#which is WILD. WHY AM I FUCKED UP OVER A COMB. I hate it here.

[waitineedaname]

🥑🥤🍄

🥑 you accidentally killed somebody, which mutual(s) do you text for help?

for a second I thought this was about killing a character in a fic but I realized no it means in Real Life abdjfbxjdh @gamergirlcrustacean and @neonlav would probably be the first to hear about it, and probably you too Julianna lol idk if you guys would be able to help but I think yall would be the first to get the "OH FUCK" text

🥤 recommend an author or fanfic you love

I kinda did this a little while ago when I got an anon about my favorite authors, but I will never turn down the opportunity to plug Scorched Grounds by @localdisasterisk because that fic is absolutely hysterical and risk is a phenomenal writer

🍄 share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings

I feel like this should be about my most recent fandom but I am drawing such a blank!! Is it insane that I don't really have a ship im crazy about for mdzs. I guess there's chengqing, and I'm definitely crazy for latching onto the m/f ship in a BL but whatever. Not necessarily a headcanon, but I think wen qing could crack jiang cheng's egg. Modern au chengqing would not be an m/f ship for long

[absolutebl]

This Week In BL - The Floodgates Have Opened

Oct 2022 Wk 1

Being a highly subjective assessment of one tiny corner of the interwebs. Organized by which ones (in each category) I’m enjoying the most.

Ongoing Series - Thai

The Eclipse (Fri YT) 9 of 12 - Aye is such an intense and focused little thing. The eye contact with these 2 is beyond eye fucking into something more like eye soul-mating. The pool kiss was fine, but they looked cold. GMMTV loves a pool kiss. 

My Only 12% (Fri iQIYI) 9 of 14 - this show makes me cry. Fee is a wonderful friend. This was a good episode, it was fun to see Eiw come into his own. I look forward to the reunion next week.

Ai Long Nhai (Mon iQIYI) 2 of 10 - I figured it out, this is Make it Right the uni years! That’s why I like it. Nhai Is apparently flirtier and gayer when drunk. I’ve known some British lads like that. OK so sex happened. I like that there was some kind of confused drunken consent. But also serious regrets and bisexual identity crisis. Poor Nhai: You can’t have your friend and eat him too. This plot is moving quickly: it’s ep 2 and they have slept together and confessed, plus a one month trial relationship. I like it. This is messy gay in a way I appreciate. 

Ghost Host, Ghost House (Weds YouTube & Gaga) 1 of 8 - I'm enjoying the lead pair, the meet cute, and the combative nature of their relationship. I’m not wild about the premise but I like how different it is from all the previous “my ghost boyfriend” takes on this concept. More “our human pet.” I’m beginning to be weirdly charmed by how bureaucratic the Thai afterlife always seems to be. 

Big Dragon (Sat Gaga) 1 of 8 - Basically we have player love-rivals (a girl)/enemies to lovers + a rich/poor pairing: Yai & Mangkorn. It had a good hook but most of the ep was dull; thankfully Gaga has a 1.5x speed. The acting is bad but the sex scene was fine: dominance struggles, lots of switching, and verse stuff. *we likie* This show is using drugging (impaired judgement/dub-con/both men), sexual extortion, and blackmail as a plot device not unlike LITA. But it’s using antiheroes and presenting everything, including the characters, in a negative light. Thus right now in BL we have a great example of how the same plot device can be depicted differently and result in an entirely different perspective and watcher experience. In other words: a narrative I’m hating in LITA doesn’t bother me here, because of characterization.  

Work from Heart (Thurs YouTube) 3 of 7 - The agro yet deeply in-crush behavior of our tsundere seme is kinda fun, but the fashion remains truly terrible and the most unpleasant performer in this show. Although it’s got competition. 

Love in the Air (Thurs iQIYI) 8 of 13 - the premise and blackmail set up for this couple really fucked with me (because Sky is a broken angel-baby and Pai is an irredeemable pustule). I am not happy about it: DUMPSTER FIRE TRASH WATCH ALONG HERE. That said, there is a GREAT analysis of Sky’s character here (that I totally enjoy and want to be true, but I think gives Mame too much credit). 

Fahlanruk (Sun GaGa) 4 of 12 - So Fah’s bf cheated first? Okay, still doesn’t justify his behavior. Honestly, I really can’t stand this show. Now we are playing a game of how long can I go before dropping it.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Takara-kun and Amagi-kun (Japan Thurs GaGa & Viki) 7 of 8 - these two pretty much define awkward. Takara because he is trying desperately to keep his cool reserve (and perform perfect seme) while simultaneously being so in love/lust with Amagi in high school where desire is, by definition and practice, uncool. Amagi is all frenetic movements and angles, like he cannot control his limbs or his emotions, everything is deeply confusing to him including Takara’s affection. Watching them stumble around each other and agonize over every little movement and conversation is an exercise in joy, patience, and agony. It’s all so “teenager” I can hardly stand it. This episode, however, was more about Tanaka coping with learning his friend is 1. not straight and 2. deeply in love with an adorable weirdo. It was a quieter ep than I expected but sweet. “He said something cute and I couldn’t help myself“ is so traditional Japanese seme in one sentence I can’t even.

Kabe Koji (Japan Mon Viki) 1 of 10 - basically this is A Man Who Defies the World of BL + Senpai This Can’t be Love (as @heretherebedork said). Nakao Masaki playing a sunshine bouncy himbo character is a fucking revelation, I didn’t think he had it in him. But our tsundere uke is far too tsundere for me, and despite the premise (AN IDOL LOVE INTEREST!) I do not not really like it. I just hate the stalker photograph obsession thing (My Engineer, SCOY, STCBL, now this) and I can’t support a character that starts out this way, it’s apparently a trigger I didn’t know I had until BL tried to romanticize it. I love Nakao Masaki (in a non stalker, no photos kind of way) so I might muscle through but... 

Once Again (Korea Fri GaGa) 7-8fin - Cute date plus hand holding and a mild but sweet moot kiss does not a satisfying ending make. They are great boyfriends even if only for a few days. As expected, like Kissable Lips, this one ends sad. Can’t stop the Koreans when a temporal paradox and death is on the line. They do love their tragedy, not to mention unavoidable fate. 2/10 NOT RECOMMENDED

It’s Airing But I’m Not Watching It

War of Y - 20 eps A spy have reported in on a spoiler assessment of the first 2 installments here. 2 more to go. 

Oh My Sunshine Night 16 eps - I’m scared it’s gonna be sad, so I’m waiting for spies to tell me it’s safe, so far reported to be quite the soap opera. 

To Sir With Love AKA Khun Chai 10 eps - dito OMSN, so I’m holding until it finishes its run. 

My Roommate - 32 eps of 2 minutes each? Terrible production values, worse than the pulps. I not bothering. 

In Case You Missed It

180 Degree Longitude Passes Through Us had a sad end, or at least, not a happy one, so I will not be watching it. I’m happy to leave it permanently listed dnf. 2022 will be the year I dnf’d the most BL, partly because there’s so much of it. (Thailand is at 108 BLs and counting this year). 

I talk a lot on this blog about linguistics (language intersecting with culture) here’s a fun podcast from Hidden Brain on How language shapes our perspective on life. 

Gossip

HIStory 5 is coming! Called HIStory5: Love in the Future. Since it’s going to be the only one under the 5 moniker I’ll probably default (like it did with H4) to just calling it H5. 

That omegaverse Thai BL got cancelled. Probably because of the fuss being kicked up about it. I am sad. No trash watch for me. Maybe Japan will still do one at some point. 

Next Week Looks Like This:

Starting: Remember Me starts tomorrow, Thai (Sun Gaga)1 of 8. 2 Moons 3 Thai (Mon ??) 1 of 10. Roommates of Poongduck 304 (Korea Thurs Viki) 1 of 8. SELF Thai (Thurs ??). My Tooth Your Love (Taiwan Fri Gaga & Viki) 1 of 12. Hard Love Mission Thai (Sat WeTV & iQiyi?). Wish Me Luck Thai (Sat ??). 

I’m traveling so I may not be able to watch the ones I already have in rotation, let alone track down the new babies. You on your own peeps, best of luck! 

Honestly Thailand, too many. You gotta stop now. We saturated. 

FULL October 2022 line up is here.

This week’s best moments?

The return of That Staircase in Eclipse! 

Tell us something we don’t know, Aye. 

Breaking news: Cute bit is very cute. 

Work from Heart: I just love the sniff test trope (AKA I like the way he smells) one of my favs. 

Although neck kisses are good too, thanks Ai Long Nhai. 

Activating seme agressive tendencies. 

Bisexual rep, yes please! 

And a direct address of drunk one night stand regrets. You’re doing well little pulp. 

Such boyfriends. 

The most seme line in a BL ever. 

(last week)

Current earworm? The Rose’s Sour 

[theramseyloft]

i read your long pigeon poop post, and after some poking around online i saw that a loft in melbourne australia failed. do you have any idea why that is?

Oh... my fucking God. I am so furious.

Look at this thing!

$70,000 went into this monstrosity?

It looks like they converted a fucking water tower by punching holes in it and welding on entryways shaped like the stereotypical toddler’s first house drawing!

Who fucking researched this?!

Was it designed by a committee purely by aesthetic?!

Here is an article I found on it’s decomission and removal.

https://www.theage.com.au/national/victoria/melbourne-city-councils-70000-pigeon-loft-turned-into-scrap-metal-20160724-gqcmsc.html

According to the pigeon expert quoted in this article: 

“Frank Hayes is the president of the Australian National Pigeon Association. While his group is mostly interested in show pigeons, a different breed to the city pests, he says it was fairly predictable the coop idea was never going to work.”

“ "The nature of the pigeon is that they find a home and they stick with it. So finding them somewhere else to go is a bit of a dream," said Mr Hayes.”

“ "Trying to shift them is one big headache. It's a worldwide problem and no one has ever figured out how to deal with it." ” 

LOOK at this structure!!!

It’s made of fucking METAL!!!

In AUSTRAILIA!!!

In the fucking OPEN!!!!

From this charming article:

 http://melbournedailyphotodaily.blogspot.com/2011/03/pigeon-loft-batman-park.html

“The loft is painted with light coloured corrosion resistant to reflect the heat and minimise internal over-heating. It houses two hundred nesting boxes for pigeon breeding. Eggs laid will be replaced with artificial eggs intended as a humane way to control and reduce pigeon numbers.”

That is a metal structure in the Melbourne sun...

No amount of Paint is gonna make that less an oven.

And I can’t imagine you can add anything to paint to make it corrosion resistant that isn’t noxious in a small space when the metal under it heats up.

“Bird feeding around the loft base is permitted to attract birds out of the CBD to this area. Bird feeding is not permitted in any other area around the CBD.”

But the city council is not actually providing the birds with good quality fed...

“... and no one has ever figured out how to deal with it."

No one, you ignorant twit?

NO ONE?!?!

Here is the site of a successful branch of the German Stadttauben Projekt, translated:

https://stadttauben-stuttgart.de/

“The Stuttgart pigeon project

Dear prospective customers,

nice that you found our homepage. We would like to introduce our project to you on the following pages:

The Stuttgart City Pigeon Project is an animal welfare-friendly concept for regulating and reducing city pigeons for the benefit of people and animals. We operate several supervised pigeon shots in the Stuttgart city area, in which the pigeons are cared for and their eggs are exchanged for dummies so that no offspring hatch. By the end of 2019, there had been well over 45,000 eggs. By feeding grain mixtures in our shots, the animals are no longer forced to look for food on the streets and squares in the area. They spend 80% of the day and the entire night in the dovecote. Ergo - your droppings also stay there and no longer land on roofs or balconies.

We were awarded the Baden-Württemberg State Animal Protection Award 2015 for our commitment .

The city pigeon is one of the most successful residents of the urban living space and today populates all major cities worldwide. It is the free-living descendant of the wild rock pigeons from the coastal and mountain areas in Africa and Eurasia. Long ago, the rock pigeons were domesticated by humans primarily for the purpose of meat production and thus also carried to our latitudes and cities. In modern times, the stock of the archetypal rock pigeon increasingly mixed with breeding, racing and sports pigeons that either escaped, were abandoned or, exhausted by exhausting competitive flights, ran aground in the cities. Today's city pigeons are the overgrown children and children's children of these rock, breeding and sports pigeons.

In cooperation with the state capital of Stuttgart, the Tierschutzverein Stuttgart und Umgebung eV launched the pigeon project in 2008. The cooperation was formed with the aim of bringing about a permanent and humane solution to the city pigeon problem.

The concept of the Federal Working Group for City Pigeons or the so-called * Augsburg Model * was helpful. It is based on scientific publications, practical experience and has already been successfully recommended by several federal states such as Hesse, North Rhine-Westphalia and Baden-Württemberg. Today it is implemented in more than 80 German cities and towns. For example, there are pigeon houses looked after in Aachen, Augsburg, Hamburg, Berlin, Frankfurt, Saarbrücken and Wuppertal.

We aim for a small, supervised and healthy pigeon population in Stuttgart. Then the image of the city pigeon may rise again. Because healthy animals, which have a permanent home and receive animal feed, do not bother anyone!”

https://stadttauben-stuttgart.de/?page=1,0,0,Chronik+%26+Fakten

“Care instead of fighting: our chronicle

2008:The first step was a dovecote at platform 1 in Stuttgart main station

2009:The second blow was made in the roof of the Leonhardskirche

2009:The third pigeon house was on the Mühlgrün parking garage in Bad-Cannstatt, which has since been demolished and replaced by the pigeon tower in the rope

2010:The fourth facility was the pigeon tower in the city garden on Max-Kade-Weg

2011:The fifth pigeon house stood on the roof of the town hall garage until February 2016. Reconstruction on the roof of the city comb in April 2016.

2011:The sixth dovecote was a second stroke on the roof of the Leonhardskirche (other roof side)

2013:The seventh dovecote was built in the roof of the Fairkauf building in Stuttgart-Feuerbach

2014:The eighth pigeon loft was built (as a replacement for the location at the main station) on a flat roof in the Kriegsbergstrasse

2016:Dovecote number 9 was inaugurated in July 2016 at the Marienplatz in Stuttgart in the roof structure of the imperial building

2017:

On Landhausstrasse in the east of Stuttgart, we were able to set up dovecote No. 10 in the attic of a residential building. It was opened in June 2017

2018:In summer, an indoor pigeon tower was opened at Seilerwasen in Bad Cannstatt as a replacement for the Mühlgrün pigeon house

2019In autumn a new pigeon facility was inaugurated at the station in Zuffenhausen and the first egg was laid in December.    

In addition, a dovecote (trailer) on the grounds of the shelter Stuttgart and Nistwand for about 30 pigeons on the will of the ASPCA Stuttgart  House  Adam Müller-Guttenbrunn in Stuttgart Zuffenhausen care.

... more dovecotes are to follow!

Health hazard facts

A health hazard due to pigeons flying around, running and sitting can be largely excluded. New scientific studies have shown (again) that pathogens that may be contained in the pigeon droppings are usually bird-specific and are therefore not transmitted to humans. This was confirmed in 1995 by the Federal Ministry of Health.

The general classification of the pigeon as a pest was withdrawn by the Federal Institute for Consumer Health Protection back in 1989 on the basis of research results at the time and the opinion from 2001.

Feed facts about pigeons

Feeding pigeons in Stuttgart is prohibited on public land. Well-meaning pigeon friends increase the population density of the city pigeons by regular feeding in the same place, without offering the additionally attracted animals sleeping and nesting places where they are tolerated or the clutch can be exchanged. This creates people who work there or often live more pigeon hate and more pigeon misery.

Above all, too many food scraps are thrown away on the streets and squares of the city! This waste is mostly not compatible with pigeons. They lead to illnesses, shortages and thus, among other things, to the unsightly liquid starvation. Nevertheless, due to the scarcity of bird-friendly feed in cities, these human foods are usually the main basis for the feeding of city pigeons, but their organism is designed for pure hard grain feed. So this means sick pigeon populations that nonetheless reproduce disproportionately due to their (pet) genes raised by humans.

If you would like to help sustainably, please contact us. Only other supervised dovecotes in the city area (including food and egg exchange) start at the root of the "problem". We welcome any support!”

From their gallery:

Here is a loft.

Small, wooden, well insulated from heat and cold.

Those openings are not the nests. They are just doorways with a landing ledge designed around the comfort of pigeons, which are social birds.

Here is the inside.

Lots of comfortable nest boxes, perches in the back, food, water, comfortable socialization space...

Here is an entry into another loft currently in use.

Here is the inside.

Water and feed are provided by the care takers. You can see feed and drinking stations all over the floor.

And this is the inside of a huge new loft in Frankfurt.

These German Taubbenhauses are designed around meeting the birds’ needs for food, comfort, safety from the elements, and socialization with their flock mates.

None of these birds had to be coerced or forcibly relocated.

Because their needs were better met, they came on their own.

Look at the $70,000 Melbourne monstronsity again!

More specifically, look at the bridge behind it.

And tell me where you would rather me.

Compact metal tower designed exclusively around convenient human access, metal nest boxes, 0 landing platforms, no socialization space, no protection from the elements, still no choice but to forage for what ever garbage people toss you...

or the comfortably Cool space under a concrete bridge with a convenient water source.

Three guesses what’s more comfortable for the pigeons.

Now, would you rather live under a bridge with constant noise from traffic, open to predators, 

or

A well insulated apartment building with comfortable suites, a spacious common area, and a nutritious free meal plan with clean water included by default.

"It's a worldwide problem and no one has ever figured out how to deal with it."

My ass, Mr. Hayes!

[hotdamnhunnam]

Will Miller: Sex in Publix

A/N: FINALLY writing for Will Fucking “Ironhead” Miller from Triple Frontier!!! So excited, my dears!! Here’s some smut about you helping Will recover from his violent cereal aisle incident at Publix... which results in you two having shameless public sex.

Pairing: Will “Ironhead” Miller x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, reference to traumatic experience, sex in public (obvs) Inspiration: WILL’S SPEECH from the opening scene of the movie. Serious big dick energy 🥵

Word Count: ~2.5k

** THE SPEECH **

Quoted from Triple Frontier’s opening scene

Parts that are referenced in this fic are in bold below. (You seriously need to watch it, though...)

About five years ago, when I was on leave... I found myself standing in the middle of the cereal aisle at the Publix... with my arm around some guy's throat. I was squeezing so hard he pissed himself.  My fiancée at the time had to climb on my back just so I didn’t actually kill the guy.  Do you know why I was doing this? Because he hadn’t moved his cart when I asked.  I was the best of the best, able to shut down, control, manipulate... all basic human instincts towards one goal: the completion of my mission. But the effects of committing extreme violence on other human beings are biological and physiological. That’s the price of being a warrior.

Fic begins after ‘Keep reading’ ...

***************

A/N: Why yes, I just inserted the same gif again, so that you have the image right above, for purposes of the description of this mouthwatering motherfucker doing his GODDAMN CHEWING GUM LOWER LIP TONGUE THING in the third paragraph 😛

“We shouldn’t even be here...”

“Will, you say that every time,” you remind your fiancé as he strolls your cart through the aisles at Publix, slowly approaching Aisle 6. You can feel him tense up now as you’re drawing near. “It’s like I told you, babe—the best way to work through your shit is to come and revisit the scene of the crime.”

“Crime?” he rolls his tongue around the piece of gum he’s chewing, lets it slide along the inside of his full pink lower lip. He knows just what he’s doing: making it bulge in a way that looks fucking delicious. That action in itself is a crime calling for arrest. “You know the guy didn’t press charges.”

“That’s because you threatened to kill him if he did. Besides, the poor bastard had just pissed all over the floor; I’m pretty sure he wasn’t going wild to include that kind of detail if he filed a police report.”

He shrugs that off with a half-laugh. Tries to ignore how he had choked a total stranger with such brutal force... simply because he hadn’t moved his cart when Will had asked. “The fact stands that I’m criminally innocent.”

“Of course. The perfect model citizen,” you can’t help but indulge him in a playful little compliment. “With model good looks, too.”

Will rolls his eyes, those eyes you constantly effuse are the most gorgeous shade of blue. He never seems to think it’s true. “Butter me up, why don’t you.”

“Like I always do.”

He cracks a smile, which quickly vanishes as you reach Aisle 6. “Speaking of which, didn’t we just finish the butter in the fridge? I’ll go and grab some; maybe you can get the cereal, then meet me in the dairy aisle...”

“Nice try, big guy—not happening. Come on,” you urge, taking a soft yet firm hold of his muscular upper arm. “What, are you scared of Cap’n Crunch or something? Man up, Captain. Don’t be a pussy ass bitch.”

“Cap’n Crunch is creepy as shit. Freaked me out as a kid,” he says with an exaggerated cringe. “But seriously, babe—you know that going back there makes me... twitch.”

“And I’ll be there to hold your hand, and talk you through it, like I always am,” you reassure him. “Will, it’s gotten better every time we visit. We’ve made real progress; it’s a process, and to be honest, I think it’s almost finished.”

He bites that luscious lip of his. “What if it isn’t.”

“Then we’ll keep trying till it is, okay? You have to trust me. Either way, we’ll hurry home, soon as we’re done... so you can fuck me.”

His eyes light up at that, just as you knew they would, and he pushes the cart straight ahead. Not afraid to admit he’s been played. “Damn does my girl know how to control and manipulate...”

“I learned from the best of the best, as they say. My big strong ironhead fiancé.”

As it turns out today, the sex will happen long before you leave the store. Neither of you will be able to wait.

***************

“So. How you feeling?” you ask him, standing by his side in the spot where it happened. As he stands still and stares, you reach up to comb your fingers through the soft golden spikes of his hair, hoping that the tender loving touch will help his healing.

Will chews his gum a little harder, with a firm clench of his jaw. Blue eyes a little darker. And good God—you shouldn’t be having these thoughts, but fuck, the smoldering look on his face right now is just about the hottest thing you ever saw...

You can see the scenes replay inside his mind. Not just the incident itself, choking a random guy in Publix half to death, squeezing so hard the bastard lost his breath and pissed himself—but more importantly, the underlying cause. Years of trauma, molding Will into a man that he himself feared and despised. So many years spent searching for the kind of peace he always craved but thought he’d never find. 

He tells you often how he found it in your arms; though you’re a sucker for his charms, you always brush the line aside. That shit’s just corny. And besides, he only says it when he’s horny... which is all the fucking time.

One of the many things that you two have in common. Ever since Will Miller claimed you as his woman, the two of you have been getting it on so fucking often that it’s probably a crime.

You try to stop your mind from wandering in that direction. Will needs to process heavy shit right now and you’re supposed to help him. Shouldn’t get distracted by your own lady erection, as you silently admire him in all his alpha male perfection... mind burning with questions—like, but how the hell can it even be possible to be so fucking beautiful...?

His hands aren’t twitching in the way that often happens when he’s here, but still, he’s awfully tense and quieter than usual. Maybe it’s time to head out of the cereal aisle; return some other time, after a little while. You hold him close to whisper in his ear, stroking his arm with a warmhearted smile. “Listen, babe—if you don’t want to talk... then let’s go home and crack open some beer, or a bottle of wine... I’ll suck your cock, and everything will be just fine. I’m proud of you for coming here today. Now let’s get out of here so you can come someplace better, okay?”

Now at that, Will at last has a few words to say. He snaps out of his self-hating haze and attacks you just with the sheer power of his deep blue gaze. “Mmm, you mean like deep inside my filthy little whore of a fiancée?”

You feign offense, reacting with a gasp, dealing his upper arm a playful little slap. “Captain Miller! What gives you the right to talk to me like that—in public, no less? Show some damn respect.”

He answers with a flirty, dirty laugh. “Respect my ass.”

“I do, and you know that. It’s perfect,” you remind him as you reach around to grab it through his pants, loving the way the sculpted muscle tenses up beneath your hands. “And I respect it even better when it’s naked, so let’s get—”

“Gimme a minute,” he interrupts you with a kiss on the top of your head. “You know, before you started talking all that frisky business... I was just about to tell you that I think we’re finally finished. Babe, you did it.”

You pause, dropping your jaw—does he mean what you think he does? Now that the tone is back to serious, you free his fine ass from the grasp of your horny claws. “...did it?”

Will smiles and nods. “I know my stubborn ass kept resisting these visits. But you were right, babe. Like always. I think I’ve finally gotten past this shit. I mean—not all my shit; that’s a serious beast. But the whole Publix incident, at least. I just... today I finally felt released. At peace with it.”

There are no words to capture how giddy you feel. You wrap your arms around his neck with an excited squeal, heartbeat happily racing. “Babe, that’s amazing! We did it. I may be the one with all the brilliant ideas, but you were smart enough to listen.”

He lets out a soft giggle, hugging you so hard it tickles. “I still say you get all the credit. Manipulating me with all those promises of sex the way you did. Straight up forcing me into submission.”

“Oh, don’t put it that way. Now let’s not forget who’s the dom in the bedroom. Promise you’ll always play Captain, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he chuckles. “Whatever you say.”

The one thing on your mind as you snuggle into his embrace is this man smells like actual heaven... hot damn. You pull back from the hug, desperate to get home and get fucked. But there’s still one more thing to get out of the way.

You make some effort to compose yourself before what’s coming next. “Oh, and before we go—there’s something else I wanted you to know. Now that your issue’s been addressed... well, I also have something to confess.”

After those words, you pause for longer than you should. Which isn’t good.

“Go on?” Will holds your hand and gives you an encouraging, heartwarming nod.

Ugh, he’s so cute when he’s all soft and full of love. Despite being so big and tough. All at once a sugar baby muffin and a savage fucking sex god.

You clear your throat, collecting your slightly embarrassing thoughts. “So, when the whole... incident happened, in the moments just before I climbed onto your back, to pull you off of that poor man, I was just—watching you attack... and... well, at first I didn’t even know how to react, because... uhhh...”

Those blue eyes of his blink, and you can barely even think. Apparently you have a goddamn golden eyelash kink?

Will tries to urge you to continue; though it’s clear he’s quite sincere, he’s also more than just a little bit amused. He always loves to see you bumbling like a fool and acting totally uncool. He says it’s super cute. “Because what?”

You re-clear your throat, though it’s all clear already. Try to stay somewhat calm and steady. Keep your hormones in control. You are in public after all; people can see you even if they’re out of earshot. “I don’t know, it’s just—watching you do that was... I mean, don’t get me wrong, it was fucked up, and yes I knew it had to stop—but it was also... you know... super fucking hot?”

He blinks again, brows arching up a bit. “You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Y/N, I... I was out of my damn mind. Completely out of line. Like, deadly dangerous.”

“Oh, you think I didn’t notice?”

“No, I know you did...”

Fucking hell. You pull your hand from his and turn toward the shelves, grabbing a random box of cereal to occupy yourself. “Now you’re kink-shaming me. Never done that before, but now the truth comes out that I’m a sick and twisted whore—”

“What? Y/N, come on,” he groans, wrapping his arms around you from behind, the kind of big bear hug that always feels like home. “You know that isn’t how I meant it...”

“No, forget it. Just forget I ever said it.”

“Can’t really do that, to be honest. Babe, I’m into all your kinks, I promise. I just need a sec to process this.”

“Seriously—Will, this whole cereal aisle shouldn’t be about me. Even just mentioning it like I did was selfish. So forget it.”

“I’m not gonna just...”

“Hey, I have an idea,” you interrupt, eager to change the subject, as you now notice that you’d just happened to pick a box of Cap’n Crunch. With the creepy cartoon captain’s face emblazoned on the front. “What if you need a final outlet? Just to let off any steam that might be lingering, to make sure that you’ve really gotten over the whole cereal aisle incident?”

Will purrs as he leans closer into your shoulder. You stupidly assume he’s also looking at the cereal box you’re holding, but he isn’t. “Hmmm, you thinking what I’m thinking...?”

As it happens, you’re totally oblivious to what he just implied, since you’re still trying to recover from embarrassment. You step off to the side, pulling away from his embrace so that you’re standing face to face. And hold the box in front of you like it’s a martial arts board made for him to break. “Here, if you need something to punch... why don’t you let it out on Cap’n Crunch.”

He blinks, again, apparently a little stunned. You’re too oblivious to even notice that he has a hard on.

You gesture toward the crunchy cap’n. “Go on. Clock him one.”

Will shifts uncomfortably in an attempt to hide the stiffness of his cock. “Punch a cereal box? Babe, this is fucking ridiculous...”

“This creepy bastard haunted you throughout your childhood,” you remind him. “Come on, do it, Will. Show him who’s captain. You know it’ll feel good.”

He tosses a quick glance behind him to make sure that no one’s around to witness. “Can’t believe I’m gonna do this, but if you insist...”

Balling his right hand up into a fist, he fucking launches it at the cartoon son of a bitch. You know he didn’t go full force—the blow would’ve thrust you and Cap’n both across the room, of course—but he went hard enough to cause the cardboard box serious damage.

Will looks down at the damage he caused to his childhood nemesis, more pleased with it than he’d like to admit. “Well, shit.”

You flash him a triumphant grin, glad for the win. “Felt great, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, it did,” he laughs at himself with a shake of his head. “But the box is all busted.”

“Well, we are model citizens, so we’re obviously going to take responsibility and pay for this,” you tell him. “And William—don’t even think about bitching that Cap’n Crunch isn’t a worthwhile purchase. The catharsis that he just provided was worth it.”

Your fiancé is fully in agreement with that sentiment. “Sounds perfect.”

Moving toward your shopping cart, you pause before throwing the box in, stopping to salute the captain with one hand over your heart. “We thank you, Cap’n, for your service.”

Will lets out one of his loud, loving laughs and hugs you from the back again. “My God, you’re such a fucking dork...”

You shrug, melting into the hug. “Well, my dorky ass just singlehandedly took care of your entire healing process. So don’t knock it if it worked.”

“Oh, I wasn’t gonna knock it,” Will replies, suddenly spinning you around with your back up against the shelves, so you can see and feel the feral fire in his eyes. You practically just wet yourself. Even more so upon the words he utters next. “I was just thinking that I really wanna fuck it.”

Holy hell. This man is living breathing sex. Your words come out all jumbled up and shit. “What—how... you mean right now? In public?”

Will grinds his hips into your crotch so you can finally feel the stiffness of his dick. God, it’s so big. His every word and action never fail to make your pussy twitch. “Hmm, what is that I’m hearing... judgment? Are you kink-shaming me, bitch?”

Hot damn, you love how playfully sadistic your fiancé is. “No, I wouldn’t fucking dream of it. I love it,” you respond, succumbing to the force of his cock and the heat of your cunt. For good measure before you both give yourselves over to such guilty pleasure, to everything both of you want, you glance nervously up and down Aisle 6. 

All is clear at the moment. And if that unexpectedly changes... you know there’s a risk, the constant threat of danger of onlooking strangers... well, fuck it. You and Will won’t let that stop you from indulging in some shameless sex in Publix.

***************

... Continued in Part 2!

Masterlist

Tag List – Join Here!*

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[lordoftermites]

OF CLOVER & IRON

Part One

Pairing: Roiben x Kaye

Summary: fluff(ish), angst, obligatory smut (later). fluffish smangst, let's go with that.

My first fic for these two—and all around the first one I've ever written, period. I finally got to a point that I can confidently post parts 1 & 2 without obsessive editing so yeet haw let's fuckin go. Set the day after Ironside Ch. 13. {there's a slight deviation of the wound placements also, because I just really wanted to see Kaye lovingly take care of her Emo Black Knight™. Everything else is canon-compliant. I hope.}

Rating: M for suggestive themes, smut in future chapters

Also I was listening to Beautiful Crime by Tamer and If You Care by Evan Barlow the whole time and if those aren't the most Roiben songs I've ever fucking heard—

*buzzfeed voice* let's get into it

________________

Each step I left behind Each road you know is mine Walking on a line ten stories high Say you'll still be by my side If I could take your hand, oh If you could understand That I can barely breathe, the air is thin I fear the fall and where we'll land

"You realize I have attendants for this, don't you?"

Roiben was reclined, rather awkwardly, against the mountain of plush pillows on his bed. Their down stuffing jutted through the timeworn fabric and pricked along the sensitive skin of his bare back.

While the gash Talathain's sword had wrought the day before had since been cleaned and bandaged, the end of those feathers still managed to find their way through to jab at the still-open wound, eliciting from him a wince, as though he needed reminding of the events that had transpired had, in fact, transpired.

Ruefully, Roiben found that he did not need reminding.

"Mhmm, I know." Kaye replied absently beside him, drawing him back to the present. She was perched on the edge of the bed, inky-black gaze fixed on his hand in her lap; she was gently applying a viscous paste to the scarlet, angry line along his palm—another gift from Silarial's green knight. The mixture had a cooling element to it, not at all unpleasant against the dull burn of the wound. Kaye was careful, dedicated as she worked. Her tender, feather-light touches sent an involuntary shiver down the base of Roiben's spine.

“I admit, I do not mislike having you for a nursemaid instead of an ill-tempered hob." He grinned down at her as she finished, gently wrapping a milky-white cloth around the pad of his hand, tying it off in a small knot at the base of his wrist. He didn’t think anyone in his service would have tended to him with such attentive care; actually, they very well may have relished an opportunity to see him wince. Indeed, he much preferred this.

She glanced up at him through thick lashes and gave him a small smile of her own, but it faltered on her features, wavered there until it faded into something Roiben couldn't name. "I guess,” she began, dropping her gaze back down to his newly-dressed hand in hers. “I just wanted to do… something, for a change." Roiben's brow knitted at the sadness in her voice, the way the guilt, thoroughly misplaced, steeped her words. There was a twinge in his chest that was reminiscent of the arrow she had pulled from it not four months prior. Automatically, his hand reached up to touch the new scar, a rose-tinted indentation in the middle of his sternum. A phantom ache bloomed under his fingers.

She had been only a human girl then, guised as she was, and unfortunate enough to be the one to find him bleeding out, collapsed there against the gnarled tree he would have gladly let become his grave. She had saved his very soul that night in the rain, though neither of them had known it at the time. It was very likely she still didn't.

And here she was again, nursing the consequences of his own obstinate pride and blaming herself for it. Too often, too willingly did she take the weight of his burdens as her own, while he futilely sought to keep her safe from them. Safe from him. She was the most stubbornly kind creature he had ever known; a knight of her own design—a savior he had never had any right to.

Roiben reached out to tuck a loose tendril of viridescent hair behind her ear. The slight movement pulled at the lesion on his back, threatening another wince. He resisted. "Kaye," he started, and when she didn't meet his eyes, he crooked a finger under her chin and canted her head to him.

"There is nothing you have done—not since the moment I met you to now, that was not something." His thumb ran over her emerald jawline, the smooth skin silk in contrast to the roughness of his own. Kaye's eyes fluttered and she leaned into his touch. "I know it is my failure, in not telling you as such, that you mistakenly think yourself so inadequate. For that, I am well and truly sorry."

Through the burning discomfort of his wounds, Roiben drew her down to him and captured her mouth in a kiss. He had never been a master of apologies— or much else for that matter. And for reasons he was unable to name, his way of begging Kaye's pardon seemed to often be sought with his mouth, as if he hoped she could taste it on his tongue— and forgive him with her own.

Her lips, softer than satin and more delectable than any wine he had ever tasted, parted in a soft, lilting sigh. The sound, as it so often did, caused the muscles in his lower abdomen to coil with a rush of warmth. His bandaged fingers moved to tangle in her wild hair as her tongue danced between his teeth, languorous at first, then quickly shifting into something nearer to frenzy. He could feel his pulse quicken, the familiar strain across the front of his trousers when her hand splayed his chest, soft fingertips pressing into his bare skin. His breath hitched.

And then Kaye's lips were gone and she was pushing herself back up, away from him, her breathing ragged. He watched her dazedly, lamenting the abrupt loss of her closeness. She combed a hand through her mess of green hair, and Roiben realized she was trembling. He frowned.

"What is it?" he asked, drawing himself up to a sitting position, jaw clenched against the sharp tug of the bandage stretching from his shoulder to his hip. "Have I done something to displease you?" He glanced down, sliver gaze settling on a fraying thread of gauze on his wrist. "Perhaps my apology wasn't quite the one you were looking for, but I—"

"That's not it." Kaye cut him off, and when he looked back up to meet her eyes, he was disconcerted to find their pitch depths were suddenly glistening. He opened his mouth to speak, but Kaye raised a hand to forestall him. He pressed his lips together, obediently falling mute. "It… it's not you. I mean, it's a little bit you. Okay— maybe it's a lot you. But… I'm just…" She let out a frustrated groan, as though she couldn't quite manage to untangle whatever thought she was trying to get out. The back of her hand swiped angrily across her eyes.

Roiben knew she hated crying, but he was unsure whether it was explicitly crying in front of him, or if it was the act altogether. Whatever the reason, there was a nagging in his gut, a temptation to reach up and wipe away the glittering tear that rolled down the curve of her verdant cheek.

But he stayed patiently, painfully silent beside her, fingers worrying the fabric over his knuckles instead as she worked through unweaving her mind. Roiben found himself suddenly wishing he had the power to read it, if only to help wrench her free of whatever trap that held her there, apart from him. Finally, she sighed—a dispirited sound that reverberated through the otherwise quiet stillness of his chambers.

"Why did you come back? Why did you find me at the diner? Why did you choose me?"

The string of questions— rather, the way she asked them, whispered, bordering on anguish, stung him like the gilded edge of Talathain's blade. Roiben gaped at her, for a moment too stunned to respond. Her expression was contorted slightly, the emotions that coursed through her scrambling over one another to find purchase on her face. Still, she held his gaze with an unwavering severity that bored into his very being and rooted him to the spot.

He knew she would not accept his usual indirect summarizations, those with which he so carefully guarded himself. He was now well beyond the safety of that delicate thread of tightroped truths he danced.

She expected—commanded his unreserved forthrightness, with that look that held the power of his name without it ever needing to cross her lips.

[baoshan-sanren]

Chapter 24

of the wwx emperor au I’m thinking of calling Lan QiRen’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 Part 1 | Chapter 8 Part 2 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 Part 1 | Chapter 15 Part 2 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 Part 1 | Chapter 22 Part 2 | Chapter 23

Tomorrow comes too soon, and for Wei Ying, it comes with insistent and painful flicks to his ear.

He groans, his ribs aching, his head still throbbing lightly, warning him that the amount of sleep he had gotten is nowhere within the acceptable parameters. The next flick to his ear is particularly vicious, and he tries to swat it away, his face still buried in the blankets. His toes feel cramped. Shifting them does nothing but make his ankles ache. Is he still wearing boots? Why?

A vicious slap lands on his ear, propelling him upright.

“What--“

Nie HuaiSang is sitting up in bed, his arm strapped to his chest, the other hand half-raised, as if he intends to slap him again.

“A-Sang!”

Somewhere on the other side of the bed, Jiang Cheng groans in complaint. Wei Ying can see nothing of him but one purple shoulder and a tuft of hair. HuaiSang is still pale, but it looks as if he had taken care to arrange his sleeping robes, and comb his fingers through his hair before viciously slapping Wei Ying awake.

“How do you feel?” Wei Ying asks carefully.

“How do I feel?” A-Sang says incredulously, “How do I feel?”

Uh-oh, Wei Ying thinks.

“I feel like an arrow went through my shoulder,” he hisses, “I am in pain. I feel miserable, and hungry, and extremely fucking angry. How am I supposed to get dressed?”

“How-- what?”

“How am I supposed to get dressed with this thing on my arm?” A-Sang growls.

Jiang Cheng groans in complaint again. HuaiSang snatches a pillow, and whacks him three times in quick succession.

Jiang Chen is upright almost as quickly as Wei Ying had been, his hair an unholy mess, his expression murderous.

The moment he sees HuaiSang, his expression softens, and he opens his mouth.

“Do not ask him how he feels,” Wei Ying says quickly, and gets a pillow to his face for his efforts.

“Get up!” A-Sang snaps, “Both of you. I want breakfast. I want roast duck and wild herb salad, stir-fried spinach with dried shrimp, steamed lotus root with rice, steamed buns, and I better not see any of that minced pumpkin abomination in my buns either. I want them stuffed with mutton. And where is my tea? Is this the Emperor’s palace or a QiShan winehouse? Move!”

Wei Ying scrambles off the bed. He is still within the reach of the pillow, and does not think his head would tolerate another hit. Jiang Cheng is a little slower, tangling in his own robes, and the pillow catches him on the ear.

“I want Wen Qing to give me something for pain. I want all the Imperial seamstresses in this room in less than an hour, and they best be ready to work. You--“ he points the pillow at Wei Ying, “owe me an entire closet of robes. We will settle on the number, and then I will increase it, and you will not say a single word in complaint. Understood?”

“Yes,” Wei Ying says quickly.

“And you--!” he points the pillow at Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Cheng is finally awake, and now fully cognizant of the situation.

“Tea!” he exclaims, “Worthless servants! Where is the tea?”

And then he escapes, leaving Wei Ying all alone with furious HuaiSang who looks as if he wants to be clutching a sword instead of the pillow.

“I want a palace,” A-Sang snarls, “of my own. And thirty servants, in addition to the five I have now.”

“Done,” Wei Ying says quickly.

A-Sang’s eyes narrow, “I want a title for A-Jue.”

“Fine.”

“And a three-day banquet thrown in my honor every year, until I am old and blind.”

“Done.”

HuaiSang grunts, and puts the pillow down.

Wei Ying waits a few moments, then shuffles a little closer.

“Can I sit down now? Or do you want to hit me again?”

“You may sit,” A-Sang says graciously, “I might hit you again anyway.”

Wei Ying feels that is an acceptable risk to take, and settles down on the step below the bed, where Jiang Cheng had spent the majority of the night.

“I assume you did not catch the assassin,” HuaiSang huffs, readjusting his robes.

“No. The arrow came from the East watchtower, but the assassin was gone by the time A-Cheng got there. He left two arrows behind. Perhaps he is not as skilled as we thought.”

“I should say,” HuaiSang says scornfully, “He has done a terrible job of trying to kill you.”

Wei Ying’s throat tightens. He will have waking nightmares of that arrow shifting a little more to the right, and he will deserve each one.

HuaiSang waves a hand in front of his face, “Stop that. I am not in the mood for your self-pity right now. Do we have any new information? At all?”

Aside from the fact that someone had tried to kill him in the view of every Sect in the cultivation world? Absolutely nothing. This had definitely not been an average assassination attempt. But the way in which it differs does not offer any clues.

“They were Lan Sect arrows,” Wei Ying says.

“Hm. I am not surprised. Anything else?”

“Lan QiRen,” Wei Ying says, “showed me a note that was waiting for them at the Peach Blossom Pavilion the night they arrived. The note said that the Young Masters are in danger, and that they should leave the Immortal Mountain.”

“Interesting. Do you have the note?”

Wei Ying has been keeping it in his sleeve, and he hands it over.

HuaiSang hesitates a moment, his fingers brushing over the dry blood prints Wei Ying had left on the paper. But he does not say anything about them, unfolding the note, and frowning at the characters.

“This was written by a child,” he says, his tone surprised.

“Or someone who has never really learned how to write,” Wei Ying counters.

“If we assume it is the same person,” A-Sang muses, “it is someone who is young, uneducated, but has a fair amount of spiritual power for their age. Probably someone who lacks confidence in that power as well. If this is a disciple, they have not been one for long.”

“It could be more than one person,” Wei Ying says.

“It does not matter,” A-Sang sniffs, folding up the note, “Assassinations are my domain. Mine and A-Cheng’s. You just go do-- whatever you need to be doing.”

He tucks the note in his own sleeve, and Wei Ying knows he will likely never see it again.

“You should not even be here right now,” HuaiSang says, frowning, “Was the archery competition postponed?”

“It was canceled,” Wei Ying says, “It seemed in poor taste, considering.”

“Hm,” HuaiSang says, “You should go to YiLing today, then.”

“What? Why?”

They have been planning Wei Ying’s Great Escape to YiLing for months now. How to hide his absence from the court. How to get by the main gate. How to disguise himself properly. How to enter the Immortal Mountain again without raising an alarm. It has become a frequent subject of their drunk planning, their schemes and ideas often spiraling into fantastical nonsense the more alcohol they consumed.

Yet, Wei Ying never truly believed that these ploys would ever come to fruition.

“Because,” HuaiSang says patiently, “We need to ascertain how closely the assassin is positioned to the throne. Obviously close enough that they had access to the palaces and the Imperial servants, but not close enough to have caught wind of your competition scheme. This is a perfect opportunity. Although, it will not be the great escape we planned.”

His face scrunches up in displeasure. As the mastermind of the Great Escape, he has taken pride in planning out the minutiae, and Wei Ying knows it must irk him to have to make adjustments.

“Some people will need to know. I will need YanLi’s assistance. Is A-Lin back yet? No, never mind,” he says, before Wei Ying can even open him mouth, “I think I can do without him. But the Lan Sect will definitely need to be informed. Actually, take Lan WangJi with you, and see if you can convince Lan XiChen can tag along, as a-- chaperone of some sort.”

“Wait a moment--“ Wei Ying splutters, but A-Sang is no longer paying attention to him.

“We must be able to trust the Nie Sect, at the very least. I need to speak to my brother first; only he can decide if Nie ZongHui can be trusted with the details of the plan. What time is it? Is it still mid-morning? I hate doing things on a tight schedule, you know. This is how mistakes are made. Where is my damn tea? Did A-Cheng get lost on the way to the kitchens?”

Wei Ying opens his mouth, and A-Sang waves a hand in front of his face again.

“We should have sent a message to QiShan sooner,” he snaps, “I despise making decisions based on flimsy and insufficient information. Well? You need be ready to leave by sundown. Go, speak to the Lan Sect, then come back. Did I not just say that we do not have a lot of time? Move!”

Before Wei Ying has a chance to respond, Wen Qing is sweeping into the room, and A-Sang is slumping dramatically against the blankets.

“Wen Qing,” he whines breathlessly, “I am in agony. Absolute agony. I cannot live with this pain. The room is spinning. Is it getting darker? Oh. Oh! I think I will faint again.”

[backtobackbakubabe]

I am the Alpha Now Part 19

Bakugo x Reader

Words : 2311

Masterlist

Reader is from America and somewhat of a delinquent with an alpha quirk that allows her to turn into a wolf as well as bond with dogs. She is sent to UA to straighten out her attitude. She ends up in a power struggle with none other than our favorite hot head. Words in Italics are words said telepathically.

**********************************************************************

You let Bakugo cradle you to him as you both were overwhelmed with the bond being open again and all that comes with it. He was suddenly hit with the amount of fatigue your body was under. He took in his surrounding and it didn’t take him long to piece it together. “Are you okay? This looks… bad.”

You closed your eyes and inhaled his calming scent. “I’ll be fine. I just need to sleep it off. My eyes… won’t stop glowing. It’s wearing me out.” You snuggled further into Bakugo’s chest and listened to his strong heartbeat.

Midoriya was currently arguing with Hawks behind you somewhere. “This just doesn’t make any sense. Why wouldn’t you have called someone for back up? Or at least told Bakugo.”

Hawks shrugged, “He’s too close to this. I didn’t want his emotions getting in the way of rescuing her.” You didn’t miss the way Hawk’s eyes darted to yours before going back to Midoriya.

Midoriya narrowed his eyes, “I’m just going to be honest with you. Bakugo came to us with this crazy story and told us you and Dabi were the ones who had y/n. I thought he was losing it. But wouldn’t you know it, we followed you here to find y/n and Dabi?”

Hawks rolled his eyes, “The kid was losing it, which is why I called you in the first place to take care of him. But if you don’t believe me just ask her yourself. Ask y/n what happened.”

Midoriya turned to look you and his face softened when he saw the emotional state you and Bakugo were in. “Y/n? Can you please tell us what happened to you?”

You took a deep breath, trying to quickly formulate a lie they would believe. “I uh… started to panic about what my future was going to look like here in Japan. So… I went for a walk to clear my head. Dabi cornered and abducted me. He brought me to Shigaraki and he’s been trying to convince me to join their side for the past few days. I finally built up enough strength to take him on, so we fought. I guess we were louder than I thought because someone must have heard us and called in a noise complaint or something.”

Bakugo’s grip on you tightened, “You’re lying. I can feel it through the bond. Why?”

You could feel your palms start to sweat. Was it even worth it anymore? If you didn’t play along, they’d release your dirty little secrets. But was it even worth it at this point? Maybe if you told them the truth they’d help. They probably want to take down Shigaraki just as much if not more. But then again, they’re heroes. They aren’t supposed to kill. Your mind was whirling out of control.

Hawks cleared his throat, “You’re not exactly making me look good here y/n.”

What do you do? They had once threatened to kidnap Katsuki again, and after spending enough time with Dabi, you know he doesn’t make idle threats.

You looked at Bakugo, “You would love me no matter what? Right?”

He kissed your forehead, “Yes, of course dumbass.”

Hawks eyes grew as he remembered that you and Bakugo could communicate telepathically. “Hey conversations need to be said out loud for the rest of the class to hear!”

You knew by telling them the truth you would be fucking over Hawks. He would lose his hero license. He would probably be arrested. Could you do that to him? Is what he’s doing now, that much different than what you used to do in the states?

You stood up on shaky legs and walked over to where your file was. The one you had refused to look at earlier. You handed Bakugo the file, “Everything I’ve never told you about me is in that file.”

Bakugo took the file from you but he didn’t open it. After talking to Mercy, he had a pretty good idea of what was in it and that wasn’t something he really wanted to see. “What’s this got to do with anything? Are they blackmailing you? I don’t understand!”

You swayed on your feet, and you squeezed your eyes shut. You were still incredibly tired, but at least you could finally feel the power that had been humming at the back of your head start to simmer down. “I got an email from the league threatening to leak my past if I didn’t meet with them.” You opened your eyes to look at the three men staring at you. Bakugo looked worried, Midoriya looked confused, and Hawks looked nervous. “They wanted me to become a spy for them. Jokes on them though because there was already a slim chance of me actually becoming a hero.”

Midoriya looked between you and Hawks, “Okay, but how does Hawks play into this. It doesn’t make any sense.”

You needed to really focus on how you answered this question. Bakugo would be able to tell if you were lying. So, you would just have to bend the truth a little. “Hawks was running some secret operation trying to take down Shigaraki. He wanted me to help him from the inside.” You looked at Hawks who looked like he was ready to jump out of the window. “I know it was supposed to be confidential, but I’m sure they won’t tell anyone.”

You reached out to Bakugo through the bond to feel him out. If he was suspicious, he was doing a really good job hiding it. Without saying anything he stood and scooped you up bridal style. “I can feel how exhausted you are. Let’s go home. We can talk more about this after you’ve recouped.” You leaned into him eyelids already drooping. “Deku can you call Icy Hot and catch him up on everything. Let him know we’re on our way home.” He tucked some of your unruly hair behind your ear. “Mercy’s downstairs and itching to see you. He didn’t want to overwhelm you with having to feel both of us again, so he’s tried to keep his side of the bond quite.”

You hummed as you reached out to Mercy through the bond. “Hey buddy. We’re on our way down.”

“Thank god! I was so worried. Are you okay?”

You yawned and felt Katsuki pull you closer. “I’m fine, j-just a little… tired.”

With that you passed out. Letting the fatigue and exhaustion from the past few days take over you.

*******************Bakugo’s POV****************

Something was wrong. The story made sense sure, but there was something in the back of his head screaming at him that the danger hadn’t passed. He was still very suspicious of Hawks. He trusted you, so even if you were lying, he’d assume it was for a good reason. He just hated feeling like you couldn’t trust him. He’d play along with whatever game you were playing for now. He knew if he pushed at all, you’d push right back stubborn as always. He needed to stay close to you. He needed to keep you safe. So, if the only way he can do that is by pretending he’s stupid then that’s what he’ll do.

He carried you into the new townhouse. Boxes and half assembled furniture still littered the place. He hadn’t seen the new place at all considering he had been out looking for you the past few days since graduation. He had seen pictures though and he knew which room was meant to be his… well yours. Now that were moving in to.

He climbed the stairs very slowly, careful not to wake you up. When he opened the door leading to your shared room he was surprised to see all of the furniture was already put in place and the bed was made. Everything else was still in boxes stacked up against the wall. But the fact the one of the guys had been nice enough to do this… it meant a lot to him.

He passed the bed and went straight to the bathroom. This was going to be a little bit trickier. He got the water running to fill up the tub, then he carefully sat you on the edge of the sink while keeping you leaned against him. It was a tedious task to take your clothes off without waking you up. But you needed to be cleaned up before getting into bed.

He really wanted to comb your hair for you but he knew how wild your tangles got and that wasn’t something he could do right now. He gently placed you in the tub, careful to keep your head above water. It was odd. He was your boyfriend and he had seen you naked plenty of times. But something about this made him feel uncomfortable. He made sure to be as respectful as possible while scrubbing the blood, soot, and dried sweat from your body.

His hands began to shake as he thought about all the shit you must have gone through. After all he’d been in your shoes once. Kidnapped by the league, wanting to force him to join their side. He knew how he’d felt afterwards, and hell there were still moments now he cringed at the memories. He’d felt useless, dumb, and worst he had this feeling of dread. What had they seen in him that would make them think he was villainous?

He wrapped you in a towel and carried you to bed. He walked over to a box of clothes and pulled out one of his t-shirts for you. When he returned his eyes kept being drawn back to the folder that he had tossed on the bed earlier. He didn’t want to look in it. It seemed like an invasion of your privacy. But you were also the one who had given it to him. He may have never understood why they chose him. But here in his hands was the evidence as to why they chose you. He didn’t know if it was better not knowing. At least he could pretend it was a mistake, that they had just misjudged him. But that wasn’t option for you. You knew exactly why they thought you could be a villain and that made his heart hurt.

He crawled into bed behind you and pulled your back to his chest. He was just going to have to remind you every day that you were a good person until you started believing it. He gave the back of your head a kiss before reaching to turn the lamp off.

In the darkness of the room he saw your phone screen light up. Not to be nosy but with everything going on he just wanted to make sure the league still wasn’t trying to contact you.

It was a text from an unknown number and all it said was – “Hey the package you were waiting on is arriving a little sooner than expected. I can drop it off at the new place tomorrow night ;)”

***************** Dabi’s POV******************************

He can’t fucking believe you. Sure, your stupid boyfriend showing up threw a wrench in the plan, but then you just had to go and totally derail it. Dusty was coming back early and he was going to want to see his new prize. You didn’t realize that by going home you were just putting all of your precious new roommates in danger, including your boyfriend, and Dabi’s own brother.

He huffed as he hit send. Hoping this would be obvious enough for you to understand you needed to get the fuck out of that house before Shiggy decided to disintegrate the entire thing and everything in it.

“Hey relax would you. This is probably a good thing. She’ll get some much-needed rest after the hell you put her through.” Hawks took a sip of his beer, feet up on the coffee table. “Besides if Bakugo and his pals are anywhere near her when Shigaraki shows up you know they’ll help. I can’t see him taking them all on and succeeding.”

Dabi popped the top off of his own beer and threw it at his feathered frenemy. “That’s not the point. No one else was supposed to be involved. She was supposed to meet him for her “evaluation” and take him down. One on one. No one else gets hurt. Now she’s fucked everything up!” His finger hovered over the send button. All he had to do was press it and all her secrets are out there. Sure, it would be a petty move on his part. But he wanted her to know he means business. She can’t back out of this.

Hawks must have known what he was thinking because he sighed, “Look man, if you do that. You ruin her life. You know how hard it is living life as an outcast. Don’t be selfish.”

“Selfish? How the fuck is this selfish? I told her what was at stake, she did this to herself.” Dabi could feel his hands start to heat up and he took a few breaths to calm himself before he melted his phone.

“You push that button and she’ll run. You know that! And where do you think she’ll go? Straight to us! You want her around so badly your willing to ruin her life.” Hawks chugged the rest of his beer before standing up and walking over to where Dabi’s finger still hovered over his phone’s screen. “Don’t ruin her life just because you finally found someone who can tolerate your bullshit.”

Dabi narrowed his eyes, “I don’t know why you think I care about her, or her fucking cushy life. This is business, nothing personal about it.” He hit send and was surprised when guilt immediately washed over him. There was no taking it back now.

***********************************************************************

Tags : @tspice283 , @realityisoftendisapointing , @imbi-101 , @thoughtfulpandazine2, @hotarumorikawa , @huh-iwasntpayingattention , @starfishlovingbnha , @weebnumber3622 , @mixedfeeelings , @munchmunch01 , @inumorph@xxoperatexx @runrabbitrun3 @insane-without-delirium @yolei94 @let-love-bleeds-red

[artificialqueens]

Don't Need a Flight to Get to Paradise (Crystal x Gigi) - A-tresia

Gigi methodically slices the tape open and digs inside. Her eyes widen and her face is suddenly hot and red. And even though there’s an obvious look of embarrassment seen on her face, she’s still thankful that the camera is focused on her and not on the contents of the package.

A/N: Some non-AU smut because (don’t deny it!) we want this and we absolutely deserve this. This is probably the filthiest thing I will ever attempt to put into words. Enjoy!

Gigi sets her phone on the table and presses the button to start her Live. She fixes her hair while she waits. “Hey, everyone!” she says still combing her fingers through her freshly curled hair. “It’s been a while since I’ve gone Live and I thought,” she emphasizes the last syllable with a nod, “since I have a little bit of free time that I could go do an unboxing for you guys.” She squints and reads through the comments as she waits for more people to join.

She picks up her phone and flips the camera to pan across the pile in front of her. “Okay, so, I’ve got quite a  bit to open. There’s a couple of PR boxes and some merch from my season 12 sisters,” she explains, pointing to the boxes.

Struggling to open boxes with one hand, she decides to prop her phone against the wall and sit in front of it as she goes through the rest of the boxes. She’s already opened two make up PR boxes when she sees a familiar name on one of them, deciding this is what she’s opening next.

“Look, you guys! I have a package from my girlfriend,” she says playing up the Crygi clout. No one has to know the real tea, they can guess all they want.

Gigi holds up the box to the camera to point to the Crystal Methyd sticker plastered on the top. The comments are suddenly wild. “I wonder what’s inside,” she says, shaking the box. It sounds solid but it might just be packaging. “It’s probably new merch. Thanks, Crystal!”

Gigi methodically slices the tape open and digs inside. Her eyes widen and her face is suddenly hot and red. And even though there’s an obvious look of embarrassment seen on her face, she’s still thankful that the camera is focused on her and not on the contents of the package.

Fuck.

Fuuuuuuck.

She smiles slyly at the camera and quickly grabs a new box to open, trying to cover up the internal panic she’s currently experiencing. “Sorry, you guys. It looks like it’s unreleased merch. Let’s wait for Crystal to release it before I share. Okay?”

The comments are even crazier than before. Asking what’s inside the box. And why she’s suddenly so red in the face. She knows her socials will be flooded with this.

Gigi ignores the comments and even though she only planned to be on Live to open maybe two boxes, she proceeds to open three more make up boxes and merch packages from Jan and Nicky. She’s hoping people will forget. But who is she kidding? Stans never forget.

“Thanks for keeping me company for the last, uh,” she looks over at her clock, “for the last hour and a half. I’ll catch you guys again soon!” Gigi winks and ends the Live.

Not even five minutes after she ends the Live, she gets a FaceTime call and Crystal’s fully-painted face floods her screen. “Gigi Goode, why are people tagging me in screenshots of your Live and asking me what I sent you?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what you sent me,” Gigi glares.

Crystal raises a brow at her. “You don’t like it?”

“I mean, I haven’t gotten the chance to fully look at it yet.” She reaches into the box to pull out the contents — a bottle of lubricant, and… Gigi holds it up to the camera. “You got me a dildo.” Like it isn’t obvious what’s in her hand.

Crystal leans in closer to the camera. “Not just any dildo,” she smirks like she’s so proud of herself. “It’s a clone-a-willy.”

“A what?”

“A clone-a-willy,” Crystal repeats slowly.

Gigi’s eyes widen in realization. She takes a good look at the dildo in her hand. The length. The girth. The slight curve. The vein underneath. They all feel right. And real. But it’s cold and made of silicone and the person it’s supposed to be attached to is 1,600 miles away. She looks back at Crystal. “So you mean this is —”

“Mmhmm, balls included!” She definitely looks like she’s proud of herself, like she did the most groundbreaking thing on earth. “It’s even really close to my skin tone.”

Gigi laughs. “Were there other options?”

“Oh, I definitely thought of making it in an obnoxious glow-in-the-dark hot pink. I could make you one in pink if you want that, I still have the mold.” Crystal snorts as Gigi proceeds to inspect her new toy. “There’s a suction cup so you could use it on any flat surface,” she says this so very seriously you’d think she’s selling the product.

Gigi finds a button at the bottom. “Oh my god, Crystal. It’s a vibrator too?”

“Only the best for Gigi Goode.” They both snort. But clearly, Crystal is more amused. “Also, Geege, unreleased merch? Should we make a profit out of my dick? Am I a genius or am I a genius?”

“Hey, your dick is awesome. But I’m not sharing. I barely get any of it.” Crystal hasn’t stopped laughing since she suggested making multiple models to sell. Gigi thinks back to the last time they saw each other and realizes how long ago it’s been. With all the touring they’ve been doing, there just hasn’t been time to see each other in between. “Long-distance sucks,” she pouts.

“I know, baby,” Crystal sighs. Underneath her full clown makeup, Gigi knows she’s pouting too. “But we’re seeing each other in like two weeks so that’s something to look forward to, right?”

Gigi whines like a child. “But the last time I saw you was six weeks ago!”

“That’s why I cloned my dick for you. So you can fuck yourself with it and I can watch over FaceTime and you don’t have to miss me as much.”

“That does sound hot,” she considers. Gigi cocks her head to the side and bites her lower lip and looks up at Crystal from underneath her lashes. “Can we use it now?”

Crystal wiggles her brows at Gigi. “Do you want to?”

“I do,” she nods. She takes in Crystal’s face that’s taking up her screen and scrunches her nose. “But your mug really isn’t doing it for me.”

“Later, then?”

“For sure,” Gigi winks. “No, but seriously. I appreciate the sentiment. I just miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

“Should I send you a replica of my dick too?”

Crystal perks up at the suggestion, deciding then and there that she’ll send Gigi a kit — in maybe neon purple. “But it’s messy to make. It was like a science experiment!”

“Crystal. Elizabeth. Methyd,” she says, feigning shock. “Did you stick your dingaling in any of the science experiments you did in school?” Gigi can’t stop laughing at the mental image of Crystal sticking her erect penis into a model volcano.

“Shut up! It was hard to stay hard.”

—

Gigi couldn’t get anything else done for the rest of the day with the anticipation of what’s to come. Besides, she’s maintained a semi since they hung up and it didn’t really help with her already short attention span. She considered rubbing one out just for a little relief but decided to wait it out. It’s going to be better this way.

She’s already in bed, still semi-hard and freshly showered, with Crystal’s penis replica and a bottle of lube within arms reach when her phone buzzes in her hand.

Crystal: 2 mins. Get your laptop set up.

She doesn’t even bother to reply. She arranges her laptop, puts on her earphones (which, for a bit, she thinks of forgoing since her roommates are sure to hear her anyway), and positions herself on the bed checking to make sure that Crystal will be able to see everything.

In exactly two minutes, Crystal’s smiling face (void of makeup, thank god) fills her laptop screen. “Hey,” they both say at the same time. Gigi feels herself harden further at the look on Crystal’s face as she stares back at her.

“Geege, you shouldn’t have bothered with clothes. I didn’t!” Crystal moves back against her pillows as she pushes her laptop a little bit further from her to give Gigi the full view of her already hard penis. “Come on, I couldn’t be the only one naked here!”

“Sorry.” Gigi shakes herself out of her stupor at seeing Crystal naked, thumbing around the tip of her dick and quickly pulls her tank top over her head. She grips herself through the fabric of her underwear with a groan.

“Gigi,” Crystal breathes.

She slowly pulls her underwear down her legs, watching Crystals breath hitch. It makes her feel flushed and hot all over. “Happy?”

“Very.” She looks straight into Gigi’s eyes and wraps her hand around her cock, slowly stroking herself for Gigi to watch. “You look so good.” There isn’t a need for long introductions, they both know they’re on this call for one thing.

Gigi’s mouth feels dry. So instead of answering, she starts stroking, matching her pace with Crystal. They stroke in tandem for a while, eyes not leaving each other,  before Crystal tells Gigi to get the lube. She watches Gigi squeeze a generous amount onto her fingers. “Ready?”

“Can’t wait,” she says as she shifts to spread her legs wider so Crystal has a better view. “Can’t wait to stretch myself out so I can take your cock.” Gigi fucking hates dirty talk but she just misses Crystal so much she doesn’t even have the energy to cringe at herself; instead, she reaches down to rub her fingers over her hole with warmed up lube.

Crystal stops touching herself. Instead she focuses on Gigi’s movements. She watches Gigi slowly slip a finger in, whimpering quietly at the sensation of a single digit sliding in and out of her.

“Go on,” Crystal urges.

Gigi adds another finger and feels herself stretch and clench around her fingers. “Feels so good,” she breathes out. It’s been three days since she’s masturbated and fucked herself and six weeks since she’s had Crystal’s actual dick. She pulls one knee up for more space and moves her fingers in and out, gradually increasing her pace, going deeper each time. Her other hand wraps around her cock and strokes in time with her fingers.

A third finger slips alongside the first two and Gigi feels fuller. “Crystal,” she moans.

Crystal’s cock jumps at the sound. She’s so painfully hard she firmly wraps her hand around the base of her cock, delaying getting even more worked up until Gigi has her Crystal dildo up in her ass. “You’re doing so well, Geege,” she encourages. “Get yourself nice and stretched.”

Gigi can’t wait to get Crystal’s fake cock inside her. She shudders in anticipation. “C-can — Crys, I need —“ She sounds wrecked. Gigi is easy to work up; so easy to get all wet and open and desperate.

“Fuck, Gigi. You have no idea what you fucking look like.” She watches Gigi’s hips jerk. “Are you ready for my cock, baby?” Gigi couldn’t even form a sentence. Her jaw is slack and she just nods in agreement. “Look at yourself, so slick and open, I could just slide right in.”

“I want you to.”

“Do your fingers feel good?”

“I-I, y-yes, yeah. I like yours better, though.”

Gigi removes her hand from her throbbing cock and pulls her fingers out. She reaches out for her dildo, licks up one side of it and winks at Crystal.

“Torture,” Crystal groans.

“I would much prefer if this were actually you.”

Gigi pulls her laptop closer and rolls over on her stomach, finding a little relief by rubbing herself against her sheets. She tilts her screen down and positions her new toy and herself so Crystal has full view of her mouth.

“You’re gonna want to start touching yourself,” she says before licking the tip of the dildo slowly. Crystal’s mouth hangs open, practically drooling at the sight, and just nods as she tries her best to mimic the movement of Gigi’s mouth and hands with her own hands.

Gigi maintains eye contact with Crystal while she wraps her lips around the toy and starts giving it a very enthusiastic blow job, easing her mouth down and coating it with saliva. She strokes her hand up and down the way she knows Crystal likes as she moves her lips up and down, stopping every so often to lick the shaft and head. At the back of her head, she knows how ridiculous she might look giving a cold silicone toy a blowjob but it feels so much like Crystal she doesn’t even give it another thought.

Crystal is stroking herself with her right hand in a regular fluid motion, matching Gigi’s pace. The fingers on her left hand pinches at her nipple piercing.

“So hot,” Gigi comments.

“Feels good,” Crystal whispers as she watches Gigi take all of it into her mouth, closing her eyes as she relaxes her throat and swallows around it. It’s obscene but Crystal can’t look away. “Fuck, need to be inside you.”

Gigi draws off the dildo with a smirk, pressing a kiss to the tip of the toy. She quickly gets up from the bed, taking the laptop, the bottle of lube, and the very wet toy with her.

“Where are you going?” Crystal asks.

She sets her laptop down. “This will be easier on the floor,” she explains.

Gigi reaches for the dildo and squirts extra lube onto the already saliva-slick surface. She gets on her knees and sticks the suction of the dildo directly on the floor underneath her.

“Wanna ride you,” she says positioning herself. Crystal not able to take her eyes away from Gigi’s hard dick pointing straight at her.

“Yeah, okay.” Crystal leans forward to get a better look at Gigi rising up a little bit on her knees, grabbing the shaft,  and slowly lowering herself down on the silicone cock. “This is so hot, fuck.”

She doesn’t realize that she has her eyes closed until she feels the base of the toy pressed up against her and she slightly stumbles forward at the fullness. Gigi moans at the realization that she’s got it all in; so lewd that Crystal thinks Gigi just came right then.

“You okay, babe?”

“Fucking awesome,” Gigi breathes out. “Feels exactly like you. Not that the dildo is as good as the original, but still.“

Crystal laughs and this sets Gigi’s laughter off too. How very fitting for them to be laughing while doing this.

She waits for Gigi to calm down and adjust to the intrusion and only starts to touch herself again when Gigi starts moving.

Gigi begins to rock herself up and down on the shaft, encouraging Crystal to touch herself. She thinks she could come just like this — not touching herself, just fucking herself on the perfect replica of Crystal’s cock. She lets her own dick bounce against her body as she rides the toy in little short motions.

Gigi moans and whimpers as she watches Crystal languidly work a generously lubed hand over herself.

“I feel like I’m watching a porno,” Crystal comments as her hand starts to work faster on her own cock. Gigi tries to laugh but it quickly turns into an obscene moan. “Touch yourself, Gee,” Crystal encourages.

"Oh, fuck! Baby, I love your dick so much.” Gigi grips her own dick and pumps along with Crystal. She sets a steady pace bouncing on the dildo making her thighs burn. But that’s the least of her concerns. The burn just intensifies everything.

"Yeah?”

“Mmhmm,” she answers, biting her lower lip.

Crystal strokes her cock slowly, trying to make the sensation last, but the sight and sounds of Gigi pleasuring herself was just too much.

“G-Gigi,” Crystal stutters, struggling to find words. “I c-can’t —“

“Go on, baby. I want to see you come.” Crystal gasps out a breath and instinctively closes her eyes. “Eyes on me, babe,” Gigi croons, syncing her movement on the toy to Crystal’s hands.

She watches Crystal work herself over the edge, listening to her shaky breaths and pitchy moans. She didn’t know she could feel pleasure just by listening to Crystal moan like this, listening to her cry, and try to hold in her whines.

“Oohhh, fu-fuuuuck me,” Crystal moans. Suddenly her hand is moving so fast, Gigi doesn’t know where to focus her eyes — her face contorting with pleasure, her hand pinching her pierced nipple, her hips jerking upward, or the cum shooting over her spasming abdomen.

“Fuck, that was hot,” Crystal says as she pushes back hair that’s stuck to the sweat on her forehead, still panting. She looks back at Gigi who’s waiting for her to recover, still moving her hands over her still hard and throbbing dick with long strokes. “Your turn.”

Gigi leans back against her calves and bottoms out on the dildo. She wraps her hand firmly around her cock and thrusts up into her fist. “Fuck, it’s really — ah — i-it’s really too much. I’m really so — I can’t —” She’s no longer stroking but thrusting uncontrollably up into her hand. “S-so close,” she moans. “Gonna come. Fuck, I’m gonna —” Gigi cries out, eyes rolling back, as thick ropes of cum splatter all the way up her torso, some reaching all the way up to her chin.

Her orgasm is so intense, there’s a deep sense of calm that spreads throughout her body. She slowly lifts herself from the dildo and collapses on the floor, panting and jerking and not even bothering to clean up. She’ll deal with the sticky mess later.

She opens her eyes to see Crystal staring back at her in a daze. Gigi’s never felt the distance between them as sharply as she does now. All she wants is to hold Crystal and be held.

“Wow,” Crystal whispers. Gigi just nods, still too overwhelmed to speak.

For a moment they just stay there, a moment frozen in time, watching each other and drinking it all in.

“Crystal, I —“

“I know. I feel bad that I’m not there to do anything about it.”

“Two weeks.” Crystal nods in agreement. “I’m sticky,” Gigi points out.

“We should probably both clean up.”

“I’ll call you again in 15, yes?”

“Take your time.” Gigi nods.

They wave and blow kisses at each other before Crystal ends the call with a love you lingering in the air. Gigi sighs, equally satiated and sad. Two weeks.

[beerecordings]

Memory - Part 3

He shivers on the floor of his cell, curled in on himself, sobbing from the cold.

Frigid air burns down against him like a solstice curse, biting venomously at his bare flesh. He used to say he preferred winter to summer, preferred a nip of cold and deep breaths of clear air as you tug up your scarf and hurry off down the icy pavement to the melting, insufferable, inescapable heat of the summertime, but this?

Hellfire runs cold.

“You look a little frosty there, Oskar.”

Oh, joy. And someone to mock him, too, just to make his life a little more perfect.

“Fuck off,” he croaks, turning around to hide his face from Anti.

“You're having another one of your crybaby days, are you?”

He digs his nails into his shoulders. If he draws some blood out, maybe it will be warm. He can't feel his nose anymore.

“I'm having hypothermia,” Henrik corrects, tears washing down his frozen cheeks. “I will die if you leave me like this.”

“Wouldn't be the worst thing.”

Henrik gives a dry sob, huddling in so tight his head hits his knees, rocking his body against the floor. He needs something to think about, anything to keep his mind off this. Warm coffee the way Marvin makes it, Jameson resting his head between his shoulderblades when he's tired, Jackie's voice, zipping around town on Chase's bike in early August, a nephew and niece set on one thigh each, nice dinners with nice girls, Marvin's cats, his room, his bed, his house, his friends.

He wants to go home.

“How about a blanket?” offers Anti.

“Ha ha,” rasps Henrik, swallowing back a cough.

“I'm serious. Look. Here it is, a nice one!”

“Well, are you planning to give it to me? Huh?”

“Calm down, Franz, of course I am. It just comes at a cost, of course. I can't give you something for nothing.”

Henrik should know better than to look. But he does. And fuck, but it's a beautiful blanket.

Fleece. Storm blue. Big enough to keep a pair of Inuit warm in an icestorm.

“Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you,” he chants, covering his eyes. “You're mocking me, you're mocking me!”

Anti laughs, throwing the blanket over his shoulder. “You really don't expect anything from me anymore!”

“What? What do you want? Should I beg for you again? Do you get off on that? My other ear, would you like that? My hair, just to make sure I don't have anything at all to keep warm? Blood, you fucking vampire?”

Anti's smile is different today. His tongue flickers out over a twisted grin, one of his canines poking out to gnaw on his lip. His eyes flicker from side to side, assessing, assessing, impatient.

“Nothing so worthless as your little body today, my puppet. Don't you know I'm cold too? Just because I'm immortal doesn't mean I want to be uncomfortable. I will trade you this warmth for some of yours. Something to keep the heart cozy on lonely winter days like this one.”

Henrik's heartbeat rockets and he shoves himself farther away, scraping his back against the wall, gritting his teeth hard in his mouth.

“No,” he snarls, trembling so hard his muscles ache from it. “No, I hated that, having you take something from my head. I still don't know what I’ve up.”

“Pet, it wasn't something important. Just a couple little scenes. You picked them out yourself! And I'll let you pick this one too. Just something small, for a big, gorgeous blanket. For your life, really. I won't give you anything otherwise. And you will freeze, if you don't have it.” He beams with mismatched eyes.

“No,” whispers Henrik, turning away. Block him out. Ignore him. Think of sunlight drifting down through the window in their kitchen, making sure Jackie has enough sunscreen on his neck, his favorite sweater, the dog that lives across the street, Chase's chocolate pumpkin bread fresh out of the oven, a kiss, a hug, mittens and scarves, sleeping wrapped up in blankets on a grand Queen mattress...

“Don't ignore me, you stupid little bitch!” screams Anti, a glitch spasming through his voice and making it ring in a high-pitched whine. Henrik sobs and covers his bleeding ear, curling impossibly tighter. “I'll be back in an hour! And by then you'll be begging to hand over whole meals worth of memories for some fleece on your skin, mark my fucking words!”

Anti is gone.

Henrik is left alone with the cold, gnawing away at him like a toddler given a pig's rib to eat.

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

His hair was warm beneath his fingers.

Henrik pushed his glasses up on his nose and looked up at the picture of the model on the counter in front of him, combing through the downy curls, wetting them straight with a little spray bottle which, before that day, had only ever been used to train Marvin's cats to stop scratching at the curtains. Jameson, eyes closed, relaxed, sat straight and still on his little stool, waiting for him to finish. Henrik snipped, snipped, snipped away at his hair, shorter and shorter, neater and neater.

The door pushed open across the house and he heard Marvin and Chase hollering from the cold, bringing a draft of freezing wind with them as they scampered across the doorstep. Jackie shouted a greeting and Henrik rolled his eyes as the three of them began a yelled conversation from two different sides of the house. Jamie only tittered in reply and Henrik patted his head, trying not to smile.

The heater kicked on and poured warm air down on their heads, ruffling Jameson's new haircut as Henrik finished double-checking the last few strands. He clapped a hand on his little brother's shoulder, humming to himself, and began wiping up stray pieces of brown and teal hair from the sink, leaving Jameson to consider himself in the mirror for a moment.

When he looked back up, Henrik found him smiling.

Something warm as fresh coffee rose up in Henrik's chest. Jameson grinned at him and brushed his hands through his shortened hair, pleased.

“It is very you,” said Henrik, drawing another smile out of him. “A little old-fashioned, but you pull it off.”

“Thanks to you,” answered Jameson's hands.

Henrik grinned and set his chin on top of his head, running his fingers over the side of Jameson's hair. His little brother reached up to find his hands and squeezed the fingers fondly, and for a moment, Henrik let himself rest there with him, soaking in his warmth.

“Th-that,” stammers Henrik, his hands reaching desperately through the frigid bars of his cage, scrabbling for the blanket. “Please. Take that for the blanket. He would not mind. He would not want for me to be frozen to death. Surely. Surely.”

“Sure, yeah, he wouldn't care.” Shaking with anticipation, Anti drops the blanket and leans down to grab Henrik's chin, tilting his head up towards him. His eyes are colder than the concrete, and entering into them is like his head had been put through the ice of a frozen river, but then the moment is gone, and so too is the memory of cutting Jameson's hair, and he is alone with his blanket and his shame, wondering what it was that he surrendered.

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

Henrik is awoken two days later by cold iron slamming against the bars of his cage.

“What, what?” he cries, jolting awake and striking his head hard on the top bars. Whimpering, he sinks back in on himself, staring tearfully up at Anti as the pain rocks through his skull.

He expects him to be laughing.

He is not laughing.

Anti's eyes are those of a dog chained away from its meat for too long and his hands tremble minutely, clenching and unclenching around the carved handle of the iron knife. He swallows and glances around the cage, his eyes finally settling back on Henrik's again.

This is not the first time Anti has looked so wild Henrik does not call him human. Shrinking in on himself, Henrik closes his eyes and prays that whatever it is that Anti has devised to entertain himself tonight will not be so horrible.

No, wait – today, not tonight. There's a little light come in Henrik's window still.

“Why are you waking me up so early?” rasps Henrik, by now adjusted completely to his brother's nocturnality. “What's wrong?”

“Shut up,” snaps Anti, drawing away from the cage. “Shut up, just – just – I want more of that. That thing you gave me.”

“The... the memory? From the other day?”

“Yes, you brainless welp, what else could you possibly have to give me? I'm bored out of mind. I'm always – I'm always so bored, you don't understand, it's like nothing ever even – in my head, nothing hurts, nothing aches, nothing – I don't feel – ”

Anti trails off, snarling, tearing at his hair. He grips the knife too tight in his hand.

Henrik watches, picking at a scar on his wrist, trying to think. This is just another puzzle. He's good at puzzles. He can figure it out. Right now, his intuition is telling him the best solution is to keep quiet and let this unfold.

“Give me a memory, Klaus,” Anti entreats him, recovering himself a little, standing up with a coy smile meant to be warm, his voice dripping with sugar. “You'll be a good boy for master, won't you? You'll give your owner a memory like a good little creature.”

Henrik shivers and rubs at his shoulders, curling up in his blanket.

“C-can't give you something for nothing,” he croaks finally, pushing his shattered glasses up on his nose.

Anti lets out a sharp bark of laughter. His eyes are bright. He holds up a finger and then retreats into the hallway, his heavy footsteps stomping away, only to return moments later with his hands full.

Henrik straightens up so fast he nearly strikes his head again, his mouth falling slightly open. He stares between Anti and his reward, trying to figure out if this is a joke or not.

“Tasty, yes? Good for you! You must keep the scurvy away, pet. Yummy, sweet. Good to drink too. Mmh, lecker!”

Henrik's fingers reach out past the bars of his cage, barely skimming the scratchy string that binds together a bulk bag of blood oranges.

“Six whole pounds,” crows Anti, pressing them a little closer, letting Henrik smell the good sweet skin. “I knew you'd love it. When was the last time you had a treat like this? Or anything to eat but yams and canned corn, ha! Come on, so, darling, it's a deal?”

He licks at his lips. Henrik tries not to lick at his own.

“Throw in a couple jugs of water and some protein.” He holds his chin up. “And I'll give you what you want.”

A ripple of glitching runs through Anti's form and he drops the oranges to the ground, stalking off again and coming back with three whole liter-jugs of water and a can of – ugh, canned tuna. It'll have to do.

“Something like last time,” Anti demands, opening the cage door. “But – but – I don't know. Bitter. Everything you give me is so sweet.”

Henrik's mouth twitches grimly as he tugs the oranges towards himself, tearing into the skin with shaking hands and eyes blown wide with the strength of his hunger and craving. He wants to shove his hand inside the orange and lick the juice off like a wild thing, wants to tear the fruit out and fill his mouth until he fucking chokes, and if it kills him, then what a way to go!

No, no! Savor it, Henrik, savor it. Staring down at the little scrap of skin, he reaches slowly up, and places it into his mouth, chewing down on the almost empty, but ever-so-slightly sweet taste of the rind.

“Puppet,” growls Anti, crossing his arms over his chest. “Don't ignore me.”

“Sorry.” Henrik chews down faster on the rind, a cold smile sitting on his cracked lips. “You said something bitter?”

“Yes. Yes.”

He can give him that.

“Well, what did I give you last time?”

Anti shuffles, tilting his head side-to-side. “Well... the point is, I want something... personal. Personal. And I want – I want – ”

He shakes his head and hisses, drawing in close. His fingers curl around the bars of the cage.

“I want something with Jameson. Something personal with Jameson. Like that haircut... him smiling at you. Stroking his hair. Give that to me, but bitter.”

Henrik's blood seems to chill against his bones.

And then he is spitting out the orange rind, shoving the bag back at Anti, and his heart is pulsing to get out of his chest. Revulsion makes him choke and shame makes his vision blur, painful sobbing hiccups interrupting rapid breaths. Anti is shouting, pressing the oranges back towards him, grabbing at his hair and slamming him back against the wall of the cage, but Henrik isn't listening, not now, not anymore.

“You will never see anything of Jameson's friendship!” he shrieks, thrashing against the grip around his throat. “You will never see anything of what it is like to be loved by him! You are nothing! He abhors you! He despises you! He doesn't belong to you and you will never get your hands on him again! Not in reality, not in my head, not on your useless, horrible, god-awful pustule of an existence!”

Anti's anger is a hurricane, enough to lift cars, enough to lift houses, sweeping across whole cities, across whole lands, with a noise like the whipping of a thousand winds. “Don't you say that to me!” howls Anti, striking him, striking him, striking him until his face is one red and purple bruise, until bones poke out from his cheek and neither of his eyes can open. “Stupid fucking brat!”

“I never should have given you anything,” wheezes Henrik, clawing at his hands. “Own my body, huh? Call me your dog? Well, Antisepticeye. You can keep me in a cage all you want – ”

Anti strikes him across the head and makes him reel, but still he is speaking.

“You can beat me within an inch of my life – ”

Or perhaps farther, he almost believes, sucking in a desperate breath.

“But you will never own my mind.”

“Little monster.” The words drip from Anti's mouth like saliva from a lion's. His eyes are pools of pitch and his lips drawn back in a fang-toothed snarl. “Stupid little monster. You really think you can keep anything from me? I will suck every memory, every moment, every fucking feeling out of that little head of yours. I will take Chase, I will take Jameson, I will take Henrik himself. There is nothing – nothing – you can do to stop me. You will never be able to hold on. You will never be able to deny me. Weak, stupid, desperate, ugly little animal.”

“Go fuck yourself,” whispers Henrik, a smile on his relentless mouth. “I will never give you another memory again.”

For a second, Anti's fist draws back yet again, and Henrik braces for a hundredth blow, his mouth tightening in a grimace.

But it never falls.

Anti's voice, when he speaks, has lost most of its vitriol.

“You really are very stupid,” he says softly. “If you think that that is true.”

His weight disappears from Henrik's chest and legs and the door of the cage clicks locked again, leaving Henrik fuzzily clinging to consciousness and alone, without even an orange to comfort him.

“You'll shatter again soon enough,” Anti promises, drawing back. “Whatever happens, you always have days where I find you in so many pieces you would give anything to try and put yourself back together again. But it does not matter. I have other methods I can use, you know. Your brothers are getting sloppy hiding from me, puppet.”

Henrik drags himself back from the brink of darkness, awakened by the words.

“Wh-what?” his aching lips manage.

Anti's laugh titters through the burning light of the afternoon.

“One day, Albert. One day you will not be the only one down here in this basement.”

No. No. Anything but that. He wants to rage at Anti. To get up and swear to him that he will never lay a hand on a single one of his brothers and friends.

But he does not have the strength.

“My name,” he whispers, as the sound of footsteps drifts away. “Is Henrik.”

He faints clean away. When he dreams, it is of clocks and button-ups and soft, downy curls between his fingers.

[timetoresurface]

secrets (4) / BBH

Y/N x CEO BAEKHYUN

5k, next part will be final

I apologize that it took me a while

PART 1 // PART 2 // PART 3 // PART 4 // PART 5

Hopping from one job to another, you really wanted to keep your position at Banking and Finance. If you would have to describe your perfect work environment, it definitely wouldn’t be at that stupid finance magazine that had the worst coffee machine in history. But hey, it did pay the bills, and that’s what everyone does, right? A perfect job doesn’t exist, right? A perfect life doesn’t exist, right? Only in cheap romantic comedies was life perfect, and you certainly weren’t in any. At least the last time you checked.

The sunlight trickled in through the blinds. Slowly, and reluctantly you uncover your face. You sit up, dragging your feet off the bed while rubbing your knuckles onto your eyes. Everything is blurry. For a second, you don’t know who or where you are. Then everything processed. You are in Baekhyun’s suite, and the thing above you is the ceiling. The thing on top of you is Baekhyun’s duvet, which smells like him. The stuff underneath you is the pillow and mattress. The item you are wearing is not yours, and you can’t recall when you dressed in an unknown oversized white t-shirt that didn’t belong to you.

The strange room was like a perfect magazine cover. You’re afraid to sit in case you wrinkle the fabric or stain it with something imaginary on your body. The white curtains are linen, the expensive kind you’re afraid to touch. There is no television, no bookshelf and the highly polished wooden floor is dark and free of dust or clutter. It didn’t look like anything Baekhyun would choose, but then again this was a hotel suite and not his personal home. The only things reminding you Baekhyun lived here were bis clothes neatly folded over the chair in the corner. The room smelled like his aftershave like he had sprinkled it everywhere before leaving. 

You softly stood up, trying not to make any sound. Baekhyun wasn’t lying beside you anymore, but he could still be roaming in the other rooms. You peaked your head through the door, but there was no sign of Baekhyun anywhere. His smell lingered in the air, but there was nobody in sight. You were left all alone in his suite, without a note or a thank you. He could’ve thanked you for the amazing sex you had yesterday. He could’ve left a letter saying there was some food in the fridge, or he could’ve made you some coffee. 

You quickly took a shower, trying to get rid of Baekhyun’s touch under the hot water. You felt disgusted by yourself, you felt used, but most importantly, you hated yourself for falling for his tricks. He was a player by heart, and you hated that kind of man. You might not have the best dating record here, but at least you prodded yourself for not letting a fuck-boy fuck you over. And you just let a fuck-boy fuck you over. How ironic. How tragic.

You searched for your clothes at high speed but were quickly reminded of last nights events. Baekhyun had torn your blouse with his bare hands, and there was no saving it now. You searched through his clothes and found a simple white dress shirt that could fit you. It wasn’t too big, but it was clearly not yours, and you were afraid everybody could tell. You tried to arrange the shirt in your pencil skirt to make it look more yours, but everyone would see through your efforts.

With a final glance in the mirror, you left Baekhyun’s room in a hurry. Suddenly realizing you were late for work thanks to the little guy who hadn’t woken you. You awkwardly encountered with the room cleaning lady who had a knowing look on her face. Why hadn’t he put up the sign to leave his room for today? Maybe he had sent her to get rid of you. How rude. 

Luckily for you was the hotel not far from your work, and you made it in under five minutes to the entrance where the old security greeted you awkwardly. 

“Good morning. I’m sorry, I’m late. I’ll talk this afternoon.” You said while running through the crowd while bumping into people. They frowned at you when you walked passed them, but you just didn’t care. You needed to know if Baekhyun was at the office, and why the hell he thought it was a good idea to leave you alone. You might not have known him for long, but he should’ve known you were going to make a big deal out of this. You weren’t a toy he could just use and discard whenever he wanted. You’re a strong independent woman, and you don’t need a man to bring you down. You could talk to that on your own. 

“Hi, Y/N. You’re late again.” Sehun commented while you seated yourself at your messy desk. When were you going to clean up your life? Maybe your mess of an office was to blame for all your bad decisions? 

“It’s only my second day that I’m late. What are you insinuating Oh Sehun?” You bit back, but he didn’t even flinch at your tone.

“Someone got out of bed with the wrong foot.” A teasingly smile appeared on his face, and you really wanted to knock it off his face, but that wouldn’t be considered very socially of you.

“Someone is trying to test my patience this early in the morning.” You simply stated, moving away from Sehun.

“You look like hell.” 

“I still look better than you. Do I see eye bags under your eyes? Have you actually done your work for once?” You spit back, and he just kept on smiling. 

“Y/N!” Your boss interrupted the silent argument you had with Sehun. He simply smiled at you, and you couldn’t hold yourself back to glare at Sehun directly behind your boss’s back. You followed your manager into his office and quietly sat in front of him. He looked questionably at your shirt but shook his head like he didn’t care why you were dressed in a men’s dress shirt. You awkwardly fiddled with your hands, scared of what your boss was going to say. Maybe Baekhyun had spilt all your secrets after he had gotten what he wanted from the start. 

“Chanyeol will be visiting this afternoon, and he asked me to get you in on the project. He thinks you’re the perfect fit and would love to work with you.” Your boss smiled at you, and you couldn’t hide the shock on your face. Your boss had mentioned Chanyeol had taken a little interest in you. Still, you hadn’t anticipated for it to happen so quickly after the event. 

“Oh.” Was all you could say, and your boss softly smiled.

“I know we haven’t been given you enough opportunities, and we have been wrong to do so. You have proved to be a worthy colleague who could handle the more difficult parts of this job.”

“Thank you so much. You won’t be disappointed.”

“I hope not. Please pull yourself together as Chanyeol will arrive at two. Be ready.” He ended the conversation, and you took it as your cue to leave his office. You silently grabbed your back-up make-up bag from your desk and made your way to the restroom. Your manager had said you needed to pull yourself together, and you were going to show Baekhyun you were more than an inflatable toy.

“Wild night?” Mina asked as she exited the toilet. You quickly nodded your head and continued to apply some moisturizer on your face. You wanted to use Baekhyun’s, but then you would have been reminded of his smell all day long. You just couldn’t handle anything Baekhyun related today.

“Baekhyun also looked shaken up this morning.” She told you while washing her hands roughly. 

“It must be hard to be a CEO. He probably worked all night.” You tried to reason with her. You weren't sure if she was insulation anything, but you didn’t want anyone to link your look to Baekhyun this morning.

“He didn’t look tired or anything, he just looked stressed.” She explained herself more clearly this time while drying her hands.

“You’ve only seen him once, and you can already tell when he’s stressed?” You asked her in disbelief. She really was something that girl.

“Maybe not, but I did hear that his wife made a surprise visit this morning. They’re in a meeting as we speak, and Baekhyun definitely didn’t expected her to be here.”

“His wife?” You squeaked uncertainly. 

“Didn’t you know that he is married? I’m not surprised though, you didn’t even know who Baekhyun was before yesterday. You should really do your research, it might come in handy later on.” She told you while leaving the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You were in overdrive due to her information.

“Thank you.” You softly spoke, and you didn’t know why you were thanking her. Baekhyun’s wife is here? Did he know she was going to be here too? Why did he have sex with you if his wife was going to be in our office? What was wrong with the guy?

Stop. Thinking. About. Baekhyun.

Just apply some foundation, comb those eyebrows, and try to get through the meeting with Chanyeol. After that, you can go home, and complain about your life decisions to your roommate, who had been blowing up your phone ever since seven AM. She’ll have to wait. You need to blow away those investors with your competence while wearing a male’ dress shirt that didn’t belong to you, but to your company’s CEO. You were finishing up your face when an unknown female entered the toilets. She looked absolutely gorgeous, and like the insecure little bitch you were, you were jealous. She seemed to have everything, and you’d only seen her for five whole seconds before she dived into a cubicle. Some people leave an impression. Baekhyun had the same aura surrounding him.

You didn’t pay it too much attention and continued your mental pep talk. Stop thinking about Baekhyun and keep being awesome. Nobody knows that the shirt you’re wearing is Baekhyun’s, only you do. Baekhyun himself probably won’t even recognize his own shirt.

“Oh.” The stranger said when she still saw you standing there. You looked questionably at her through the mirror. She started washing her hands while her eyes never left your form.

“Good day.” You awkwardly said after a few moments of silent eye contact.

“Nice dress shirt.” She complimented you, even though you didn’t feel like it was a helpful comment at all.

“Thank you?” You questioned her.

“Rough night?” She asked you.

“No, why?” You tried to play coy. Maybe you weren’t as good at hiding your sex glow as you thought you were.

“Looks like you didn’t make it home last night.” She snapped at you, and you didn’t know why such a stranger would be so rude.

“I just woke up too late to finish up my routine. Happens from time to time.†You tried to play it cooly. You weren’t going to spill your little secret to this new girl you met in a bathroom.

“Sure.” And with these words, she left you all alone. What the hell was that? What was her problem? But again, you tried not to pay too much attention. Maybe she got out of the wrong bed this morning also. You don’t know what happened to her this morning. The girl’s bathroom was no place to judge.

A good cup of free coffee would definitely lighten your lousy mood. The coffee might be terrible, but at least they gave you free coffee. You’ve heard stories from friends that they have to pay for their coffee at work. It was something Starbucks related, but still, your company should provide you with a brown beverage.

“Are you making coffee?” Someone of your floor asked you, and you simply nodded your head. You didn't even know his name, and you felt a little embarrassed. Maybe you were a bit too self-centred.

“They took away the coffee machine this morning. They said they will replace it with a newer one by tomorrow morning.” He continued when he got no response from your side.

“Oh.” Was what you finally mentioned to say. He didn’t look impressed and left you alone in the kitchen. Where was our bad coffee machine? Did Baekhyun buy a new one so you could enjoy your coffee at work? What was he up to?

“Y/N! There you are.” Mina yelled once you entered the office floor.

“Is there anything you want me to check? I’ll start right away.” You hurriedly made your way over to your desk. You had been gone for half an hour, and you didn’t want to waste any more time thinking about Baekhyun. He most definitely didn’t deserve your thoughts.

“No, yes, but that’s not important right now. Chanyeol just came in early and is already in the meeting room waiting for you.” She explained with jealous laced in her tone. Still, she said Chanyeol was waiting for you. She could’ve said nothing, and let you make a fool of yourself. Maybe she was sweet, after all?

“Oh.” Was all you could mutter while getting up from your desk.

“Make sure to not embarrass yourself.” She said emphasizing the word 'not’.

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” You told here while grabbing your laptop to go to the meeting room. Your heart was racing. Your palms were sweating. Would Baekhyun also be present at this meeting? Would his wife be there? So many questions fill your head, you barely missed the door to the meeting room.

You got this.

You repeated these words three times before you entered the meeting room. It was the first time you were expected to be there to really participate, and not to just bring the coffee. Just stepping in makes your breathing rapid and shallow. It’s a relief to get to your chair because between the heels and your shaking legs, you’e afraid you’ll trip.

“Look who decided to join us.†Chanyeol smiled, and you couldn’t help but smile back at him. He made his way over to your side and kissed your cheek, making you blush.

“I wouldn’t want to miss seeing your face.” You happily replied, and your boss smiled at the interaction. Chanyeol was a vital investor, but pure numbers and tricks don’t work with him. You need to become his friend, and somehow you’ve managed to spark an interest.

Chanyeol chuckled lowly and made his way to his chair. You finally had the chance to glance around the room. Everyone was seated around the table with their laptops taken out. You didn’t know half of the people in the room, but it didn’t really matter as your eyes immediately locked with Baekhyun. He was seated at the head of the table. He wore a dark blue suit, and his hair was pushed back. He looked like a snack, and you hated yourself for being so weak.

“This Y/N I told you about. She was at our last event and blew everyone away.” Chanyeol demanded your attention. It wasn’t that hard as Baekhyun was avoiding your eyes now. He shrunk a little in his seat, and you almost felt bad for him.

“Chanyeol can’t stop talking about you. You must have left a great impression.” Someone said, while entering the meeting room. You turned your head and were greeted with the sight of the lady from the awkward bathroom conversation.

“His brunch most definitely left a great impression on me.â” You told her with half a smile. She kept walking over to Baekhyun, and she took the seat next to him. Baekhyun didn’t look at you, or at the woman next to him, and suddenly it clicked. That must be his wife. The wife you met in the bathroom while wearing Baekhyun’s shirt. The wife that somehow wasn’t his wife anymore, according to his words last night.

“Baby, why are you so quiet?” She asked Baekhyun silently, and everyone removed their attention from the two, giving them a bit of privacy in a serious meeting. You had no clue as to why she was supposed to be present for this. Last time you checked she didn’t work for this company.

“So Y/N, we do need your help.” Chanyeol began speaking, ignoring the presence of Baekhyun and his wife. He looked annoyed.

“I’m all ears.” You told him earnestly. You were really excited to start up a project of your own. Maybe you were allowed to write something, and it would be published. That would be the dream.

“We need someone’s opinion of who is fresh. Someone who hasn’t changed into a walking banking dictionary.” Chanyeol started, and you remained still. “We would like the magazine to be a little bit more approachable, as our brand doesn’t fit with the stuck-up shit it is now.” His words left you speechless, but you tried to hide your surprise.

“You’ve managed to stun most banking people at my event with your honesty, and if I’m honest, I really like your view on the banking world.” Chanyeol continued quickly after noticing your expression. He smiled softly at you, and you couldn’t help but the smile back at him. Chanyeol was a handsome, tall guy who had seemed to have taken an interest in you. Who could really blame you?

“I’m glad you enjoyed Y/N’s presence at the event, but what would you like her to do?” Baekhyun suddenly spoke up, breaking the eye contact you had with Chanyeol.

“I’m glad you ask. I thought to do a weekly column, and maybe add some social media while we’re at it. Nobody buys paper magazine’s anymore, everything is on social media. I think we should focus more on being approachable than our content right now.”

“And who are you to decide what direction Banking and Finance should take?” Baekhyun asked him firmly, but Chanyeol didn’t really seem to care. His smile grew even more significant than before if that was possible. He knew what kind of power he had over Banking and Finance as his dad was the biggest investor in the company. Investors are what keeps our magazine going, so he was actually the perfect person to stir the wheel.

“Last time I checked you agreed, and that’s why you’re here. I thought you were just as impressed by Y/N as I was.” Chanyeol announced, and you could see Baekhyun’s wife snapping her head up.

"Maybe we should ask Y/N if she agrees to your plan?” Baekhyun’s wife suddenly spoke up, making all heads turn to her direction. Everyone except Baekhyun, he seemed to ignore her every move. You thought he said they were over, but you don’t think she already got the memo. The more you thought about it, it seemed he only mentioned it to you. You hadn’t decided how that made you feel.

“I think the world needs a bit of help regarding finance subjects. Before I started working here, I didn’t know a thing, but I’m feeling more confident about my capability in the banking world. At least I know what they’re talking about. I would love to be a translator and teach people the basics.” You confidently stated while maintained eye contact with Baekhyun’s wife who didn’t really look impressed. You really needed to learn her name.

“And you think you’re capable of doing so?” She questioned you sceptically, looking you up and down like you were the most disgusting thing in the world. Suddenly Baekhyun’s shirt weighed down on your body, and you felt yourself becoming smaller. The anxiety she stirred awake, sits below your smile and your actions. You felt over-caffeinated but without the option to drink a cup of your liquid luck.

“I'm the most capable person in here, but nothing is set in stone.” You tried to hide your blushing cheeks and sweating palms. Now was not the time to show your weaknesses, and most definitely not in front of Baekhyun and his wife.

“I completely agree. Y/N would do a great job, but we are nowhere further than just an idea. We still have to discuss things with possible other investors if they agree, and create a plan before we present this to the outside.” Chanyeol said, making everyone turn their attention back to him, and you softly smiled at him. Thanking him with showing him your teeth. Baekhyun noticed.

“Give me a plan by next week before I agree.” He declared confidently while his eyes never left your frame. You felt naked under his stare, and a short memory of last night flashed before your eyes. How he had torn your blouse in one go as he was to impatient to undo all the buttons one by one. He really described him perfectly. He always got what he wanted, and he didn’t want to wait.

“Y/N and I are going to spend a lot of time this week with such a short deadline.” Chanyeol chuckled, but you didn’t mind to spend some more time with him. He seemed like a genuinely good person who liked brunches just a little bit too much. There were worse people to spend late nights with. Baekhyun noticed your sparked enthusiasm, and his fake smile faltered for a second.

“Next Tuesday. Same time. Same place.” Baekhyun stated before making his way out of the meeting room. You finally let go of your breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

“That’s it for today. Y/N, I have a dinner meeting today, but as from tomorrow morning I’m all free to get this project started.” Chanyeol told you while making his way over to your side of the table. He seated himself on the table next to your hands, towering over you.

“That would be great. I can not wait to work with you.” You told him enthusiastically, and the both of you were smiling like idiots.

“Likewise. Can I maybe have your number?” Chanyeol asked you softly, and you almost melted under his intense gaze. It was not the same look as Baekhyun, it didn’t make your insides stir, but it felt good to be appreciated. Something Baekhyun had forgotten somewhere along the way. But could you really blame him? You had only met him this weekend and he might have turned your life upside down with a couple of secretive glances.You were nothing more than someone who worked for him who fell into his trap he had so beautifully placed.

“I have to go now, but please do call me tomorrow morning.” You told him after you had given him your number. You felt his gaze on you while you exited the room, but you really needed to get out. You just wanted to get absorbed in your work and forget about the past 24 hours. 

You ignored your other colleagues and went straight to work. The new coffee machine was already set in place, but you didn’t want to drink from it. If Baekhyun had installed a new one because he knew about your secret hate, you didn’t want to take a sip. What else would he do with you other secrets? You didn’t want him to change anything because it made you feel weak. It made you feel naked, and Baekhyun had your clothes. He was holding onto them with a smirk on his face, or that’s how you imagined it to be. 

“I’m out.” Sehun declared when the clock stroke five, and you immediately followed after him. You were going to work overtime for the rest of the week, and possible weekend. You deserved an early night in with your roommate. Who would be fuming because you hadn’t contacted her at all today? You had texted her you were fine and that you would discuss the details tonight, but knowing her, that wasn’t going to be enough.

“Where have you been?” Jennie asked the moment you entered your shared apartment. 

“Can I please change into something more comfortable before you grill me?” You asked her, desperation clearly heard in your voice. She didn’t give up, though.

“What in hell are you wearing? Is that a man’s shirt?” She exclaimed loudly, making you cover yourself up. You had momentarily forgotten about Baekhyun’s shirt. It was beautiful and comfortable and still smelled a little like him. You hated the fact that you loved is smell so much. 

“All in time.” You told her while trying to make your way to your bedroom. You really just needed to escape her.

“Now’s the time.” She told you firmly while guiding you toward the orange sofa in your living room. You took the shirt out of your skirt and kicked your heels very far away.

“Ok.” You said while crossing your legs.

“From the start.” She told you with a glare, and you couldn’t help but agree to her wishes. Jennie was a firm young lady, and she didn’t take no as an answer. 

“It actually all started this weekend.” And that’s how you explained the whole situation to your best friend. She had opened a bottle of wine, which made telling a bit more fun to do so. She nodded her head at the right time and asked the right questions. After you were done explaining, she remained quiet, which was a nice contrast to her past behaviour. 

“Do you like him?” She suddenly asked you. She was seriously questioning if you liked your boss. You weren’t an idiot. You didn’t want him like that because you didn’t really know him. But the physical attraction was something that couldn’t be ignored when the two of you were together.

“No, of course not. He’s my boss.”

“But you’re not the type to randomly have sex with someone.” She said while holding your hand. Why was she holding your hand? It’s not like your heart was broken.

“Maybe I’ve changed.” You told her while taking your hand out of hers. You didn’t need her pity. 

“You could have chosen someone else to pop your one night stand cherry with, though.” She reasoned with you, and god did you hate it when people reasoned with you. 

“That’s up to me, I guess.”

“That’s true. So, what are you going to do? He’s going to be there all week? And with his wife?” Her eyes lit up like when she was watching sex and the city, and you did feel like you were in the middle of a drama you were not even supposed to be in.

“Luckily for me, Chanyeol has started this project at the right time. I won’t be having any free time at work for a week. If I’m fortunate, I won’t have to see Baekhyun until our meeting next week.” You confidently told her, but she looked strangely at you. 

“From what you’ve told me about Baekhyun, I don’t think he’ll wait until next week.” She simply stated.

“He’s gotten what he wanted. There is no need to return his attention to me.” You softly explained to her, and you hated it that you sounded weak.

“He did get you a new coffee machine.” She reassured you, but you didn’t need the false hope only a friend can give you.

“That’s coincidental.” You muttered under your breath.

“Whatever.” She said before leaving to her room. It was already past nine, and it was time to get ready for bed. You quickly took off Baekhyun’s shirt, and you wondered if you should give it back to him. Maybe you could keep it, but that would be weird. But it would also be strange if you suddenly gave a shirt to your CEO. What were you going to do now?

--

@shesdreaminginoverdose 

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 21: Getting to know one another was a terrible decision, here’s why. Plug your ears.

Lance: Feelings, oh no Keith: Feelings, what are these and what do i do with them? Adam: Pfft, feelings, I- Wha- Um. I kicked a baby today? That's so evil guys, come on! Lance: *skeptical look* Keith: *skeptical look* Adam: Alright, fine! Feelings, gross! And I didn't kick the baby... I just took its candy.

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Keith stares at the boiling-hot rock at his feet, ear twitching with curiosity.

“Oh dear. We’d best run inside.” Alfor places a hand between Keith’s shoulders as they make a break for the hole in the castle wall while more rocks fall from the sky. "This happens sometimes! You get used to it!"

“Is this why Lance doesn’t know what rain is?!” Keith shouts as they dodge screaming rocks.

“Yes! He’d lose his quiznaking mind if you told him about it!” Alfor yanks Keith out of the way just as a flaming rock smashes right where he was about to be. Alfor opens a hidden door (which Keith makes note of for later), yanks him into the hall. Alfor pants, doubled over. “Ancients, I'm old. Are you alright?”

“I think so. Does that happen a lot?”

“Only every few phoebs. You might have noticed, but we have an asteroid belt for our innermost planetary ring. It's where much or our ore comes from.”

“I thought nothing of your rings, until now.”

“Well you and Crown Prince Lancel will get to hear all about the minor inconvenience of it when you hold court tomorrow.” They’re back to formal names, like taking off clothes. Or perhaps like putting them on.

“Excellent. I can’t wait. You know, every time you make me go to court, I lose an egg. Infertility is already almost assured-”

“Don’t even bother, Prince Yorak. I’ve been enduring court for centaphoebs. It’s someone else’s turn.”

“Worth a try.”

Alfor chuckles. “I’d best go attend to my husband. I have been working, for better or worse, and he misses me. Be careful, Prince Yorak. Love complicates things.”

“Ke- Yorak!” Lance comes running up, immediately puts a hand around his waist. “Are you alright? It’s stoning outside!”

“Yes, we’re fine.” Keith sighs. “Can you, um. Would you mind showing me the way back to our quarters? I don’t know it.”

“Sure. Come on.” Lance slips his hand to the small of Keith's back, guiding him away. Keith pulls his braid over his shoulder, twisting the end through his fingers.

“Crown Prince Lancel.”

Lance freezes, turns to look at his father. Keith feels a buzz of energy coming from the hand on his back. He can feel the breath Lance takes before he responds. “Yes, King Alfor?”

There's a long, pregnant pause. Then, “You’re doing an excellent job, Lance. With everything. I’ve… I’ve never been more proud of you.”

Lance swallows audibly. Aside from that, the Altean is disturbingly still. Keith twists the end of his braid, says nothing. Finally, “Thank you, Father.”

Back in their room, Lance frantically inspects him. “Are you alright? Were you hurt? What did he say to you?”

“You forgot to mention that an Altean marriage is void without consummation.”

“Nevermind that! You were alone with my possibly corrupt father and then out in a stoning! Are you alright?”

“I…” Keith stares blankly at his spouse while Lance turns his face this way and that, deeply concerned. He swallows. He’s in danger of making this whole mess so much more complicated that it ever needed to be.

“Keith!” Those blue and pink eyes glass with worry. “Are. you. alright?!”

“I- I’m fine.” Keith twists the end of his braid, clenching his jaw before he can chirp and embarrass himself.

“You say as you display a brand new nervous habit,” Lance mutters, still fussing. “Also, your ends are split and you should let me trim it.”

“Sure.”

Lance opens his mouth, pauses. “What, really?”

Keith nods, not trusting himself to say more than a single, monosyllabic word at a time. Lance tilts his chin up, looking into his eyes. “Are you sure you’re alright? You don’t seem like yourself. You didn’t get conked on the head, did you?”

“N- no. I might have taught the king a new swear word, though.”

“Okay.” Lance draws back. He doesn’t sound convinced, but he lets it go, runs a hand through his starlight hair. “Go… take a bath or something. Rest. Relax. Whatever you want. The stoning will be an issue for the rest of the night, so do stay inside.”

Keith nods, grabs some nightclothes, slips into the shower. He stands under the water, draws his hair over his shoulder, unraveling it. He’s being stupid. He can’t cuss out a king and start falling for his husband all in one day.

Actually, cussing Alfor out had been pretty fun. But the rest is incredibly stupid. Keith lets his forehead tip against the smooth white walls.

He is incredibly stupid.

Back in the main room, Lance paces. Adam watches.

“I just don’t understand why I care so much. I mean, I've taken good care of my lovers, but he's firstly, not a lover and secondly, I never cared this much about anyone else!”

Adam smirks, pushes his glasses up his nose. “Perhaps Lady Renli is right. Maybe you do have a thing for kids. Oh, I’m sorry. Kits. ”

“You are disgusting. Why do I keep you?”

“Because you’d die without me. Speaking of which, someone tried to assassinate you both while you were out today. Unilu, we suspect.”

“Oh. Did you kill them?”

“With my bare hands.” Adam smirks, scales flashing with perfect timing. It's highly unsettling.

Lance blinks. “Really?”

“Of course not. I paid someone else to do it. You think I’d get blood on my hands? Do you have any idea what blood can do for soil acidity? I wouldn't have to explain this to Takashi.” Adam scrolls through his datapad, typing on his holographic keyboard.

“I don’t know; I just had this incredibly vivid image of you popping up behind someone and snapping their neck and then calmly going to have brunch with Keith’s littermate as though murder means nothing to you. Also, I'm telling Keith you've got first name privileges. Even he doesn't seem to have that.” Lance has never been more concerned with the person he appointed as his attendant.

“You’re partially correct. You don’t get to know which parts. Also, no one says 'no' to me. Not twice anyway.”

“That's highly disturbing. Are you at least flirting with Shiro?” Nothing. Lance pouts. “Whatever. What do I do about Keith?”

“Do you love him?”

“...No.”

“Do you want to love him? Do that thing people that aren't me do where they love each other and have a fulfilling relationship?”

Lance glares, sticks out his bottom lip; Adam raises an eyebrow; Lance crumbles immediately. Mumbles, “...Kind of?”

Adam sighs, smiles. “Then, just do what you’re already doing. You’re working hard to fulfill both his needs as a kit and as a person. You respect him, you're letting him grow on his own, and you're working to include him in your life. That last bit is so incredibly important.”

“You know, growing up, I never imagined I’d one day be raising my own husband. I just hope I can raise him right. I don’t want to be a deadbeat with a worthless spouse who sneaks out after dark and runs wild with all the other delinquent child brides.” Lance shakes his head in mock disappointment. Keith sneaks out a lot to go wander aimlessly in the woods and he has absolutely no problem with that. He trusts him to come back.

“You’re morally dubious, your Majesty.”

“And you’re morally bankrupt, my friend.”

“I never even made a deposit.” Adam smirks, smug and satisfied.

“You say that like it’s a good thing. You actually sound proud of that.”

“Tell me something, your Majesty. Where would you be if I had?”

“Do you two need a minute alone or…?” Keith steps into the room, hair soaking through his nightshirt.

“Excuse you, I am a married man. How dare you, sir?!” Lance grins, holding out a hand to Keith, who takes it, sits down on the bed a respectful distance away. Keith seems okay. A little… small, like he wants to vanish, but he doesn’t seem injured- wait. “Hey, did you hurt yourself?”

“Hm? Oh.” Keith holds up his burned arm. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“You’re still bleeding,” Adam pointed out. “How did you not notice?”

“I was distracted.” Keith starts twisting his hair, until he notices the Alteans watching him.

“You didn’t tell me he had a new nervous habit. When did he develop a new nervous habit? Do you have any idea what this could do to my-”

Lance pinches the bridge of his nose. “Adam could you maybe-”

“Lay the fuck off?" Keith suggests. "Just this once.”

"Hey!"

“Wow your language is really awful today. Adam, do shut up please.” Lance munches his lip, tries to figure out how to set his spouse at ease. “Do you want me to cut your hair?”

“Okay.”

Lance smiles, thanks Adam when he materializes with a pair of hair scissors and a fine comb. “Here, you can sit in Adam’s chair, since he’s up.”

“Oh, thanks so much," Adam grumbles. "I’ll see you tomorrow. You’re welcome for not being dead!”

“Dead?” Keith asks, turning to him with alarm as the doors close. “What?”

Lance draws on his quintessence, runs his fingers over Keith’s wound. “Assassination attempt. Adam took care of it.”

“I bet he didn’t even blink.”

“Certainly not, as he watched his own assassin break my assassin’s neck.”

“Adam has his own assassin?” It occurs to Lance as Keith asks his question that they should likely be way more concerned about this. Eh. Facts of life.

“I imagine he grows them like tubers in his garden. Or perhaps in a jar.”

“I believe it. I bet he keeps the jar illuminated so he can watch it grow while he falls asleep like a very macabre night light… I’m glad you weren’t assassinated- Why are you petting my wound?”

“Look.” Lance smiles as Keith gapes down at his arm, sees his skin closing. It is pretty miraculous. Both the healing and the fact that Lance managed to do it without blowing them up. “Hey, I’m sorry you got hurt. And that you had to deal with my father. I know he’s not exactly your favorite person.”

“It’s fine. I still hate him, but… I think I understand him better. So that’s something.” Lance hums, pulls him into a chair. Keith sits, feels a comb running through his hair, the *snick* of the hair scissors. ”You won’t cut off too much, will you?”

“No, I won’t ruin your beautiful hair. You will, if you keep clawing at it when you’re stressed… You’re surprisingly vain.”

“I'm not vain about everything. It’s just the one thing… What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Uh, court, then studying crop yields. Wanna come? You can learn all about… I dunno, plants I guess.”

“Hm. sounds exciting. Yeah, I’ll come.”

“Great! It’s a date,” Lance teases. “It’ll be so romantic, learning about shreika feces or whatever. But we could use a higher sustainable yield so we’re more desirable for interplanetary commerce.”

“I take it there’s a long-term aim in mind?”

“Two. Firstly, alleviate poverty and the resulting bitterness among the people who grow my food. Secondly, start creating interplanetary relationships based on something other than the terror of our vicious army and merciless, excessively destructive armada.”

“I like that idea. Perhaps we can go speak to some of the farmers? People… People like to know that they’re valued. Talking to them instead of researching them in your enormous private library will go a long way toward gaining their respect. Also, agrarian communities tend to be close-knit, so you may need to start with small things before they'll open up to you.”

“Oh, like adjusting taxes? Done! But I’ll keep that in mind. There you go! Hair’s all cut. I worked a bit of quintessence into it to keep it healthy.”

“Thank you… My father kept his hair long. He, uh. When I was a small kit, my mother was fighting and I was too young to be left on my own. My father would give me the end of his braid to play with while we were hunting. We’d have to be still and quiet for a long time, and it helped if I had something to do. We didn't have much.” Keith pulls a lock of hair over his shoulder. It feels nice, nicer than before. “It seems stupid, but he was so strong and brave and this is my way of honoring him.”

“I don’t think it’s stupid. I think it’s nice that you found a way to remember him. Also, I wanna see you strangle someone with it. It’d be super cool.”

Keith laughs, soft and sweet. Lance smiles at the sound of it. “Well, maybe someone else will try to assassinate us and you’ll get your wish.”

Lance flops back on the bed, wriggling up to the pillows. “Yeah. If Adam doesn’t spoil the fun with his stupid efficiency.”

Keith flops, wriggles to lie next to him. “Yeah. He’s terrifying. I think he’s the most dangerous person here.”

“Oh. Yes, without a doubt. He’s pure evil and we should all be afraid. Except Takashi.”

"What?! That's not fair! Even I don't call him that!"

"I know. Can you even imagine? Pure evil and pure good teamed up together? They could do anything they wanted. Anything at all."

“Mhm. Goodnight, Lance. I'll teach you about 'fuck' tomorrow.” Keith nestles himself down in the blankets, yawning sleepily as he curls himself into a ball, tail up by his hands. He's exhausted, deserves a good night's sleep.

"Ooh, can't wait." Lance activates Keith’s datapad, dims the lights. He leaves the fire crackling. Nights are getting cold; winter is on the way. As he burrows into the bed, he remembers something, sits back up. He reaches over, rubs at the base of Keith’s velveteen ear. The Galra purrs, leaning into the touch as he settles deeper into the bed.

Lance smiles. “Goodnight, Keith.”

[chefjarredjarred]

Anxiety. (excerpt)

People. “They're the worst,” Jerry once concurred with Elaine. And they are.

So I didn't really want a job as a verification specialist for a background check company,  making a hundred phone calls a day to anywhere in the country, but there was a time when it was a job I needed; it was remote so I could do it from my living room, it supplemented my main income from cooking and barbacking, and I was allowed to adjust my own schedule around that other work and my Tuesday morning therapy sessions.

But Jesus Christ, the people: the combative, the confused, the cavalier, the crotchety; the mousy, the crazy, the stupid, the lazy; the disgruntled, the bitter, the hateful, the bossy; the scammers, the liars, the paranoid; the unintelligible, or, through no fault of their own, the foreign; the mouth breathers, the assholes; the fast food workers, who are always a grab bag. I got them all, every day. And just one nice old lady from Florida, Ms. Charlene.

I got the job in part by cherry-picking some of my old chef experience and molding it all up into a wad of passable bullshit in the interview. Not lies, you know, just bullshit. I sold the personal importance of always speaking concisely and effectively, and of remaining cool and courteous and logical even when being angrily berated by the most ignorant, disrespectful know-nothings. Okay, so that one tiny lie. I made no mention of smashing saucers, slinging sheet pans, or every chef's favorite, smiting servers. (But come on, FOH, y'all know when you're asking for it.) I gave no indication that my rage, anxiety, and feelings of undeserved victimhood and exhaustion were a nest of coiled snakes, something every person who has ever worked in a kitchen around me could sense. Do your job, leave the attitude outside the kitchen doors, and speak only of pith and pertinence during service. Don't fuck with me, don't get fanged.

A bartender I worked with for years once called me unapproachable. It was in the same breath that she called me a dick, proving that the robotic personality of feigned professionalism and phony positivity (every company has their Stepford Wives, don't they?) on which she prided herself—loathed by so many in the restaurant—could be cracked, and I loved that I had been the one to do it. But the part about being a dick wasn't a bold quotable. My being unapproachable became a favorite running joke for years, perverted and perpetuated by me. Y'all think I'm unapproachable? I am. Fuck off.

But that's truncated, for effect and time. Fuck off, I have a job to do, is the real, full statement, and a linchpin tenet of my style of cheffing. I don't need loud voices, loud noises, disrespect, emotional clouding, confusion, excuses, etc., or that irritable anxiety snake could be disturbed. “Just the facts, ma'am.” There's just no time for the extraneous.

Don't disrupt the flow of food.

That's the principle I emphasized in the interview, just folded into the bullshit wad that made it applicable to phoning idiotic, ornery strangers—and Ms. Charlene. Obviously, I had to omit the venom, violence, viciousness, the vitriol. There was already a tiny stumble in there when the interviewer asked if I would describe myself as an introvert, and I, being honest to a fault at the most inappropriate moments, confessed that I would.

“You do know what this job is, right?”

I actually didn't, right up until about two seconds before that question, but I recovered gracefully, explaining some crap about being able to turn on the smiles and pleasantries when I meant business, something like that.

Fake smiles. Ugh. God dammit. I actively campaign against them. A fake smile is the opposite of Fuck off, of the pith and pertinence, the order and efficiency I expected, of just the facts. It's a capitulation, a white flag.

You know what I absolutely hate more than people? The expectation that I'm obligated to give them a fake smile. It's a banner that says you're willing to accept the extraneous, the unexpected, that whatever they are about to say and the way they will say it has some compelling power over you, and that you have all the time in the world to stand there and graciously let it be unloaded onto you. That your anxiety is not there and not real.

That you are approachable.

Fake smiles are blood in the water. That's right, when it goes from snakes to sharks.

“What we always say here is 'Smile and dial!'”

It was a virtual interview, and he couldn't see or hear my feet double-kick-drumming the floor. But what he did hear and what I couldn't believe was the fake laugh I forced through my fake smile. Jesus, Jarred, you're escalating? Allowance is support. “Sure, sure,” I said, as if I were a lifelong brown-noser. You're a disgrace.

“If you can run a kitchen, I have no doubt that you can do this.”

I didn't either. That's misinformation, that anxiety is simply fear. I wasn't afraid I would fail (literally anyone, barring anxiety, can be a verification “specialist”). In fact, I was totally confident I could succeed...theoretically. He said it: If I could run a kitchen, I could do this. The things that worried me were the scheduling, sleeping, caffeinating, eating, speaking, putting on my fake personality with my fake smile, and juggling and maintaining it all every day without falter, without letting on that there was any internal difficulty. I worried not about my actual job performance, but how I might struggle to simultaneously perform and hide my character flaws, i.e. the stuff that I left hanging out in the open when I was a chef. Does that make any sense?

Anxiety, not fear.

So the job was simple, but not easy, and there was a lot to make an anxious person anxious: the people, of course; the never-ending flood of calls; the quick navigating of the system when someone backpedaled or said something inaccurate or swung their mood in an instant; the software glitches; the hold music. Every second of the workday, even your coffee-caused poop break, was timed and factored in to your production average. You were judged and graded by making a ton of calls and/or closing as many cases as you could, which sounds fine, but is actually decided by chance more than some mathematical guarantee. That angered me the most, watching my closes and “touches” tabulated throughout the day, working against each other, my percentage of success being stretched thinner and thinner as I piled up calls that became mere touches rather than closes. It was the opposite of what we really wanted, and the secret little opposite of what we were trained to believe. The pessimist in me knew that the given goals were just out of reach, of course, so we would unknowingly meet the real goals and feel worthless at the end of the day, like we hadn't done enough. The realist in me hated the pretending that we had any control over it. The fatalist in me knew that it didn't matter, but could not force the crippled, anxious existentialist in me to just shut the fuck up.

...Oh, there is no optimist in here, if you were waiting for it.

I knew the fatalist was right after a sweet, timid childcare worker put me on hold to find something useful for me, which would only be a different number or a different person or, if life were easy, the name of a recognized third party verification website. This was 10:40 in the morning, in my first hour of the workday that was already a little too unfruitful. I watched the timer tick away, and when she returned, she had found...an unrecognized third party verification website. That meant I had to type a message into our Teams chat to request a supervisor's review and approval to put the name of the website in the little box and move to the next call.

Eight minutes had now passed as I waited for an answer. I had let the worker, Taylor, hang up already so she could get her eyes back on what wild heathens she may have had under her watch. It was a personal rule of mine to never hold restaurant workers or childcare workers hostage on the phone, because their work was more important than mine. I thought about the time my mom came to pick me up from one of these daycare facilities, walking in at the same time as another little boy's father, together to catch the perfect and precise moment that I socked that boy right across his jaw with full force, superhero super-spinning into that punch in defiance of his superior strength and grip of my head as he had tried to slam my skull into a wooden shelf for a second time. We were bloody, snotty, and sweaty in the throes of killer instinct, but I still caught the looks of horror on our parents' faces. Why the fistfight happened, I don't remember, but how? Well, because someone who was supposed to be paying attention, wasn't. Kids will go feral and push the boulder on Piggy as soon as your back is turned. I let Taylor off the phone for that reason. I waited for a supervisor's response in the chat, watching the seconds count on and that first hour, and thus the rest of my day and any hope of average achievement, drift away from me. They told me the site was no good and I needed to call poor Taylor back and try again. I sighed, copied the number and clicked the button, explained to her what was happening, and with real politeness she placed me, again, on hold. She came back with a phone number but the same uncertainty.

But in the chat, a supervisor had offered another phone number, different from what I was now taking down on the call. I was urged to try that one instead, so I let Taylor go back to the children a final time, and made my third phone call of the case. An automated message finally pointed me to a recognized third party verification website, and gave the particular employer code needed to access it. The anxiety snake and the rage snake were waking and knotted. I clicked the Other Automated Method button...and the system skipped on to complete the case, without letting me input the website or the code. “No, hell no.” I backed up and tried again. Same result, the skip. I went back to the chat and explained, and typed “Can someone please help me before my head explodes” with no punctuation.

A supervisor called me, and I shared my screen with her. “Let's see what happ—Oh, the client put it on hold, so just exit. It doesn't matter.”

It doesn't matter.

11:01. One close, 13 touches. I was white hot.

The anxiety, the rage, the pessimism, realism, fatalism, the whole nest of snakes was awake and wiggling, tossing, tangling themselves up like a... Well, you know. Like a rubber-band ball. I violently ripped the headset off of me, pushing breath through my teeth like the snarling little Jarred who punched that stupid kid in the mouth in the daycare brawl. I thought about that famed image of the snake eating its tail, whatever it's called. I thought about quitting. I thought about how two days before, my therapist and I had tried to come up with a suitable and available grounding technique I could try to prevent this exact, inevitable moment, this kind of anxiety attack. I thought about telling her how I thought that I was failing at everything. You're a disappoi— Shut the fuck up, Jarred—

It doesn't matter? I thought about that, that every moment of the day was part of the calculation of my performance grade for something ultimately shrugged off. That I spent 20 fucking minutes wasting my fucking time to get something that doesn't fucking matter but earns for me a judgment as if it does fucking matter.

But I thought about how I needed that little bit of extra money, and the other reasons for seeking and taking the job. Breathe, Jarred.

And that was not an isolated incident. Every day I fought for the energy and will to tether myself with the headset, log in, and hear the first ring. It came immediately, every single morning. I'd close my eyes and siiiigh through that first ring, just before being snatched along and pummeled by the frenzy.

I tried earnestly the smile-and-dial one time. I felt like Nicolas Cage in one of those especially wacky scenes of Face/Off. A total psycho, unhinged.

The calls were recorded and scrutinized, for quality and legality, and a handful a month were sent back to me to review whatever I had done wrong, or what I could do better.

Ah, yes. So there was another itchy, irritating thread of anxiety even on the less violent days.

Do you ever hear your own recorded voice and you hate yourself and wish you had never been born? Yeah, me too. So I only ever listened to one call and that was enough of that. I didn't want to hear myself. That voice wasn't mine, it was some cartoon-like, nasally Billy Bob Thornton's voice, reverberating somewhere way up high in the sinuses.

A hundred calls a day is a lot of talking. I began obsessing over how I pronounce—among many other things—the number four. There were fours everywhere, embedded, like chocolate chips in cookie dough, throughout almost every case number, and in our callback number I had to recite on dozens of voicemails per day. I wondered if I could trust my own ears in hearing the way I would say it, or if in reality I sounded like I was four. Fohwuh. Every day I ran this mental gamut of self-critique and insult, concentrating insanely on the most minute and deliberate flicks and curls of my tongue and lips. Any word becomes weirdly unnatural when you pay such specific attention to it. But I put so much (too much) effort into working on a competent phone voice not only so I wouldn't sound like a jackass, but so I could be efficient in my work and thus keep up with the production quota. I needed 20 touches an hour, not 13, so I needed people to understand me so I could get in, get out, and get on the next call. My strategy was to try and emulate the radio voice of Christopher Kimball—polite, proper, pronounced, professional. In my dirty pajamas, sitting on a lumpy pillow on a hand-me-down office chair as it was clawed to pieces by my screaming cats, I wanted to sound like I was wearing a bow tie. Like I was in a real office without cats, with a real college degree framed proudly on the wall. Polished and prepared.

It's hard work, if you can imagine. I'm not a talker. I don't like strangers. They're unpredictable. Any unexpected wrench in the routine could prove how fragile the facade is, that I'm actually a wobbly stack of quivering, anxious gremlins pretending to be a presentable person in, I guess, an imaginary bow tie.

It's hard work, if you'll let me say that again. But I thought I was doing pretty well. I hadn't cussed anyone out and I hadn't hurled the computer through the window, at least.

Then one day I called an office in Shelby, North Carolina. A woman answered, lazily, and I stated my reason for calling. She just said, “Hold on,” dismissively, with no practiced professionalism whatsoever. There's a lot of that out there. A rare treat then it was when I spoke with anyone trying to exude the same level of maturity as I, during business hours. My Kimball voice was for your benefit, lady. You didn't care. I know this because instead of really putting me on hold, instead of pressing a button to leave me in that telephonic waiting area listening to one of those overused cheap songs, like the one with the incessant MIDI claps that makes my toes tense and my teeth clench and jarringly reminds me that the anxiety is always bang-bang-banging at the door of the closet I locked it in, instead of just conducting two seconds of mundane business like a normal goddamn person, this woman just set the phone down on her desk and, evidently sickened beyond composure, blurted to her coworker, “God, I hate when someone clears their throat while I'm on the phone with them.” I did?

There I was, exposed, a bunch of phlegmy gremlins, collapsing and scrambling. Instantly I remembered the time my dad and stepmom asked me if I was on some kind of drug, because I cleared my throat “a lot.” Yeah, I don't know what they were talking about either, but apparently this involuntary habit is remarkably frequent. And a hundred calls a day I was doing this. How many of these people find me disgusting, inhuman, or think I'm on drugs? How about people in everyday life? Do my friends mock me? Who taught you how to function, Jarred? My mind spiraled, the snakes squirmed and seethed.

The rest of the phone call was stiff and clumsy, tears welling like a porn star's while I silently packed down the coughs and chokes congesting behind whatever ball of bile bottlenecking at the back of my throat, because I should die right on the living room carpet, sacrificial and blue, lest I irk this absolute cuntbag's social sensitivities, gurgling grotesque and oozing disease.

But am I crazy or...ahem...is that just trivially fucking inoffensive? If I had frog squatted on my desk and—“Verify this, bitch!”—farted into a metal basin full of Cracker Barrel gravy, then sure, be mad. Slam the phone down. Say to the guy by the copier, “Why me?!” and vow to get me fired. But if a natural, nonchalant throat-clearing infuriates you enough to comment on it, you're honestly just an asshole. It's not a frog squat gravy fart, it's not a rude personal affront. It's somewhere way below open mouth chewing, there around unfortunate but necessary nose blowing. I'm gross, you're gross, we're all gross. Get over it, and then, Fuck off, I have a job to do.

I did briefly wonder if maybe she's an anxious person too, a gremlin, maybe her facade is as fragile as mine, but I don't think so, because her attitude when she answered my call had already indicated to me that she never dressed up in a fake bow tie. She thinks she's a normal person: reckless, careless, unprofessional. No phone tone, no Kimball timbre. And because of that, she gave me another thing to worry about, to nag at me, something uncontrollable that I'd be trying to temper, something unconsciously mechanical now made noticeable and manual and clumsy. Thanks.

I was just worried about my goofy voice.

If you're thinking that it's all just a little silly and ridiculously minuscule, then congratulations, you're one of those “normal” people, like Ms. Shelby North Carolina. You make our lives worse.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #308

“you don’t need treats, and you don’t need tricks, and you don’t need me.”

Middle name? Marie. Or Marie Catherine, if we're technical, but as someone who loooong left Catholicism and never even agreed with many aspects of it in the first place, I don't like to include it. If you're confused, there's a ceremony called Confirmation, and while I honestly don't even remember the details of it, you adopt the name of a saint you want to stand for, kinda. I chose Catherine just because I liked the name outta my other options. Democrat/republican/other? I classify myself as Independent because I really don't relate well enough to either, but I do know I'm becoming more and more liberal with time. Do you dress according to your mood? My mood? No. I dress with what I feel like wearing at that time, but my actual mood has nothing to do with it. Are you good at doing hair/make up? No. Are you always worried or stressed about something? 24/7, my friend. Can you swim? Yeah. Are you afraid of needles? I don't like them, but I'm not afraid of them. How many kids do you want? Zero. Long/short nails? I keep mine short. Do you like wearing hats? No. Does mall Santa Clauses or Easter bunnies freak you out? Nah, I loved seeing Santa as a kid. :') Would you consider yourself clumsy? I am RIDICULOUSLY clumsy. Do you like when a guy picks you up in his arms? In concept, but I ain't easy to pick up anymore lmao. Do you like hairless cats? I do!! Females, anyway, for... obvious reasons lol. Not having fur makes some things waaay too ~obvious~ otherwise. I would love a sphynx. Do you like the color yellow? No; it's actually one of my most disliked colors. Have you ever seen a cat have a hairball? Yeah. Have you ever had a tooth pulled? Not by a dentist, no, just by myself as a kid when I was losing my baby teeth. When someone says don’t look do you look? It depends on why they're telling me to not look. Have you ever played spin the bottle? No. If you had to name three important details about you, what would you say? I'm a very emotional person, I need a lot of "me" time, and to be aware of my social anxiety so not every interaction I have is perceived as just a dumpster fire. What are your three biggest insecurities? My creativity, my goddamn body, and my lack of social skills. If you could write anonymous letters to three people, who would you send it to and what would you say? Ummm. I can only think of people I miss and don't WANT to be anonymous... Favorite photo of yourself? A senior prom picture I don't have anymore. I looked so, so happy and fuck my low self-esteem, gorgeous. Who are you disappointed with right now? I'm like, permanently disappointed in myself lol. Would you date an 18-year-old at the age you are now? No. My minimum is 21. What question do you hate to answer? "Are you a virgin?" because it's just a confusing answer. It doesn't sound like one at all, but trust me on this. The subject of sex just makes me uncomfortable anyway, so even if I was confident in the answer, I wouldn't want to talk about it. What’s your most listened to song? I don't have a way of actually finding that out, but I'd say I've been listening to "ULTRAnumb" by Blue Stahli quite a lot lately. If you were a performing artist, what would you title your first album? I mean, I don't know. It would depend on what was going on in my life and head at the time. If someone told you you could give one person a present and your budget was unlimited–what present would you get and for whom? A nice car for Mom. She's had the same shitty car for yeeeeeaaaaarrrrrssssss now because she just can't afford a new one; hell, this one was free. A dance friend hit a deer, so the front of the car is messed up, and she bought a new one, but because the car itself was still functional, she gave it to my mom. Mom is so loved at the studio. The car just has various issues by this point, like trouble starting, accelerating, it's bumpy, etc., so it's way past time for a new one. Do you like licorice? NOOOOOOOOOO that's a big 'ole "ew." Have you ever visited your country’s capital city? No, but I've seen it from a distance when riding up to NY. When was the last time you were outdoors for over an hour? WOW. I couldn't even try to guess. What is the shortest amount of time you’ve lived somewhere? The house I was born into. I actually don't know how long Mom and Dad lived there, but I was only in that house as a very little baby. I have zero memories of it. What’s your favorite kind of mint? (Peppermint/wintergreen/spearmint/etc.) ... There's a difference? lol I guess peppermint? What was the last thing to frustrate you? I wanted to draw yesterday, but I didn't know what to draw to even get started. Have you ever been to a bachelor or bachelorette party? No. Did any of your family members serve in WWII? I don't believe so? Well... maybe my grampa did? I don't remember. What’s your favorite kind of salad? Gimme an Olive Garden salad and I will deadass eat the whole bowl. Are you more realistic or idealistic? I'd say I'm more realistic with most things. Are you currently borrowing something from someone? No. Is anyone currently borrowing anything from you? No. What is your last name’s heritage/country of origin? Ireland. When did you last buy a new pair of shoes? What kind? I got new flipflops a year or so back because my old Rainbows were so worn out and blackened my feet. Have you ever experienced culture shock while traveling? If so, where? No. Are you able to see the stars at night where you live? I actually haven't checked since moving here. We're in the suburbs though, so it's questionable. Do you include your middle initial in your signature? Not unless it's required, usually. I think. When's the last time I physically signed anything, anyway? What brand of computer do you have? It's an Acer Nitro. What operating system does that computer run? Windows 10. What’s the oldest piece of clothing that you still own and wear? I don't really know, given how much my weight has fluctuated. Went drastically up, went down, now it's back up. .-. I still own a handful of shirts I want to "shrink back into" from late HS and early college times, but yeah, I don't know if I'll actually achieve that. Is the area in which you live flat, hilly, or mountainous? Flat as my ass. What is your significant other or best friend’s ring tone? No one on my phone has a "special" ringtone. Where do you keep your hair brush? There's a comb I use in a drawer in the bathroom. Which pair of shoes have you owned the longest? Multiple pairs of Converse, also from high school. When’s the last time you were sick at the same time as someone else? I'm very happy to say I don't even recall the last time I was sick. My immune system is the fuckin GOAT. What did you have for breakfast this morning? A pb&j. We've got very little rn, but thankfully Mom's picking up our Wal-Mart order today. Last time you were in pain? If I'm standing, you can bet my legs hurt, so. What color is your mom’s hair? It's growing back totally gray now. Is that also your hair color? Well, no, I'm only 25. Do you watch any daily vloggers on YouTube? Who? No. I watch people who vlog occasionally, but not regularly. It's gotta be people I'm very into to really be interested in vlogs. What room of your house do you usually do your surveys in? Sigh, I'm always in my bedroom. Really hoping Mom and I muster up the motivation to clean up the extra room soon to turn it into my "dayroom" or "office," if you will. What do you put on your tacos? I hate tacos. What is your favorite stuffed animal and where did you get it? I have a bittersweet connection to the adorable plush meerkat Jason gave me for Valentine's our first year together; I always slept with it when we were together by apart, and for a year or so after the breakup. It was a source of comfort for me, so I'm really fond of it. Fella's fur is so worn out and matted down with age and lots of love. He's on my dresser now, towards the front of all my plushies. Last thing you hung up on your wall? My Illidan poster, I believe. Do you have a full length mirror? Yeah, on the back of my door. Is it currently raining? No, finally. It's been raining for like a fuckin week, it seems like. It's finally a clear day. It's nice to hear birds outside. Does anyone you live with talk in their sleep? Does this happen often? I'M the one doing the talking/screaming in my sleep. Thanks, nightmares. When was the last time you cried, or felt tearful? I'm not positive, but I know I had a pretty rough PTSD night not too long ago where I teared up. Did you wake up with a song stuck in your head today? What was it? Ohhh yes; I've been listening to Mother Mother's "Ghosting" on repeat because it's jammed up there. When was the last time you used moisturiser or lotion of some kind? Not too long ago on my hands. They get dry this time of year, and besides, I wash my hands a lot nowadays especially. What was the last thing you owned, that was accidentally broken or damaged? Were you able to get it fixed? My laptop, and yes. Tell me about the last dream you recall having. Was it weird, amusing, etc. So this is pretty wild. I know I had a nightmare last night, but I don't remember it; the night before, however, I had a nightmare about a possibly rabid and ginormous rat (I mean like, smaller dog sized) in the house and trying to bite me. It was SUPER weird, because I was actually afraid of it, yet I absolutely adore rats in real life. What was the last video you watched on YouTube? I've really gotten into John Wolfe (a let's player) lately, and I'm going through his The Evil Within playthrough. Do your parents use any social media at all? My mom has a Facebook, and hilariously, Dad has a Snapchat to talk with my sister Nicole. He has no clue what he's doing with it and it's adorable, haha. Mom also has a Twitter, but she doesn't use it. Is there anyone in your life who regularly asks how your day has been? Regularly, no. I've always been that person, especially in the WoW guild I'm in. I'm very close and comfortable with them and ask how everyone's doing any time I log on. Lovely people who give me some social interaction every day. Tell me something positive about the day you've had. It's still early, but once again, it's pretty and bright outside. Why do you prefer Facebook over MySpace, because I know you do? Ha, you'd be incorrect. MySpace was more personal, so I actually preferred it. But it's obviously long-dead, so I just settle with Facebook. Have you read the Pretty Little Liars series? No. My sister looooves it, though. What product do you use to moisturize your lips? I don't remember, actually... It's in my purse somewhere. When did you start using Xanga? I never have. Be honest, do you judge people on their appearance? Judge, I don't think so. I can make assumptions like everyone else, but I'm not gonna think someone is beneath me just by their attire. Do you know anyone who does not like The Beatles? Me. At least, most songs. "Hey Jude" is good, but everyone agrees with that, haha. Did you have a friend in middle school that you’re now enemies with in high school? I'm long since out of HS. I had a middle school friend who I disconnected with following a fight in high school, but we weren't "enemies," and we reunited our senior year anyway. Aaaaand we're not friends anymore once again lmao. What is one thing you hope your children don’t inherit from you? If I hypothetically wanted kids, God knows I'd hope they wouldn't have my psychological issues. Do you think you’ll be married in 10 years? It'd be nice, anyway. What type of foundation do you wear? None. Who’s the most controlling person you know? Someone I'm no longer friends with, partially because of this. Do males look good in skinny jeans? Yep. Are you for or against guyliner? Ugggghhhhh guyliner makes me weak in the knees. How many jobs have you had? Where do you currently work? Three; nowhere. Who did you last hit? Um, nobody??? What way of self-care do you enjoy the most and what feels more like an obligation? I enjoy my alone time on the computer as the best self-care, especially after being social all day; I don't, however, enjoy the act of performing hygiene care. I still do it, it's just not fun. The feeling afterwards is great, though. Have you ever tried specific diet plans or fads? What made you do it and how did it turn out for you? I was briefly using NutriSystem, which didn't work for me. I hated too much of the food. More recently I stuck with flexible dieting and calorie counting for a while, but I drifted from it when I still lost no fucking weight in like a month. I want to get back to it, though... oh, and intermittent fasting. I don't think it really worked for me yet again, even though I did it correctly, but that and the aforementioned flexible dieting is all I feel like I can handle. I guess I just have to give it longer. Do you know anyone who has been directly affected by COVID-19 e.g. testing positive, losing a loved one, or their job due to the pandemic? Too many people I know have had it or had someone they loved die because of it. Take this shit seriously. Is there a kind of music you only prefer listening to during specific type of activities that you otherwise wouldn’t enjoy under normal circumstances (e.g. EDM while doing sports or instrumental music while studying, etc.)? No; I have to actually enjoy the music. If you had to start a YouTube channel and motivations/skills/resources/any other inhibiting factors weren’t an issue, what would it be about? Either animal (preferrably reptiles) education or let's plays, ig. Has anything ever happened to you that if you told someone about, they would think you’re making it up? I don't believe so. What travel destination or popular spot have you been to that you found overrated? What about a lesser known place that you thought was a hidden gem? I really don't know; I haven't traveled nearly enough for this.

[introvertllux]

Peace in Normalcy: Chapter Two

(The chapter is told from Prue’s point of view. Anytime, that you see italicized words, that means Prue is speaking via her internal monologue).

Genre: Romance, Drama, Comedy, Comedy-Drama

Warnings: 18+, depictions of mental health, mental disorders, depression, suicide, and sexual abuse. (Please do not read, if you may be triggered).

*Any depictions of mental health are based on MY PERSONAL EXPERIENCES. Please do not think I’m making fun or or mocking anyone, again these experiences are based on what I have seen and, or been through myself. Also, I am not intending to romanticize mental health or disorders in anyway. Lastly, If you do decided to read this story I am very thankful and I hope you enjoy it. : )

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Prue’s P.O.V

(Picture of Prue)

Saturday, September 28, 2019

I looked to the side of the bed at the digital alarm clock. The time read 8:35 AM in glaring red lights. I didn’t get much sleep last night, but that wasn’t too unusual for me. One thing, I can say for sure is that my stomach doesn’t hurt any longer and the pounding in my head has subsided. Maybe this is a sign that today will be a better day.

Even though I struggle to get any sleep, ironically enough I’m a morning person. Don’t get me wrong you definitely will not find me singing from the rooftop like Marry Poppins, but I tried not to be grumpy to anyone, I come in contact with. When I first wake up, I still like to have my own space and to be in mind a little bit before I truly and fully interact with anyone.

I swung my legs over the left side of the bed. I then scratched my head, I sighed knowing that my curls were knotted in my head.

That’s what I get for not sleeping with a headscarf or bonnet. But let’s be honest after all that happened did, I have time to be practical for once in my life?

(Picture of the guest room Prue had slept in)

I proceed to place my feet on the smooth carpet as I scratched my lower back with my left hand. I let out a small yawn and rubbed the crust out of my eyes. I then started to make up the bed, first smoothing down the fitted sheet. I then looked down at the floor as I picked up the flat sheet and the comforter.

What? I’m a wild sleeper. I can’t tell you myself why my sheets ended up on the floor.

I placed the flat sheet on the bed, followed by the comforter and neatly folded, tucked in the sheets. I made sure to fluff the pillows, ensuring that the bed looked exactly how it did before I slept in it. I then gathered up my clothes from yesterday and folded them over my left arm and grabbed my sneakers and carried them in my left hand. As I exited the room, I made sure to close the door behind me.

For some reason, no matter the room or the place I always needed for all doors to be closed.

I walked a few feet down the hallway and into the bathroom. I softly closed the door. I looked around the bathroom and again I was not shocked. This bathroom was glammed up. There were Marble and rustic appliances.

(Picture of Mallory and Jahmal’s guest bathroom)

I brushed my hands down and over the bathroom sink and I continued to admire the hard work and dedication that I knew Mallory had taken to remodel this room. I paused to look in the mirror at my matted curls. I slumped my shoulders and groaned as I am mentally prepared for the pain that was to come with this detangling process.

I crouched down and searched the cabinet underneath the sink for a detangler brush. I scavenged through the cabinet and didn’t see one. I saw band-aids, cotton balls, a box of tampons, and a pack of brand-new toothbrushes. I grabbed the pack of toothbrushes and placed them down next to me. I leaned forward to get a closer look into the cabinet, this time trying to see if I could at least find a wide-tooth comb. After a few moments of moving items around, I concluded that I would not find a brush or a comb in here. I scrunched up my lips trying to think of another solution.

I came down to my last possible solution.

Finger detangling.

Yeah, this was going to hurt.

Before I started this process, I wanted to search the small medicine cabinet for some hair clips so that I can separate my hair into sections to speed up the detangling process. I glanced over the medicine cabinet and saw two clips and a large scrunchie. I closed my right hand into a fist and pumped it into the air and cheered to myself quietly. I then closed the cabinet and turned on the faucet water. I made sure the water was warm and the stream was light.

I guided my hand down the middle of my hair, where it naturally parted and separated the left section of my hair into two parts, then did the same with the right side of my hair. I quickly twirled the top section on my left side and clipped it up and proceeded to do the same with the right side.

I put my hand underneath the faucet and cupped some water into my hand and gathered the bottom left section my hair and began to finger detangle. I continued this motion until I had completed it on all four of my sections.

After taking out the clips I looked up into the mirror. I twisted up my lips, contemplating whether or not to leave my hair as it is or try and attempt to do something with the hair tie I had found. I moved my head side to side as I continued to contemplate what I should do.

I had to weigh my options. It was the beginning of fall and wet curls never stand against the temperature transitions between the summer heat and winter cold. Also, I didn’t have any product are tools to help me style it so wearing it out doesn’t seem like the most logical option right now.

I looked into the mirror scrunching my face up in distaste.

Hmm, a ponytail? Maybe? I thought as I gathered my hair up into a ponytail. I turned my head from left to right with my hair still gathered in a ponytail.

Nope. I hate it.

I decided against that style as I saw my damped curls hanging from my hands. I let go of my hair and let it hang loose. I bit my bottom lip and squinted my eyes and I came to a conclusion. I moved a foot away from the sink and hunched over. I gathered up my hair once more and wrapped the scrunched around it twice, folding my hair over itself.

I stood up straight and stared into the mirror one last time. And may I present to you, the messiest bun. Despite it being messy, I kind of liked it.

(Picture of Prue and her messy bun)

Feeling pretty content with the style, I opened up the cabinet and place the clips back where I found them. I then got dressed into my clothes from yesterday and laced my sneakers up. I neatly folded the pink pajamas my sister lent me and exited the bathroom. I quickly, went back into the guest room and placed the pajamas on the bed.

I then left the room, closing the door behind me and went downstairs in search for Mallory. She never mentioned to what time we would be heading to our parent’s house. I had assumed early in the morning due to our parents being very particular about people’s arrivals. They had always preferred the morning rather than the afternoon.

(Picture of Mallory)

As soon as I came downstairs, I saw Mallory slipping on her second shoe along as she went to gather her keys of the key holder. I walked closer to her. She turned around with her keys in her right hand and glanced over me. She opened the door and walked out. I followed behind her, keeping my distance. I looked back at her I watched the door. She clicked her car keys and the doors opened. I took my respective seat on the passenger’s side and hers on the driver’s. She slightly drove off in the direction of our parent’s house.

(Picture of Mallory’s car)

I knew that Mallory was beyond angry at me. She was disappointed, hurt, and confused. I can tell. I desperately wanted to apologize. I am more than aware that what I did- no how I acted was wrong. But I hate confrontation. I didn’t know how to deal with it. I hate for people, especially the ones I love to be angry at me and to avoid me. I would do anything for them to forgive me, but I never knew how. I’m not an argumentative person at all. I just want to please people in anyway I can.

I’m also not great with my words. I have to think before I speak. I have to be able to analyze and reflect on the situation. I need that time to think of the right words to mend the relationship.

Our parents only lived about 30 minutes away by car and 45 by walking. Normally, it would take me hours, sometimes days depending on the severity of the situation to come up with right words to say. But I only had 30 minutes in this case.

I decided that I would take this car ride and think of what I wanted to say to Mallory and how I wanted to say it.

As, Mallory drove through the neighborhood, I looked in the rear-view mirror glancing at the housed I remember so clearly from my childhood. I started to get anxious as I knew we were getting closer and I hadn’t yet developed the right words to say. My mind began to race, and I started rapidly and intensely think of what I could say.

I looked into the rear-view mirror and saw the red house, which let me know we were only a couple of minutes away from my parent’s house.

The red house. It’s the “landmark” our father used to make Mallory and I look for to know we were close to home. Just in case one of us was ever lost.

(Picture of the red “landmark” house)

I briefly closed my eyes and took out a shaky breath as the anxiety within me continued to rise. I slowly opened up my eyes and saw the modern grey and white trim house.

(The Walker’s house)

Fuck, we’re here.

I turned my head to my left and looked at Mallory and she put the car in park. She then extended her right arm forward and took her key out of the ignition. I started to panic more as my heart started to beat rapidly as if my heart was going to jump out of my chest. She moved to unbuckle her seat belt. I knew I had to apologize before we went inside. I would never be able to move on if I knew she was upset with me and I could have done something to fix it.

“M-Mallory.” I said with a shaky voice. Turned back, looking straight into my eyes. My eyes widened a little, as I was slightly taken back.

“I- I wanted to apologize for what I did and how I acted. There’s no excuse for my actions and my behavior. I know that you have been the only one there for me and you have sacrificed your time for me and- “

Malloy reached out her hands and placed the on my shoulders as she squeezed lightly and smiled softly, “Stop, you don’t have to apologized. I know that you feel like I might be angry at you or like I might not forgive you, but I do. There’s nothing you can do that will make me that you. Ever.” She said as she paused to sigh.

I looked down still anxious as I was unsatisfied with my apology and although I heard what she said I can tell her voice and body language that she was still upset. I guess, it was a good thing that I was staying with our parents it would give us some space.

Mallory then let go of my shoulders and got out of the car and I followed her same actions. I closed the door behind me as she clicked the doors locked. We walked up to our childhood home and Mallory rang the doorbell.

I heard footsteps quickly approach the door followed by the sound of locks un-clicking.

“Mal!” I heard a deep but tender voice say.

“Hey pops!” She greeted back happily. “Come in, come in. Don’t forget to take your shoes off by the door, you know how your mother gets.” He said and moved from the door entrance. I began to get nervous; I hadn’t seen my parents in nine months. An even before then we all had a distant relationship.

(Picture of Levi Walker)

“Where is she? Where’s my Pru-Pru.” He said. Mallory walked into the house so I could be fully seen.

“I- um I’m right here,” I said.

“So, you’re not going to give your old man a hug.” He said. I stepped into this house as he wrapped his arms around me. The hug wasn’t as warm as the ones he gave me as a child which saddened me. I knew he wasn’t sure what to do now that I was home. But, I’m still his daughter, couldn’t he still feel that?

“Pops, where’s ma? I wanted quickly to drop Prue off. I have to swing by Ramona and David’s and pick up Jahmal.” She said as he took her shoes off.

I took my shoes off and stood awkwardly off to the side. “Your mama should be heading down. You know how she is when people come over. Everything has to be organized to a T or she will start going off.” He said.

My mother was indeed more than a neat freak. I would say she suffers from some sort of OCD, but she would always deny it.

“Well, I know you didn’t come with just the clothes on your back. Where is the rest of your stuff?” He said looking at Mallory, but I knew the question was directed at me. Before I could answer Mallory said, “In the car. It’s just these two black suitcases Jahmal and I use when we go on vacation. They’re a heavy dad. I won’t ask you to help with the old man.” She chuckled as she teased him a bit.

“Old-old man? Let me get my shoes on so I can show you, that this old man has still got it.” He said as he flexed his muscles.  While they both put their shoes on, I looked around the house. Everything was mostly the same aside from the pictures. There were a lot of new pictures of Mallory a few pictures and Mallory and Jahmal.

Where were my pictures? My diplomas?

I took a closer look around the living room and saw pictures of Mallory as a child, her graduation pictures through college, copies of her diploma’s, a picture from her and Jahmal’s wedding day, and a few pictures of them on vacation.

(Picture of the Walker’s Living Room)

The spots where my photographs were now replaced. Part of me didn’t want to believe it. I walked further into the living room and looked in front of me, around the walls, and still didn’t see any of my old photographs. I turned around and look at the wall behind me and still nothing. I then posted the side table beside the couch and noticed a picture frame faced down.

I steadily walked up to the side table and cautiously lifted the frame. Inside the frame was a photograph of me as a child.

(The picture of Prue in the frame in the on the living room side table)

“I thought, I always taught you to greet before you enter a room.” I heard a voice say.

I swiftly turned around as I held the framed photograph behind my back.

I looked toward the voice of the women who raised me. “H-hi, mom,” I said quietly.

(Picture of Gwendolyn Walker)

She glanced over me and spoke again, “I see you remembered to take your shoes off before entering. Did you wash your hands?” She asked skeptically.

“No.” I answered barely above a whisper.

Her face went ridged. “You know how I feel about unsanitary things. And you know that’s always been a rule.  You know how I feel. Wash your hands immediately and don’t touch anything until you have done so. Remember to wash your hands with warm water for at least 45 seconds.”

With that, she exited the room. I turned back around and place the frame back down exactly the way I found it. I made my way upstairs to the guest bathroom. I knew that my mother was very specific where people washed their hands. In this case, I would have to use the guest bathroom because I came from “outside” and that had nothing to do with the kitchen (Which was the closest area with a sink). Lord knows that she would find a way to know if I ever washed my hands in the kitchen sink despite not cooking or eating in it prior.

I finally made it to the guest bathroom and closed the door. I walked up to the sink and turned on the faucet, making sure that the water was warm. I then grabbed the bar of soap and proceed to scrub my hands making sure to get rid of the germs in every nook and cranny of my hands. After what felt like a minute. I turned off the water and wiped my hands on my jeans. I knew I couldn’t use a hand towel my mother would surely be upset. I then walked over to the toilet paper roll and grabbed some and cleaned the small droplets water that escaped out the marble sink as I was washing my hands. 

(The guest bathroom at the Walker’s house)

I flushed the toilet paper down the toilet and left the room. I made my way out of the room and began to walk down the stairs. Before I could start walking down the staircase I heard the sound of Mallory and my parents talking. 

“Another one? How big was it this time?” I heard my dad say.

“Not as bad as the one that sent her to the hospital. She just freaked out.” I heard Mallory respond back. 

I then heard my dad sigh and ask, “Is- is there something that triggers her to do that?” “I don’t know dad. Her emotions are all over the place. She’s not as in control or stable as she used to be before all of this happened. We- we have to try and be sensitive to what she could or might be feeling.” Mallory said. 

“She’s always been sensitive. Always. Nothing has changed.” I heard my mother say sounding unfazed. 

“Just be gentle with her. I’m sure after she starts attending therapy again. She will have more control over herself.” Mallory said sounding hopeful.

“Let’s just hope we won’t have to force her. You know she’s been more defiant as she got older. If she doesn’t go by court order, then she’ll be back there faster than you can say, Jack Robinson.” My mother said.

“She’s going to go. Trust me. I’ve got to go. I love you both. I’m only 15 minutes, a phone call, or even a text away if you guys need me.” I heard Mallory say slightly rushed.  A few seconds went by as I heard the shuffling of keys and the door slam.

 I waited what felt like a few minutes before cautiously proceed downstairs and came face to face with my parents. I looked at them silently. My dad looked gave me a small smile, which told me he had no idea what to do and my mom gave me a stoic one which told me she wouldn’t change the rules of her kingdom for anyone, not even her own daughter. 

“Did you wash your hands.” I heard my mother ask.

 I adjusted my posture and looked directly at my mother and answered, “Yes, mom I did.”

She then crossed her arms over her chest and said, “Let me smell them.” She said. 

This was a test. She wanted to see what would make me explode. I don’t feel like I might explode. But to be completely honest I can’t gage that anymore. Could this trigger me?

“No. Mom, I’m not doing this again. I’m not a kid anymore. I’m grown. I’m not going to keep enabling your habits.” I said trying to be sensitive to my mother’s feelings but stern enough to stand my ground.

“There you go again. Still defiant. You know, there are benefits to listening to your mother. That’s why the saying goes mother knows best.” She said as she stared me down with a slight grin on her face.

There goes that look and stance. It was the one that let me know throughout the years that my mother wasn’t someone that was a fan of conflict but she sure as hell wasn’t against it. She knew she had one this battle because when it came to conflict, I was never going to confront it.

“Sweetheart. I know it’s hard with the hand-washing thing but let’s just trust our daughter and believe that she really washed her hands. How about we just calm ourselves and just relax, huh.” My dad said soothingly.

He grabbed my mother and pulled her into a hug and rubbed her back in a circling motion.

Leave it to my dad to put the fire out. My dad was a lot like me when it came to conflict, he hated it. But the difference between him and me was that he would try to be the peacekeeper by trying to calm all the parties involve and I would avoid the situation, disappear until I can figure out a way to fix it.

About an hour and a half had past and I was in my old room. It looked the same which was a shock to me. My mother was not a fan of my décor chooses she thought it was too bland for a young woman to represent a young woman. But I guess dad had convinced her to let it remain the same. I walked to the corner of my room and saw my old art supplies crammed into a box.

(Prue’s bedroom)

I narrowed my eyes, angry at how my personal stuff was crammed into a box. This wasn’t nearly half of it. I then opened my closet and saw that the rest of my art supplies were thrown into the closet. I was broken pieces of my wooden easels, torn pictures I had drawn, and dried up paints.

I took a deep breath trying to control my emotions. I felt angry, confused, and saddened all at once. I wanted to tear up anything in my path and curse my parents out, but at the same time, I wanted to scream and cry as I felt heartbroken that my own parents would do this to me. My love for the art they shove away like nothing and even the very sight of me they can’t stand as they hide every picture of me except one and it’s faced down, shunned just like the present me.

My heart began to beat rapidly and at all the thoughts and emotions accumulating in my head. I fell to my knees as I crawled inside my closet. I closed the door and huddled around my art. I pulled my knees as close to my chest as possible. I pushed my fingers onto my forehead and began to cry silently. Not knowing what else to do.

I flinched as I woke up. I shuffled a little hearing the ruffle of papers and clanks of wood move with me. I yawned feeling drained. I got up from my shambles of work and open the closet door. I brushed down myself getting rid of the flakes of paper and tiny wood shavings.

I was physically tired and emotionally drained. The only thing that I wanted was a glass of water from the kitchen and then quickly retreat back to my room before I was noticed. I made my way out of my room as I closed the door behind me softly. I made my way down the small hallway and down the staircase as quietly as I could.

I slipped through the living room and into the kitchen. I grabbed a glass cup and filled it halfway with tap water. I gulped the water down; remember the last time I drank anything was last night.

(Picture of the Walker’s kitchen and dining room)

“Pru-Pru.” I heard and I slightly choked on my water. I spiraled into a small coughing fit and I placed my cup down.

I felt patting on my back. Soon, with the combination of the back-patting and my coughing, I was able to settle my breathing.

“Oh my God, Prue. I’m sorry I scared you.” He said.

“It’s okay dad. I’m alright now, I promise.” I said trying to reassure him.

“Okay, if you’re sure you're fine. I have a surprise for you.” He said with a smile on his face. I look at him skeptically.

“It’s one you’re going to like.” He said in a sing-song voice.

I just looked and him and turned to wash, dry, and put away my cup. My dad waited patiently and then led us to the dining room table in the kitchen.

I picked a random seat and my dad sat in the seat adjacent to me.

“Close your eyes. Come on just like when you were little.” I looked at him smiling small at his goofiness and instantly gave in.

I then heard him say, “Now, open your hands.” I opened then and immediately felt a bit of weight in them.

“Can I open my eyes now?” I asked. “Yes.” He responded happily. My eyes flickered open and I was immediately shocked to see an iPhone.

“D-dad. I- you didn’t have too. Wow, thank you, dad.” I said as stood up out of my chair as it screeched on the floor and hugged my dad as awkwardly. I held on tightly trying to show my dad how much I appreciated this. I pulled away after a few moments. “Thank you so much day.” I said.

You don’t have to thank me, that’s what dads do. I want- I want to help you get back into your normal way of things in the best way I know how.” He said looking hurt yet hopeful in away.

I can see the hurt in his eyes. I know he feels guilty in some way or another, yet he doesn’t know what to do. But I can tell, neither he nor my mother are ready to talk about any of it so, I guess they’ll tip to around it- around me until they’re ready.

I sat back down in my seat and unboxed the phone. Just having a phone in my hands was weird. I haven’t had a phone in nine months. What would I do with it? I don’t have anyone outside of my family to contact and I will be living with half of them already and if I needed to talk to the other, I could just walk to her house. I don’t have friends and I’ve never had social media so, why do I need it?

“Your mom and I think you should have it. Just in case of an emergency. We asked your new therapist. They thought it would be a better way to get you back and adjusted into some normality.” He said.

I powered on the phone and I soaked in what he was saying.

“I put my number, your mother’s number, and my number into the phone, and I made sure to put your number into my and your mother’s phones and I gave Mallory your number earlier today. Knowing your sister, I’m sure she will be texting you before the end of the night.” He said with a chuckle.

I smiled knowing that dad was right about. I got up from my chair and pushed it in. I thanked my dad again. As I made my out of the room, I heard my dad yell that dinner will be ready by six. and went upstairs to my room and began fidgeting with my phone. After setting up my phone, I sighed, knowing that I would have time to stay in my room and recharge before dinner.

I looked at the clock and it read 12:45 PM. I got and decided I need to shower. It was long overdue. I was glad that my room had an attached bathroom, so I remain uninterrupted. I look my phone into the bathroom and placed it on the bathroom sink carefully. I was so glad to be able to take a nice relaxing shower and to be able to wash my body and hair.

(Prue’s bathroom)

About an hour had past and I stepped out of the shower with a large grey towel wrapped around my body and a smaller matching one around my head. I walked into my closet, careful not to drip water onto my older drawings and cautious of the pieces of wood on the foot of my closet. I grabbed a maroon zip-up hoodie, a very large green tie-dye shirt with a green alien shirt, and black biker shorts. I placed the articles of clothing on my bed and the put them on.

(Picture of Prue in her sleep wear of choice)

I then grabbed my phone and set the alarm to 6:55 PM because my mom was not accepting of any form of lateness.

In her head, if you’re late for anything that was a sign of disrespect. If I were late for dinner, I just won’t be allowed to have any. In the words of my mother, “If you wanted it you would have proven it by being on time.”

I then got underneath my crisp white sheets and got snug. I felt my body relax as if for a rare moment I would be able to fall asleep with no running thoughts or anxiety. I pulled my comforter closer and began to drift off.

I woke up to the loud sound of my alarm going off. I groaned and flipped over on my side and squinted at the bright light of my phone screen. I quickly pressed cancel and quickly got out of bed. I raced out of my room, closed my bedroom door, and made it down the staircase. I made it to the kitchen, with only a minute to spear as the kitchen clock read 6:59 PM.

I sighed in relief and sat across from my mother as my dad took the head of the table. I slightly began to plate food myself. We were having BBQ wings, green beans, and mashed potatoes. We ate in silence for a few seconds before I let out a yawn. I immediately covered my mouth and excused myself, ‘Excuse me.” I said.

“Prudence, I think we need to go shopping. You’re wearing a t-shirt with an alien on it at dinner.” She said eyeing it strangely.

“Sweetheart, it’s just a t-shirt.” My dad playing his role as the fire extinguisher accordingly. I tried to follow my father’s lead by trying to project peace.

“It’s not just a shirt Levi. It’s inappropriate for dinner and her age. Last time, I checked I agreed to raise sophisticated and classy young women. An alien does not fit either of those descriptions.” She responded to my father.

She then went back to getting her green beans. I looked down feeling ashamed. I ate my potatoes silently trying to keep quiet.

“We did. Wearing an alien shirt doesn’t say anything less. you know that she’s always been into that artsy stuff.” My dad said as he bit a piece of his wing.

I continued to eat and listen as they spoke about me like I wasn’t even there.

“I swear it’s the art stuff. At least Mallory turned it into a career, but it turned Prudence into a- “she said before I looked up and interrupted her.

“Into what? A weirdo?” I said as I laughed bitterly. “Or maybe a psycho is more of the word you’re looking for. I mean for God asked mom what do you want? You want me to be Mallory! I’m fucking sorry that I wasn’t able to run off, marry the man of my dreams, and be highly successful in at my job is that what you want me to say! What more can I do? I was valedictorian of my college and that wasn’t good enough, then I got a job that made a good amount of money and my place now!” I said yelling loudly as my left leg began to shake rapidly.

“Prudence, lower your voice!” My mother hissed in an exasperated voice. 

“Oh! Oh, you mean like this!” 

I yelled as I ran room the table and sprinted out of the kitchen and into the hall. I unlocked the front door and took a huge breath and yelled at the top of my lungs.

“HEY, EVERYONE GUESS WHOSE PARENTS ARE AHAMED OF THEM? GUESS, GUESS! GUESS WHICH KID THEY LOVE MORE. NOT ME, NOT PRUDENCE!” I yelled as I stretched my arms out widely laughing slightly manically as I cried erratically.

The flicker of house lights and the cries of neighborhood pets begin to alarm the streets.

Heavy footsteps ran towards me and grabbed me from behind, lifting me up and back into the house.

I sobbed trying to fight the hold on me. “Let me go!” I yelled as I began fighting the hands on me.

“Shh. Shh. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I heard my dad’s voice desperately say as he let me go and place me on the floor holding me into a tight hug. “Let me go! Let me go!” I repeated muffled in his shoulder.  

He began to rock us back and forth as he cradled my head. I looked over my dad’s shoulder through tear-filled eyes to see my mother’s composure look different. She looks alarmed, scared, and saddened. I start to cry harder and harder and as it gets harder to breathe.

“Prue. Follow the beating of my heart. Just like when you were a kid. Remember how you always felt at ease when you did it? I want you to try and do it.” He said softly.

I followed what he said trying to focus on what he was telling me.

There was banging at the door. Nobody moved to answer. “It’s Officer Taylor! Open up!” The voice boomed.

(Picture of Officer Taylor Miller)

My mother tried to compose herself to her as walked to the door. She cracked the door open, slightly so that half of her body was showing.

“Good Evening, Mrs. Walker I’ve received some phone calls from some scared neighbors stating noise complaints from this address. I know, um Prue’s back home and we had something similar happen yesterday so. And I spoke to her about the consequences of-” He said trying to peer into the house.

Third person’s P.O.V

“Look Taylor right. Yes, you went to school with Mallory. My daughter just got back from the hospital and we’re all trying to figure out what’s going on. I’ll be damned if I let you sit here and threaten the safety of my daughter. I understand that we are not being the best neighbors right not but as soon as next week we will have our daughter on her schedule. You need to give us time, this is not an overnight thing.” Gwendolyn said sternly not back down one bit.

“I see and I understand. If you don’t mind, I would like to come in and check to see if everything is alright if things are settled.” He said trying to get around Gwendolyn.

She closed the door tighter as she pushed herself more into the frame. “Of course, I mind. I’m many things in this world, and one of them is a mother. No matter how old my kids get, it's my job is to protect them. I’ll fight tooth and nail to protect my daughter from anything or anyone that tries to hurt her. Now, I understand it’s your job but if I sense even for a second, you’re out for her I will do anything and everything in my power to take you down.” She said smoothly.

She stared up at his tight expression and said, “Now, you have a good night Officer Taylor.”  With that, Gwendolyn slammed the door in his face not even waiting for a rebuttal.

Gwendolyn turned locked the door and turned to where her daughter and husband were. She kneeled beside them and tucked a strand of hair behind her daughter’s left ear as she was lightly snoring.

Levi stood, as he carried Prue bridal style and Gwendolyn followed behind. He carried her up the stairs and into her bedroom. He gently placed her into her bed as Gwendolyn tucked her in tightly. Levi moved her curls around and placed a kiss on her forehead. Gwendolyn followed suit and repeated his action. After placing a kiss on her daughter’s forehead she lingered for a moment as she looked over her daughter as tears threatened to spill over her eyes.

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

Links to: 

Chapter Three

Masterpost 

I wanted to thank everyone who has liked or reblogged anything that has to do with this story. I want to give a HUGE SHOUTOUT to the following people for showing me some support (I apologize if i’m missing any names)!! 

@pettycruella @jk-unless @plussizeappreciationfics @passionfrvttt @melaninhawtie @lokisbitch27 @blackpridesblog @po-taytay @themilkcartoonkid @amethyst09 @disaster-shadow​ @rosemilage​ and any members of the group chat Black!Reader.

[my-whumpy-little-heart]

Defective.

This is a drabble based off of the “Box Boy whumpee” concept first thought up by @sweetwhumpandhellacomf and popularized in a series by @shameless-whumper, which first gave me the inspiration to write this. Cheers to you guys. And oof this has a long bit of exposition, but I promise it gets whumpy lol.

“Happy birthday!” X shouted, making dramatic jazz hands at her side when Y opened the door. He nearly dropped the washcloth he was holding in surprise, evidently interrupted while doing his dishes.

“X ! Oh my gosh, I wasn’t expecting you!” Y laughed through the sentence, pocketing the rag, and wrapped X in a tight hug.

“Well, duh,” she pulled back to look him in the eyes, a goofy grin plastered on her face, “I couldn’t miss my big brother’s birthday. Especially since it’s your big three-oh this year!”

“Oh, yes, can’t wait for the constant ‘old man’ taunts from you young, flippant thing still in your twenties.” He rolled his eyes, stepping back and holding the door open. “Come on in, it’s freezing out there.”

X took him up on that offer, grabbing a large wrapped box beside her and stepping into the house. She set it down again to take off her shoes and coat, and when she looked back, Y was crouched down by it with wide eyes.

“I didn’t even see this. Is it for me?”

“Hey, shoo,” she swatted his hand away from one of the air holes, “and of course it’s for you, genius. You’re the birthday boy, not me.” 

“Ah, right. What’s with the holes, anyway? You just that bad at wrapping?”

X lifted the box away from him with a soft chuckle and walked down the hall to Y’s basement stairs, kicking open the door with her foot.

“You’ll know why when you open it.” she called back to him as he trailed after her.

“And do you mind telling me why you’re taking it downstairs, or is that a secret too?”

“Just a safety precaution.” she smirked, knowing it would make no sense with the context of an average birthday present. X could almost hear her brother’s exasperated sigh behind her as he gave up and merely followed along. 

After walking through the floor into a smaller, mostly empty carpeted room, she finally set the box down and shut the door behind Y. 

“Alright, open it up!” she said, bouncing on her heels as he knelt down next to his present. There was a clear grimace on his face.

“Ugh, I’m just gonna pray you didn’t wrap up a pipe bomb again this year.”

“Come on, that wasn’t too bad! You only got, what, first degree burns on your hands last time? But all that aside, I promise you: this is way better than any bomb.” 

“If you say so…” And with that, Y ripped open the wrapping paper to reveal a wooden crate with wide slats, and something folded up inside. He started reading the note on the lid out loud.

“Dear customer, thank you for purchasing our wares… blah blah… we hope you enjoy your newly purchased-” He froze at the next words, his concerned expression shifting to one of hesitant joy, and then to one of exuberance as it sunk in. “-box boy? You got me a box boy? Seriously?! Oh- and from Whumpee Barn too? Shit, X, that’s expensive!”

“Expensive, but high quality, and fully customizable! Plus, Whumpee Barn always has the prettiest ones. Go on and open it up; I want to see if they found one with the right parameters.” She made a circle motion with her hand, hurrying him on. 

Y pried off the wooden lid, and grabbed the boy’s arm, hauling it to its feet. The boy’s long, dark hair was tied up behind the blindfold and its pale arms, dotted with freckles, were restrained securely behind its back. 

Reaching carefully, Y pulled the blindfold off of the boy, who was only a little shorter than him, and came face to face with dark blue eyes. 

“Oh, it’s perfect! You know just what I like, X.” Y fawned over the boy, who tensed at the excessive attention and went completely rigid when its new owner put a hand in its hair, removing the hair tie and combing it out to its full length. 

A scowl built on the poor thing’s face and, noticing the displeasure, Y put a comforting hand on its jaw, petting slowly.

“Hey, you’re alright, little pet. Don’t sour such a pretty face with an ugly expression like that.” When the boy didn’t relent, he slapped it hard across the face instead. “Listen to me. I am your master, and you will do what I say. Now turn that frown upside down before I do it for you.”

“Maybe it’s just uncomfortable,” X suggested, stepping forward with her pocket knife drawn. When Y didn’t object, she sawed through the rope keeping the boy’s wrists tied together, and carefully moved its shoulders forward, stiff from being tied up for hours on end. “That better, buddy?” she asked, patting him on the back lightly.

As soon as her touch left, the boy turned swiftly on its heels, glaring daggers at her. Before she could even think, it lunged forward, grabbing her by the neck and pinning her to the opposite wall.

“I’m nobody’s damn pet!” it yelled in a hoarse voice, grip tightening incrementally around her throat, “I’m not a fucking object, I’m not something you can just sell and claim ownership of, and stuff in a little box and call cutesy names-!”

It gasped as Y grabbed it, pulling it off of and far away from X to the opposite wall. She took a deep breath, straightening out her clothes with a tired glare.

“Agh, the stupid thing’s defective! And I thought I could trust that price to get something half decent for my brother’s birthday.”

“What the fuck do you mean, defective!” The boy, still struggling against Y’s grip, snarled, “I’m just as human as-mmmf!” 

Its voice was muffled as he shoved the dishrag from earlier into its mouth as a makeshift gag. A well placed knee to the groin sent it falling to the floor, struggling to breathe around the gag as Y pressed a foot on its chest.

“I’m sorry it’s such a disappointment, Y,” X sighed.

“You don’t need to be sorry at all, actually. I think training this thing is going to be a lot of fun. It’ll be fun to exploit the defects, at least. Could you hand me your knife really quick, and then hold his arms?”

“Gladly,” she remarked, tossing the closed blade to her brother. He flicked it open as she knelt and raised the boy’s arms, pinning them above his head. Below both of them, the boy flinched, wide eyes trained on the sharp pocket knife. At the fearful reaction, Y smiled and knelt closer to it. 

“Oh, I almost forgot! They don’t use things like this on you when you’re manufactured, huh? Only isolation, and fear, and threats… I’d take a wild guess and say you’ve never felt the pain of a knife carving through your skin, have you?” The heavy, wheezing breathing of the body below him told him everything he needed to know. “I guess today’s your lucky day then, huh?”

He looked at the clean canvas of its torso stretched out under him, and started on the left side with a clean downward slice. Blood beaded up quickly from the shallow cut, and the boy clamped down on its gag, whimpering with the flash of pain. 

Grinning in satisfaction, Y did it again. And again. And again. Each time, the cuts got deeper and the boy would tense up further, not realizing that was only making everything worse. It only whimpered at first, which morphed quickly into breathy keens and moans. Agony-driven tears leaked from its eyes, always screwed closed in anticipation of the next cut, but flying open in surprise when it came. Its clear blue eyes grew hazy and red from crying, but Y didn’t let up. He needed to hear this poor creature scream.

Finally, after a particularly deep slice, he put the knife aside. Blood soaked the tip and the rest of the boy’s chest. Belatedly, he realized that it was probably all over the plush carpet by now, too, but that was something future him would just have to deal with. For now, it was back to the boy’s marred chest.

Gently fingering the cut earned a sharp intake of breath, but it was only when he buried his forefinger into the deep wound that it produced any results. A shrill scream escaped the gag, cut off by a wheezing cough and loud sobs. They crescendoed to a wail as he dragged his nail up and down within the cut, twisting and digging deeper into the skin, blood now gushing up and over its torso.

The boy was begging incoherently behind its gag when Y finally removed his finger, much to the thing’s apparent relief as it gasped. 

“Is my message clear to you, little pet?” He asked the question in such a casual tone that, if not listening to the words, one might have assumed he’d simply asked about the weather.

  It nodded desperately, eyes unable to look away from his bloody finger. 

“Perfect. Now I’m sure you’re tired and, well, I’m not a cruel man.” A glint of white teeth showed in a grin. “I’ll let you rest in here--on the soft carpet even!--but I will not have you making a single sound,” he said it slowly, dragging the blood covered finger across the boy’s dry lips, “got it? Remember, if you distract me from spending quality time with my sister on my birthday, I have much, much, more painful ways to punish you.”

The compliant nod came quickly this time, and Y laughed. 

“Alright, that was fun then, wasn’t it, X?” he locked eyes with her and she smiled in return, letting go of the boy. “I’ll lock the door from the outside so this rascal doesn’t try anything nasty, like leaving.” He punctuated the word with a sneer, looking down at it and making his warning clear. 

“I’ll see you later! You had better be ready to behave, then, or you really won’t like what happens. I’d hate to have to ruin your pretty countenance, after all.”

He flicked off the light, locked the door and the boy was left in the darkness with only its own regret and misery to keep it company.

Continued here!

[tss-grimmverse]

Chapter 2: Gloxinia

it doesn’t mean much

it doesn’t mean anything at all

the life i’ve left behind me is a cold room

Virgil stirred to wide-eyed awareness twice in the night, both times because he thought he heard doors opening. But he was too exhausted to get up and check, and reluctantly settled down after the adrenaline wore off.

The third time he opened his eyes, the sky outside his bedroom window glowed an early morning blue and he desperately needed the restroom.

Groaning, he grabbed his hoodie from where he’d slung it over the headboard the night before, pulled it securely around him, and padded across the hallway. Once finished, he tiptoed cautiously into the main room, finding it exactly as he had left it the night before.

Was he still alone? If the sounds he’d heard were Logan coming in super late, at best the dude was probably still asleep.

Hell, I should still be asleep, Virgil thought, wandering blearily into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator, more out of curiosity than actual hunger, and let out a surprised laugh.

“Holy troll shit, that is a lot of jelly,” he murmured, pulling out a jar to read the label. Crofters Organic.

Oh.

That explained the postscript.

The sound of front door opening and closing startled him to his feet. Virgil hastily replaced the jar, lining it back up next to its dozen or so neighbors.

Closing the fridge door, he looked over the counter and found himself face to face with the most gorgeous person he’d ever laid eyes on. His heart stuttered. The newcomer dumped a keyring on the counter…shit, this was Logan?…and adjusted a pair of half-moon glasses.

“You must be Virgil,” he said in a deep, tranquil voice, stepping out of a pair of worn athletic shoes.

Virgil made a croaking noise that tried to become a greeting before getting stuck halfway down his throat.

Logan swept through the apartment, disappearing into the furthest room and reemerging with a towel. Sweat glistened on his bare chest, bark dark and beech smooth, and sparkled in black hair braided into a dozen wavy rows against his scalp. The guy had one of those sculpted, solid builds, all broad, lean planes and bold, sensual lines. An artist’s dream to shade; a little awkward to hug.

Virgil swallowed hard, forcing his poor gay eyes away.

Somehow between the normalcy of the apartment and the weirdly formal note, he had forgotten that Logan was half faery; half Court Fae, in fact, if his looks were any clue. Such faeries were, as a rule, heartbreakingly beautiful.

Upon closer examination, his non-human heritage was obvious. Ears that swept up and back to points on either side of his head, clearly visible to Virgil’s changeling gaze. Frost white streaks that twined through his braids. And those fae, prismatic eyes: the irises an explosion of frost and indigo and smoke that coalesced into a deep slate gray.

Eyes that gazed a little too deep, burned a little too wild behind his glasses.

Virgil knew he ought to say something, but his addled brain had forgotten how to operate his mouth.

“Apologies for my unkempt state,” Logan said as he patted himself down. “I always do my running in the morning before it gets too hot.”

“Uh…yeah,” Virgil muttered, wrenching his gaze from smooth muscles and a graceful sweeping collarbone to Logan’s stormy eyes, so striking in that dark face. “No, I mean…that’s cool.”

Eloquent, Virgil.

Logan eyed him impassively.

Virgil became abruptly and painfully ashamed to be dressed in nothing but ratty boxers and a faded hoodie. Maybe he could just escape into my room and put pants on or would Logan hate me for being rude but maybe he already hates me for being half naked in the living room what the hell is wrong with me…

“Do you drink coffee?”

Logan hung the towel over one of the dining room chairs and swept past Virgil into the kitchen. A trace of that elusive teal scent from the night before followed in his wake, nearly making Virgil swoon. Even his voice was sexy: dark and ocean blue, pleasantly filling the room without being loud.

Kelpie’s mane, Virgil, get your shit together. It’s not like you’ve never seen a hot black dude before.

He pulled his hoodie more tightly around himself.

“Uh, yeah,” he belatedly answered Logan’s question. “Coffee’s great.”

“Personally I like tea.”

Oh. Well, Virgil did usually manage to say the wrong thing.

Logan pulled a Keurig machine from a bottom cabinet and set it up on the counter.

“Herbal, preferably,” he added, “though I have been known to enjoy a good Earl Gray from time to time.”

“Earl Gray.” Virgil forced a chuckle. “You Captain Picard or something?”

His Rennie family had all been very fond of Star Trek, which was the only reason Virgil knew anything about it.

Logan, however, frowned.

“I am Logan Ursae.” He adjusted his glasses. “I assumed the Youngstown Grimms would have at least informed you of my name before sending you here?”

Virgil wasn’t sure if he was being mocked or if the guy was just that literal.

“I meant, like, the Star Trek character, dude. Obviously I know who you are.”

Logan’s mouth twisted and he turned back to the Keurig.

“I’m afraid I am not at all knowledgable about popular human entertainment. I find most of it trite and shallow.”

Virgil scuffed his bare foot uneasily over the carpet. Usually he preferred people to speak their minds instead of fucking around…but this guy took that philosophy a bit far.

He did write that stick-up-the-ass note.

“Do you know that proper peppermint can be frustratingly difficult to procure unless one grows it themselves?” Logan said, once again ignoring the awkward silence that had fallen.

Or maybe Virgil was the only awkward one, as usual.

“And it cannot be grown from seed, only cuttings.”

Virgil made a noncommittal noise, unsure if Logan was even expecting a response at this point.

Logan held out a box of flavored coffees, packed side by side and seemingly organized by color.

“Um…hazelnut if you’ve got it,” Virgil muttered. “Should I, like, help or whatever?”

“Nonsense, you are my guest. Plus my kitchen is not large enough to accommodate two people comfortably.” Logan waved a graceful hand as he filled a copper kettle. “I will start our drinks, and then perhaps we should both get dressed for the day.”

Virgil flushed and pulled his hoodie closer, aware once again that he’d galavanted out here in his underwear and worse, Logan had noticed. Had he seen Virgil ogling his bare chest?

Was that why he kept prattling on about tea?

He’s probably already decided I’m weird and creepy, he’s just waiting for the right moment to call me out…

“Why even have a coffee maker if you don’t drink coffee?” Virgil asked, and then flinched. He had a bad habit of masking his anxiety with belligerence.

It was why people tended not to like him.

Logan’s mouth quirked as he centered a mug under the Keurig. “You are not the first changeling I’ve taken in.”

He brushed past Virgil again (that scent, gods, Virgil’s brain swooned again), heading towards the back bedroom.

“Go and change while I shower,” he threw over his shoulder. “Then we can properly acquaint ourselves with one another.”

With that, the door clicked shut, leaving Virgil alone with a gaping mouth.

“Bloody redcaps,” he muttered, yanking a handful of his faded purple hair. ‘Acquaint ourselves’, my gay ass. Said with a straight face. How the fuck is anyone that oblivious?

“Naughty, naughty thoughts, changeling.” Remy’s amused smirk and sunglasses were just visible from his cabinet’s half-open door. “You’re lucky the Bear’s not a telepath.”

Virgil, flushing, made a rude gesture in the brownie’s direction and stalked to his own room, slamming the door. He then leaned against it and exhaled, his heart still throbbing unsteadily in his chest.

Logan was…not what he had expected.

Virgil wasn’t sure what he had expected, after reading that note from last night. Certainly not some hot nerd with a gorgeous runner’s body and a quiet, self-assured aura, plus a bit bossy, and damn, why do I find that kinda hot?

Remy’s taunt came back to him and he groaned, covering his face. They were naughty thoughts; thoughts a changeling like himself had no business entertaining. A beautiful half-faery deserved far better than a former thrall who’d done the sorts of things Virgil had done…

Plus you haven’t made the best first impression, have you?

Virgil thunked his head against the door, realized he’d been wool-gathering like a moron for several minutes, and went to change clothes. He took a little time to comb his hair and rub a little patchouli oil behind his ears. He wished he owned something nicer than ripped black jeans, faded band t-shirts (mostly metal), and one bulky, black plaid hoodie.

He hated that it suddenly mattered.

When Virgil emerged, Logan had already returned to the kitchen, dressed in a pair of dark jeans, a plain black polo that clung rather unfairly to his arms and torso, and…Virgil almost chuckled at the sight…a blue striped necktie.

Somehow, he made it work.

“Sit where you’d like.” Logan poured hot water into a galaxy mug without turning around. The Keurig spat the last of its sweet smelling contents into a second mug, and Logan carried both to the table.

Virgil sat, feeling self-conscious as Logan passed him his coffee.

Because now the half faery clearly expected them to talk about things.

Virgil hated talking about things.

“I imagine you have questions,” Logan stated without preamble.

“I…guess?” Virgil took a shy sip and winced as it burned his tongue.. “I mean…they didn’t tell me much about you back in Ohio,” he admitted. “Only that you have some ability to hide changelings from other Fae, and that’s why I’d be safe here.”

Logan stirred a generous dollop of honey into his tea, tasted it, grimaced, and added another spoonful. Virgil stared, morbidly fascinated that anyone so doggedly serious would want their drink that sweet.

“My ability to hide you is actually a byproduct of what I am, rather than anything I do.” Logan explained. “Simply put, even as a half-blood, my Court magic burns strong enough to mask yours. A proper Court faery could hide you far better, but finding one who wouldn’t immediately turn you back over to your master would be…”

“Impossible?” Virgil shivered.

“Improbable.”

There were a million questions Virgil probably needed to ask, since he was stuck here. But as usual, his mouth refused to cooperate.

Logan eventually got up to fry a couple eggs and fix some toast, prompting Virgil to ask about the fridge full of jam, which sparked a passionate one-sided rant about fruit spreads, organics, ethics, and the superiority of Crofters that spared Virgil the need to do anything except nod with wide eyes until breakfast was over.

(He was permitted to taste the sacred jam, and had to admit that it was pretty good).

“We will need to pick up Nicodemus this morning,” Logan stated once they’d finished eating and carried their plates to the sink.

“We?” Virgil echoed, choosing to focus on that rather than on who or what a ‘Nicodemus’ might be. He slid his plate into the soapy water as Logan washed, almost dropping it when he accidentally brushed Logan’s forearm. The half-faery’s skin was smooth and pleasantly cool.

“I do not think it safe for you to be left here alone for long periods of time, at least not at first. Therefore you will need to accompany me on errands. I suggest we take thirty minutes to digest and then be on our way.” Logan paused, and turned to properly face Virgil. “If…that is agreeable to you?”

Virgil’s dislike of being ordered around must have been visible on his face. He schooled it to neutrality and cleared his throat.

“Yeah, whatever.”

Good impression, Virgil, come on.

“I mean, I don’t have anything going on until classes start in two weeks, so…you know, whatever you need to do is cool with me.”

Great. Now stop rambling, idiot.

Logan nodded and swept past again, down the hall, and then his bedroom door was closing firmly behind him again. Virgil huffed and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Definitely not a man of excess words.

Or, and I’m just spitballing here, he thought wryly as he meandered back to his own room. Maybe he hates you already.

Gloxinia: love at first sight