me... they only belong to you, in this realm, in this timeline. Only you can make them go away.” 

“I want... I want to make everybody here go away.” 

I smiled. I smiled with a huge, huge smile, I’d never seen myself look happier, even though I was that much smaller and that much more withered when I’d first came in. All the men in blue around the table ceased to exist. They didn’t disappear exactly; they just didn’t exist, and they never had. 

“Your turn,” I said. “Those ones... those tall, bony yous, hanging out by the back wall, watching everybody else... that group of them, they are all yours.” 

I recognized all of them, I relived all of them and it hurt more than I could ever have imagined, recognizing them all as myself, but i recognized them, and I made them go away. 

Apologize to the sins/set them free/redemption 

Cowardice is invisible and it’s the most numerous one that he discovers at the end 

He redeems himself for cowardliness and then there is nothing left in the house at all; everything within it ceases to be 

[neytinintransit]

one summer’s day (ed. 1)

Every morning, my mother goes down to her old crystal shop at the front of our house and burns several spears of incense as she prays. And every morning, my mother prays for Ryan and me. In fact, she is so religiously dedicated to this ritual that my high school friends always associated me with the smell of incense before I grew smart enough to invest in some strongly-scented body soap. When she prays, she demands complete privacy and silence (a request which my brother and I may not treat with much respect), for fear that part of her spirit may be trapped in another world if interrupted mid-process. Eric discovered this contraption pictured above at the beginning of our visit and, being the free spirit he is, didn’t hesitate to set it in motion. Oddly enough, even though I just hopped on a plane and flew an ocean away from home, the scent makes this foreign environment seem mildly familiar. I was talking to Joy about this, but I think I’ve traveled enough to out-grow my fear of foreign lands.

Another thing I’ve learned from past travels is that I quickly grow tired of aimless wandering when there isn’t any form of personal growth involved. Last Spring, I remember wandering around Rome and feeling at a loss for why I was there and not home. Why wasn’t I at KO Gym working the bags with Coach? Why wasn’t I cooking up some fancy, fulfilling side-project? Why the hell was I spending so much time at these random spots in the world, walking my feet sore to the bone? There was no purpose or direction. After all, that’s what aimless wandering is. And on the plane/train ride here, I decided that wasn’t what I wanted. Not ever again- or at least I hope.

So as I mentioned in the blog post below, I’ve decided to set a number of goals. They’re not necessarily huge, monumentous goals. Just little things I’d like to be able to tick off here and there. The list is growing/shrinking as I skip around the continent, so there isn’t very strong commitment to them either. But they’re there, and I’m hoping for them to move me forward. 

But before we get to the abstract stuff, let’s do a quick-dirty rundown of Tokyo. I’m not quite as shocked anymore when this happens, but once again my worlds have collided. Pictured left is Raheem of Princeton, the nobel ram that everyone adores. On the right is Eric of Troy, the pupperino that’s accompanying me for the duration trip. We all met up in Ginza, the classy, high-fashion upper-class neighborhood of Tokyo. We didn’t spend too much time there, but I was able to go through this stationary shop called G.Itoya and hunt for little gifts. I mentioned below that one of my goals was to find souvenirs from different parts my travels for a select few people. Some of them told me that I didn’t have to, and if you’re reading this, I promise took your advice to heart. I will not mindlessly purchase meaningless artifacts, but if I do see something that I know will make said persons happy, you can bet I’m taking that gold back to homebase.

After scrambling around for a restaurant that had vegetarian (Raheem is vegetarian) options, we made a trip over to the Tokyo Tower. On the way there, we happened to pass through a number of Japanese gardens, landscapes lush with greenery, unlike the gardens back home sprinkled with a variety of colorful flowers. 

Pit stop no. 1 is that red-white Eiffel Tower looking thing. As expected, there’s an elevator that takes you to the top and provides a 360 degree view of Tokyo. To be honest, it wasn’t the most awe-inspiring activity, though it was a good introduction to the city.

After marching around the tower and shopping at the random souvenir shops throughout several floors, we made way to meet Eric’s college friends, Yi and Lucy. They’re traveling together like Eric and me, and their personalities click pretty well. Yi has one of the most dynamic personalities I’ve met, with as much energy as Dory from Finding Nemo. Lucy is much more calm and relaxed, but feels very genuine and down to earth from our conversations.

The five of us mapped out a 20 minute walk to Harajuku, the stylish art and fashion district of Tokyo. With a steady combination of terrible navigation skills and California-style walking, twenty minutes became a solid hour and a half. There were no regrets from walking on my end, however. To me, that just meant we had an extra hour and ten minutes of conversation and exploration (e.g. a puppy shop, Shake Shack, more gardens, getting to know friends, old and new.

And at the end of our journey, we were blessed with this little gem in the sky. Sunsets at the beach are wonderful, but they don’t quite capture that magic that these sunsets do— the way the autumn-shaded sunlight collides with the clouds to create the purple and orange and yellow and red.

When we weren’t staring at the sky, we were browsing through some pretty cool (and cheap) shops. I really liked this place. It reminded me a bit of 南锣鼓巷 in Beijing, except it was a bit more stylish with a larger variety. Almost like a hybrid of that and Brick Lane in London, I guess. It’s funny how you start comparing places in different countries to one another after you’ve traveled enough. Almost like how you start to describe new friends in relation to old ones you’ve made after you’ve run out of room in your mind to store completely new identities.

On the note of old friends, we met up with Hiro and got Izakaya later that night. Izakaya usually consists of bar foods and beer/sake, and it was a great way for us to talk about the parts of life that passed when we were apart. She really is one of the kindest, warmest, most considerate souls that I’ve ever met. And I feel like part of me always misses her company. I guess that’s when you know you’ve found yourself a good friend.

Since we’re coming closer and closer to that metaphysical, abstract level of thought, we can just go there. On this trip, I want to be able to glean little life lessons and pockets of wisdom as I march forward. To be able to reflect, understand, and meditate on certain thoughts and philosophies that I’ve developed and changed through the years. It’s a process called adulting, and it’s happening. I have to accept that, and I have to embrace it with complete willingness, otherwise it will out-run me.

Pictured above is an Ema. Quoted directly from Wikipedia, “Ema are small wooden plaques on which Shinto worshippers write their prayers or wishes. The ema are then left hanging up at the shrine, where the kami (spirits or gods) are believed to receive them.” One of my favorite parts of my trip through Tokyo was finding little shrines scattered throughout the city that contained stopping points that collected the wishes and hopes of its inhabitants. On the flip side of every lotus flower was a wish that someone in this world felt was important enough to share with the world.

I’m not one to believe in fate, but I do know that certain things catch my eye for a reason. And when this note appeared in my field of view, I felt myself immediately attracted to it. For some reason, this phrase elicited a sense of nostalgia- both the pain of loss and the hope for a happier future. After reading it, I began to contemplate why people feel, so strongly, this urge to love. Why is it that people believe that the capacity to care for something other than you is greater than any form of care you’ll ever have?

Within the past few years, I’ll admit that I’ve done things I’m not proud of (Teemo reference ‘sup). With each of those actions, I started to like myself less and less. I saw flaws in my behavior and how they existed in complete contradiction to what I believed were my values. Self-love is hard to maintain, and if you’re not careful, it eventually withers away. But what I think I’m starting to realize is that love and care for others is what anchors me down. I’m not sure why, but when I love so strongly— be it my family, a significant other, a city— it draws out behaviors and actions that I find admirable. It makes me a better person, and a person that I think I could possibly love.

And I think that is why An is searching for love again. I know the whole preach of independence is important, but for some reason, it’s awfully hard for me to love myself if I can’t find that same love and care for anyone else.

Everyday, thousands of people travel to shrines to pray for their loved ones. For those that have both passed and are living, they pray for the well-being of their souls. These shrines connect people to loved ones, beyond the flesh and bone with which we were born with. While walking around, I noticed several people fresh from work, coming to pay their respects and leave their wishes.

Next to the shrine, piles of burnt incense serve as a monument to these prayers. Growing up, I’ve always found it interesting that incense was chosen to be the tool of choice to pray to the Gods. Growing up, I’ve also found it interesting the way my mom and dad seemed to sacrifice so much for my brother and me.

Growing up, I had all these dreams of success, of wild, wild success. I’ve had dreams of becoming the president of the United States, of becoming the CEO of the next big startup. I’ve thought of all these things, and I still do. Without a doubt, I believe that my mom and dad thought of these things throughout their lives as well. I believe they still do.

And yet, I’ve always found it so interesting how they were able to make all these sacrifices for my brother and me. Why do my mother and father work their entire lives for our sake? Mom doesn’t care about real-estate, and Dad sure doesn’t give a shit about construction. So why would they dedicate the day-in-day-out to us?

Every morning, my mother goes down to her old crystal shop at the front of our house and burns several spears of incense as she prays. Every morning, my mother prays for Ryan and me. And I’m beginning to understand why I would do the same for another, and why I’m not completely crazy for doing so. I’m not saying that it’s the right path, by any means, but I can understand it now. Because when you’ve found something you like, very very much, what you want doesn’t seem so important anymore. You find joy and love in theirs.

On a final note, I can’t think of another picture that I resonate with more right now. I don’t know why I always do this to myself, but it’s currently 4:30AM and I’m ready to konk the $#@% out. 

Goodnight world.

—

TL:DR I get why people have kids now. 

Adulting pt. 1 checked.

[anoopkam]

Over the past few weeks, I have been hearing quite a lot of buzz about this “Pothichoru” by Ms. Swapna Rakesh with people claiming that her’s is the best Pothichoru available in Trivandrum… For those who are unaware, “Pothichoru” is a traditional meal parcel thats very popular in Kerala, especially Trivandrum… Its basically the keralite meal consisting of boiled rice, a spicy coconut chutney, pickles, fried fish, stir fried vegetables (thoran/mezhukkupuratty) and even an omlette in some cases, all wrapped in a slightly toasted banana leaf and then wrapped in a newspaper 🙂 This was essentially the equivalent of the brown bag school lunch that moms used to prepare for their kids to take when going to school… In the old days, not only kids but also your everyday salarymen and workers also used to carry them for their lunch… It was gone for quite a while as banana leaves got replaced by sterile lunch boxes and now it seems to have come back atleast here in Trivandrum recently and people are buying them for the nostalgia element and also, this particular way of packing the food in the banana leaf gives an aroma of the banana leaf to the food, which you can’t get anywhere else…

So, after quite a while I finally got a chance to try it and so, ordered the Pothichoru from PinStove… If you have been reading my posts, you would know that my mom is a vegetarian and since Swapna Rakesh didn’t have a vegetarian option for the Pothichoru, I searched in the app and found vegetarian Pothichoru being sold by Ms. Athira J… So, placed the order for both…

Finally, it arrived… The delivery staff of PinStove called me up in advanced and asked if he can deliver both orders together or whether I need the food which was ready, urgently… So, since I agreed on both being delivered together, the delivery was done on time as per the later of the orders…

“Illa Pothichoru Nadan Meals” by Swapna Rakesh

“Veg Pothichoru” by Athira J

So, first we’ll talk about the vegetarian Pothochoru… It came with the banana leaf parcel and a small packet to the side… On opening the packet I found that it is a portion of Pulissery, which I poured onto a bowl as shown in the pic…

Pulissery and Pickle

Kappa

Inside the Parcel

The contents of the parcel were a portion of boiled rice with a dollop of chammanthi, a dry coconut based chutney, which was flavoured with dried red chillies and roasted spices in the middle, along with quite a sizable portion of boiled Cassava, which is what we call Kappa in one corner while the other three corners were inhabited by a small dollop of pickle, a portion of red spinach stir fried with coconut, shallots and mustard (what we call thoran) and then a portion of long beans (what we call Payar) that was sauted in coconut oil (mezhukkupuratty as we call it)…

Coming to the taste, first off, I found the chammanthi to be incredibly spicy, beyond what I can ever handle, but is now the favourite chammanthi of my mom… Rest of the items were of medium spice level and I could feel the freshness of the ingredients when I tasted them… The traditional flavours which I was looking for was definitely spot on in it… However for my mom, even though she loved everything, she just has got one small complaint… Its that she said she wished the whole thing has bit more tempered with curry leaves and mustard… She felt that that particular flavour was almost missing and hence suggested that doing so would make this meal perfect… Kudos to the chef indeed…

Next up is the Pothichoru by Swapna Rakesh and first off the difference was that this came with 4 small packets along with the parcel… Turns out they were a portion each of Prawn Mango Curry, Cassava(Kappa) and a Pulissery, which again I transfered to a bowl each as shown in the pics… The fourth packet contained a Pappadom and a Chilly Kondaattom…

Prawns Mango Curry

Kappa

Pappadom with Chilly Kondattam

Pulissery

Cabbage Thoran (the yellow colored one)

Payal Mezhukkupuratty and Inji Curry to its right.

Inji curry, Fried Fish, Pickle, Kanava Thoran, Chammanthy

Chammanthi, Fried Fish, Pickle, Kanava Thoran and the Omlette

As you can see, one came with much more items than the vegetarian one… The Prawn Mango curry was a surprise, since even though made with whats known as the curry shrimps, considering how restaurants charge for prawn dishes, I rather expected to see only a fish curry being served with this considering the price… Anyways, the curry was indeed delicious with a good flavour of the raw mango with the curry shrimp… The spice level was medium and so was good for me… Then as I tasted the Cassava, I noticed something different about it compared to what I have been having… This particular one had the flavour of coconut, chillies and garlic in it and the whole thing was seasoned so beautifully that I felt that it can be eaten on its own and doesn’t really need any accompaniment… Apparently it looked like the boiled cassava was mashed with grouned mixture of coconut, chillies and garlic to form a pulpy paste and this goes incredibly well with the Prawn curry that was given… Even my dad agreed that its the best kappa-meen combo he has had… The pulissery, pappadam and the chilly kondattam were ofcourse just like any other 🙂

Now coming to whats inside the parcel, there was a portion of boiled rice (fit for two people based how we eat here) along with a portion each of Payar Mezhukkupuratty, Cabbage Thoran and Kanava (Squid/Calamari) thoran along with a dollop each of chammanthi, pickle and inji(Ginger) curry along with two pieces of fried fish and an omlette…

Once again, the taste was simple spot on as far as the traditional flavours go… Compared to the vegetarian one, the chammanthi on this one was not that spicy and was fine for me… The Omelette was soft and fluffy, the fish Neymeen Choora (Tuna Mackerel) as we call it was also cooked really well… Only complaint there is that part of the spice rub on one of the pieces tasted to have been burnt, but otherwise a great piece of fish nonetheless… The kanava thoran was also medium spiced with a great flavour profile with the flavour of coriander seed powder dominating it… The cabbage and long beans thoran seemed freshly made and seasoned nicely… When the whole thing is mixed together with some of that gravy from the prawn curry, it is literally an exposion of flavours in the mouth… So, kudos to this chef as well and I agree with the reviews… This is the best tasting pothichoru option that I have seen so far in Trivandrum…

Btw, here is one thing that we noticed regarding these two pothichoru options… They both had a good rice to curries ratio… I mean, it is no secret that unlike the southerners, we from up at the north have the habbit to eating more  curries than the rice… I guess you could say that in a meal, we eat the curries with the rice instead of eating the rice with the curries… So, it is an incredibly huge headache for us who are from Thalassery to eat when we get meals as parcel from restaurants… I mean, pretty much all the places seem to be treating sidedishes as if they are made up of gold… A single meal parcel would contain enough rice for all four of us at home with the quantity of the curries being same or less than the quantity of pickle served when you dine at the same restaurant… So, both these pothichoru options pleasantly surprised us and this is why we decided that whenever we want to buy parcel of kerala meals, we’ll go for these pothichoru options from now on… 🙂 If you haven’t tried these, please do and let me know what you think and if any of you know even better options, please do let me know as well so that I can try them… 🙂

A Day of Pothichoru Over the past few weeks, I have been hearing quite a lot of buzz about this "Pothichoru" by Ms.