#which still seems weird cause usually these companies still care more about easy money than anything else

[300iqprower]

Having now played fallout 4, presumably due to some sort of masochistic streak, I think it's really funny that Bethesda got so salty about New Vegas that they went out of their way to fuck up literally every single thing that made New Vegas so good, and double down on every single thing that made Fallout 3 badly designed.

You can literally go over this with a checklist and systematically track every instance of bad design and how it's reflective of how much Bethesda has no idea how to make open world games OR role playing games, let alone both at once.

I'm now convinced the only reason this game is popular is because they refuse to rerelease Fallout 3 or NV.

[outofsstyles]

KILLER QUEEN (80s!AU)

 A/N: Heyaa!! So here’s what happens when I watch Sing Street right after reading some of Olivia’s boyfriend!Harry prompts :) Also a huge thank you to Soph @canyon-moan​ for betaing this for me!! A gentle reminder that I was not, in fact, alive in the 80s so please take it easy in that aspect lol. If you like it *please reblog*, it helps a lot, also I’d love to hear your feedback!!!!

Word count: 25.3k (I have no self control!! Someone stop me!!)

Pairing: Musician!Harry + Bassist!Reader

Prompts: making it official + enemies but secretly lovers

Warnings: Our typical mentions of sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll (and a lot of denim!)

Concept: You and Harry are in rival bands and you shouldn’t really get along but you can’t help it.

                                 ❁         ❁        ❁ 

It didn’t come as a surprise to you that, from the moment you agreed to be part of the band, your agenda would become more frantic. That’s all you read on magazines or see on the television on those late nights MTV programs that love to talk about that rockstar life. The shows and the sleepless nights. The drugs and the sex between stages. It’s always what comes to the minds of anyone that thinks about following the music path.

Of course, you’re far from being The Bangles or Duran Duran, but even when it comes to playing for uninterested drunks on small crummy bars, you still found yourself barely able to catch a breather from it. 

And it also doesn’t help that on top of it all, you also try your best to balancing your studies as you go into your third year of uni. So, between being tucked behind your bass during rehearsals and going around begging for stuck up pub owners to give a spot, you still have to find time for the busy class schedule that also blends with your tutoring job on the side. Sometimes it feels like juggling those two contrasting lives is too much, and when you walk home each day too exhausted to even function, you ponder if you should just drop one of them.

You still manage to fall into a rather chaotic routine of dragging through weekdays to fall into reckless weekends. It’s not easy, but you make it work.

Today, however, seemed to be an odd one. From the moment you woke up with the sound of birds chirping and the faint conversation of your neighbors outside your window, you felt a sense of relaxation that has become a rarity to you. It’s a welcoming change from your usual rowdy roommates bantering at each other or the loud music blasting through the walls that serve as your alarm on regular days. The silence that engrosses your normally-chaotic home is calming as much as it is strange. 

The whole day went by in a lulling and lazy pace, and between your several attempts of keeping yourself occupied (that being going on a walk to the library or going through your mom’s old recipe book) you actually catch yourself realizing the quietness can be louder than your roommates.

It’s a weird concept to you. Missing them when you spend so much time together in the band, but you still can’t help it. So you just blast the radio and let Rio fill in the empty walls as you wait for one of them to come home.

By the time the night falls, wind thumping on the closed windows as the first thin drops of rain start to hit the glass, Lena is back from her shift with a low huff and a roll of her eyes, mumbling how she’s never covering weekend shifts ever again -- which you both know is not true, but neither mention it. And that’s how you find yourself at the end of your unruffled day, tucked at the end of your couch under a cozy blanket. Listening to one of MTV’s nightly programs - that Lena watches almost religiously after a day of work - as background noise. You focus on the open book settled on top of your lap, enjoying her company quietly as you flip through the pages.

It could be the perfect ending for a perfectly relaxing day, the sound of the rain almost lulling you to sleep as the words in front of you begin to shuffle, finding it harder to concentrate with your mind drifting off.

But before you can let your eyes fall close and your head snuggle back into the cushions, you’re startled awake by the burst of your front door opening. The sudden noise makes you and Lena jump, a yelp leaving your lips as you look back to the source of your fright. 

You barely have any time to feel panicked or even wrap your head around the possibilities of what could have caused the outburst as Abbey barges into the room.  She all but jumps on each step, stumbling a bit as she makes her way around the couch to stand tall in front of you. Her red hair is full and damp, droplets of water running down her body, causing her clothes to stick to her skin.

“I got us a gig!” Her breath is short as if she just ran a long way.

“Christ, Abbey, don’t do that!” You relax back into the couch once you realize there’s no real threat invading your home, closing your eyes and letting out a breath. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

She scoffs, “Did you listen to a word I just said?” You notice her eyes are blown out, “I got us a gig, as in a </i> real gig.”

“A real gig?” Lena inquires, standing up to walk towards the front door that was left agape, closing it with a thump.

Abbey’s grin grows, her words come out slow but clear. “Next Saturday in the Blue Bird.”

“That’s in a week.” You state.

Her shoulders drop, “Yeah, and?”

“Blue Bird?” Lena comes in the room again, stopping by the head of the couch and crossing her arms under her chest. “How did you even get that I thought the only band that played there was--”

“You’re right Lena, was as in not anymore because we are playing there, and there’s more.” She interrupts, her voice raising an octave. “The owner, Ronnie, said if we’re good enough he can arrange for us to play every other weekend.”

“You’re insane.” You shake your head slightly. “That’s like a place where people actually go for the music, what makes you think we can pull that off?”

Abbey points a finger at you, “You’re being a pessimist, and that’s not appreciated in here.” She waves her hands around, trying to assert her point. “We can and we will pull that off and take over the permanent spot on the weekends.”

“Is that what this is about?” Lena smirks, eyebrows raising at her friend. “It’s been a hot minute since you raged about that Harry boy.”

 “It’s not just about him, Adeline.” She barks, “It’s about us! We need to find our confidence again.”

 “Again?” You speak out, making her snap her eyes back at you.

“Yes, again.” She says, “We’re doing this and it’s gonna be wicked.”

You sigh, nodding in agreement as you exchange a knowing look with Lena.

In all fairness, the prospect of playing a gig at an actual music house is as exciting as it is scary. It’s not like you think you’re not able to pull it off, but the simple thought of having people actually paying attention to your presence on stage is enough to make you want to hide under your covers and never come out. But seeing Abbey so pumped about it, there’s no way in a million years you’d ever say no.

She was the one that wanted to start a band, after all. Before she dropped out, in what seems like ages ago, she was your roommate that would drag you around every time she had those spontaneous ideas, that is going out for pancakes at three in the morning, go on weekend trips to concerts two cities away, or, well, start a band herself.  

In the beginning, it was just the three of you, Abbey as the lead, you on the bass, and a girl you met on one of the said weekend trips, who had introduced herself as Lena, on the guitar. And not even a month later, you were all living together in a tiny house near the main street. 

At first, the biggest issue, to your surprises, was that you couldn’t find a drummer if your lives depended on it. Even after putting out posters around campus, you only got two calls from men whose only interest was the “all-girls band” part of it. Things got better when you met Jaz, a smiley girl from your Phonetics class. She wasn’t a drummer, but her boyfriend was, they both played for their High School band (which is how they met, a proper movie-worthy story if they’d ask you). And just like that, you got yourselves a drummer and a keyboardist.

For the next few months that followed you played on dirty bars and house parties, getting paid with tipsy pats on your backs, or, if you were lucky, maybe a pack of cheap drinks for you all to share. It’s the frustrating part of trying to get into the music path, you found, most serious places were not interested on a band with hardly any live experience and no original songs whatsoever. So you just had to take whatever opportunity came your way. Once, you even played on the birthday party of Lena’s manager’s daughter, which was probably the most disastrous experience of them all, considering a crowd of eight-year-olds and their posh moms weren’t exactly fond of listening to loud covers of Blondie. You got to play three full songs before one of them asked you to leave. 

The first time you actually got money was when Abbey dragged you and Lena to play on the sidewalk of the National Park, where people would come and go with their busy lives and full wallets. That was the best one, you easily got three hundred within a few hours of your open cases, which was split between the three of you at the end of the day.

Afterward, you wanted to play on the streets again, but Abbey wished more than just being a street performer, she yearned for the glow of the spotlights and a place on the stage. And it’s not like you lot didn’t think of it as well, how it would be like to have an actual gig. So, you just went back to the old routine of jumping from bar to bar.  Playing for people that couldn't care less about your presence on the small stage, focusing only on their cheap beers and drunk conversations. 

For a while it seemed like that was all there was to it, the music scene getting more congested by the minute, you thought there was no way you’d ever make it out there. There were moments you even thought about giving it up, if you were honest, setting your mind into getting your English degree that at least has the guarantee of a stable paycheck by the end of it. But as Abbey always says, there’s nothing you can’t do with a twist of your hair and a bat of your lashes. And somehow, she managed to be true to her word, presenting an opportunity to actually start taking this seriously.

And it would be a lie to say there isn’t an excitement growing at the pit of your stomach the more you think about it.

                                ❁         ❁        ❁ 

You’ve heard about the Blue Bird before.

Of course you have, it’s near to impossible not to. Being in a small town, predominantly surrounded by uni students, and that being the only music pub in the area, you’ve heard about it quite often. 

It’s become quite the hot spot for people interested in listening to good music while getting lost in the bottom of their beer glasses. With the only other competitor being a good forty-minute drive away, people go in crowds on the weekends as a getaway from their textbooks. You’re not sure why you’ve never been in it, though, only going as far as walking past it on your nightly walks during the week, listening to the faint sound of whatever band’s playing at the time. 

But if there’s one thing that’s always brought up when the subject is the Blue Bird is CHASM, more specifically Harry Styles. They have the permanent spot on the weekends and have become one of the main reason people - women, mainly - come in lots to have a spot inside the packed space. 

As much as his name comes up in a dreamy sigh and followed by a string of giggles when you hear it being mentioned by a classmate or overhear it somewhere in public, inside of your bubble he’s pretty much only mentioned in annoyed huffs or with a roll of eyes. If you’re honest, you know close to nothing about him, wouldn’t even be able to point him out on the street if you ever happen to cross paths. But you do know that Abbey is not fond of him in the slightest, so for that, you try to keep your distance from anything that has to do with Harry Styles.

You’re not sure how this hatred of her came to be and to be honest, you’ve never really been bothered enough to ask. Abbey doesn’t like a lot of people, her first impression of them it’s what she keeps in her heart with zero to no chance of changing it, so you just assume this Harry guy might’ve not given her a good one. It’s never really been something you really dwelled on, the circumstances in your life allowing you to ignore his existence unless he’s being spoken of. But it feels like a whole nother story now that you’ve essentially stolen his golden spot on the saturday night. 

The moment you walk into The Blue Bird is when you start to come to the realization that this is really happening. Not even a full step in, your eyes already dart to the big stage standing tall across from the entrance door, bigger than any other one you’ve ever been in -- being used to small platforms that barely have enough space to fit a drumset. it’s hard not to let your lips part in awe at the size of it all, the outside is rather modest compared to it, the only really striking detail being the LED sign with the name of the pub. There’s a large bar standing in the middle of the place, serving almost as a divisor of the two areas of the pub. The first area is the one you walk into as you first enter the place, with tables surrounding the space -- that now have their chairs propped on top of them, and you reckon this is where people sit around as they wait for the musical act of afterward when they can barely keep themselves up on their feet. The second area, however, it’s just empty of any barrier, except from the stools lined in front of the bar, meant mainly for people to crowd in front of the stage.

The walls are what catches your attention, though. The one where the front door stands is covered with magazines and newspaper cutouts of celebrities, scandalous headlines written in big bold letters, and random articles about their personal lives. On top of this big collage, there are band posters, you assume the ones that played in here, most of them stuck once to the wall, except for one that you can see multiple different colored papers with the same name written on it. 

You stop in front of one of them, one that’s just below your eyesight but catches your attention with the big blood-red letters that read CHASM on top of it, with a smaller font on the side saying  “live every weekend of ‘87” right below it. What you focus on, however, are the five faces staring back at you, their serious expressions looking almost haunting with the black and white filter. But it’s the one in the middle that your eyes immediately dart to. Unlike his bandmates, his lips are frozen with a slight smirk, small enough that wandering eyes could easily miss it, but still prominent enough that you can make out the shadow of a dimple on his cheek. His hair is settled in a wild nest, but not in a sloppy way, you decide, they’re a rockstar kind of messy. He’s handsome, there’s no doubt in that, just by looking at the small print of his face you can understand what the fuss is about, not that you’d ever admit that out loud. But it doesn’t keep your mind from wondering the color of his eyes and what it would be like to see them up close, as you look back at the taunting grin you think what could be the tone of his lips or--

“Lost something in there?” Lena’s voice makes you jump, turning swiftly to find her grinning at you. “You should come and start getting everything ready before Abbey finds you admiring our arch-nemesis.”

Your eyes widen, coughing in surprise as you try to regain composure after being caught. “I-- I wasn’t--”

She chuckles, turning to roam back to the stage before you can finish, throwing you one last look over her shoulder. “Sure thing, buttercup.”

You spare one last look to the poster before following her lead to the other side of the room where the rest of your friends are setting up the instruments on top of the stage. Once you locate your case tucked in the far left corner you quickly open it, finding your soft pink tinted bass resting inside of it. The Sesame Street sparkling stickers stuck to it glimmer from this angle (you got them in a favor bag from when you played at the birthday party), thanks to one of the spotlights shining directly at them. You pick the instrument up, adjusting the strap over your shoulder and giving the chords a few experimental strokes before looking up at the empty place.

There’s no denial of the anticipation that takes over every part of your body at the sight of the pub from the stage. A perfect mixture of excitement and anxiousness that lights up as you imagine how it will be like to see it filled up. It makes you gnawn at you bottom lip, jumping a bit on you feet as you move to connect your bass to the amplifier.

For a while, you just finish setting up the stage, tuning in the instruments, the sounds echoing on the empty space in a bit of a disarray, as you get used to the feeling of using proper sound equipment. You had the chance to meet the owner, Ronnie, for a brief minute as he strolled around the stage, observing you all before mumbling something about paying anything you broke and announcing he’d be in his office until opening hours. It wasn’t the warmest greeting you’ll admit, but you don’t really care, enjoying the opportunity nevertheless. 

Abbey arrives just a few minutes before the rehearsal is set to start, contemplating the view of everyone getting into a more of a harmonic arrangement before disappearing backstage for a moment without saying much of a word. When she comes back, she props herself in front of a big curved mirror cutting through one of the walls.

“Do you think you can do my makeup today, babe?” She calls back at you, gazing from over her shoulder with a slight pout on her ips.

“Sure.” You fiddle with the guitar pick between your fingers. “Do you want that rainbow look from last time?”

“Maybe something with less color this time.” She focuses back on her reflection, sighing loudly as fingers run through her locks. “I’m thinking of dying my hair black,” she tilts her head as if she’s envisioning her words. “I don’t know, just to try out something new.”

“That won’t make you look more like Joan Jett, you know.” A voice echoes in the empty space, bringing your attention to the entrance of the place.

And there he stands. The figure you had been staring at not long before, on the same poster stuck right behind where he is leaning, arms crossed and a smug look on his face. 

Harry stands there as if he just walked right out of the big screen, is the kind of beautiful you don’t see quite often outside a magazine cover. Not that it’s something that surprises you, considering you could tell from even a poorly printed image on a poster that the sharp curve of his jaw and the cut of his cheekbones could call anyone’s attention from afar. Even with what you find to be a rather plain outfit for someone like him, a simple white turtleneck tucked in his lightwash jeans, matched with a denim jacket, he still manages to stand out somehow. It’s almost compelling, really. And you can’t help but follow him with your eyes as he pushes himself off the wall, making his way towards the bar with an attitude as if he owns the place.

Abbey scoffs from her spot, arms crossing under her chest. “Unlike you, I don’t have to try to be someone else to get attention, Styles.”

He rests an elbow on top of the counter, chuckling as he points a finger at your friend. “You’re getting better at this, I’m proud.”

“What the fuck are you even doing here?” She barks, keeping a stern look pointed at him.

“Wanted to check out who stole our Saturday night spot, princess.” He spits back at her, words dancing around the room in a teasing manner. “When Ronnie said it was a bunch of newbies had to see it with my own eyes.” Unlike her, he doesn’t seem bitter at the situation in hand, but somewhat amused at the heated girl scoffing at him. From the distance you stand, you can’t make out details, but it’s still enough to notice the grin imprinted on his face, dimples marking his cheeks as he clenches his jaw, eyes wandering around the stage as he leans back fully to rest both elbows on top of the stool. “Plus, I get free booze before the House opens.”

As the words leave his lips his eyes meet yours, and you quickly realize you must’ve been staring for quite a while. You see the smirk growing on his face before you quickly look back at the forgotten bass in your hands. There’s a warmth creeping from your neck to the tip of your ears from getting caught all but gawking at him. You move your hands to the cords, beginning to tune the instrument as an attempt to cover-up. But when you take a peek at him you still find his eyes watching you, only enhancing the blush that’s now undoubtedly taking over your cheeks.

“You lot are way more organized than I expected.” He speaks up again, motioning towards Ross sitting by the side of the stage near the drumset.  “Got a roadie and everything.”

“Piss off!” Ross snarls back at him.

Harry just smiles. “Just taking a piss, mate.”

“I better not see you going around trying to get to one of my girls, Styles.” Abbey calls back from her shoulder as she jumps onto the stage, turning to face him. “Or you’re a dead man.”

“What’s that they can’t speak for themselves?” He arches his brows at her. “Where’s all that sexual freedom you love to brag about?”

“You’d love to use that as an excuse, wouldn’t you?” She toys with the mic stand. “You stay away from them.”

There’s no more banter once you begin the rehearsal. Harry grabbing a glass of a drink you can’t quite make out from the distance and moves to a spot tucked by the back of the place. Curiously, you catch yourself glimpsing in his direction every so often, but you can barely make out his silhouette due to the stage lights limiting your vision. At one point, when it dims down, you can see him scrunching over the table, focusing on a small journal sitting on top of it -- you find it odd his choice of place to do so, but don’t duel on it too much.

What keeps crawling back into your mind is Abbey’s words to Harry earlier, telling him to not try his way with any of you. She was talking about you. That much was clear, considering there’s not any other choice for him, with Jaz being very much compromised and Lena having no interest in engaging with men in any way. That leaves you as the only option that he could possibly pursue. It makes you think why she’d even consider that a possibility in the first place, but you push it to the back of your mind, concentrating on you bass lines until it’s around the opening hour and you’re getting ready backstage.

None of you are used to the concept of having a dressing room, so as undusted as it seems from a first glance, it still only helps to enhance the reality that hits you of this whole experience. The far voices from people starting to fill in the bar outside making your nerves become near overwhelming as you try to apply some eyeshadow with shaky hands. 

When you’re all ready to go, just about half an hour away from walking onstage, you try to dull your anxiety with a cup handed to you by Lena of something you’re not quite sure what it is but it tastes like oranges and tequila. You settle on a spot on the certainly old red couch prompted against the wall. Avoiding a big rip cutting through the middle of it, foam poking out of the hole, you try not to think of what could’ve caused it -- or all the other stains adorning it. 

There’s people coming and going around the space, the door not staying close for longer than a minute. Faster than you can process it, the room is suddenly crammed with people, none of which you recognize yet they greet you as if you’d been friends your whole life. Their loud voices mesh together, making it harder to even hear your own voice if you were to speak out loud. A strong scent of incense takes over the room, so intense you can feel the beginning of a headache. There are people stumbling on their feet trying to get to the stool across from you, where you catch a glimpse of a man with a messy mohawk snorting something out of a dirty bill. 

Two strangers found their sits next to you at some point - not paying the same attention you had to the rip scarring through the cushions. Both get lost in their conversation, the man’s fluffed curls poking your face occasionally when he gets too excited with the hand gestures. You catch a word or two when they try to include you in it, you offer a simple nod, not bothering to try and understand their muddled words.

It all starts to feel a bit overwhelming, the amount of strangers surrounding you along with the nervous feeling that’s already taking over your stomach -- the drink not being of any help at all. You look around trying to find a familiar face, but you can barely spot the green ends of Lena’s hair through the crowd. Gazing down at your wrist clock, you figure there’s enough time for you to find a emptier spot so you can calm yourself down.

“I think I’m gonna get some air.” You say to no one in particular, seeing the man’s head nodding from your peripheral vision as you maneuver your way between leather-clad bodies towards the door.

You’re met with a just as packed hallway. Searching for a more vacant space, you spot a sign indicating an exit door that had been pointed at you earlier as the back alleyway. Without a second thought, you make your way around the crowded space. The nest of feet makes you trip slightly, making you crash against a girl standing next to the door. You mutter a quick apology, but you’re only met with a pitched giggle in response.

Once you reach the door you all but jolt your way out of the building. The brisk night air hitting your face, bringing a sense of relief near to instantly. You close your eyes at the feeling, breathing in as the breeze dances around your face and messes with your air.

“Well, if it’s not one of Abigail’s bunnies.” A voice cuts through the air, breaking you from your moment of relief. Your eyes flutter open, meeting Harry’s irises watching you. He’s leaning back on the wall across from you, foot prompt up and jacket thrown over his shoulders. His fingers fiddle with a closed package of cigarettes, dimples shadowing on his face in amusement.

You blink at him, taking a second to process his words. “I’m not a bunny, whatever that means.”

His lips twitch up. “I’m sure you’re not, darling.”

You observe as he thumbs the package in hand open, quickly grabbing a cigarette and resting it between his lips. “Need a light for that?”

His brows shoot up. “Didn’t take you for a smoker, angel.”

“I’m not, my friends are.” You reach for the back pocket of your jeans, pulling out a tiny pink lighter and throwing it towards him.

He catches it, holding it up between his index and middle finger. “You carry that around for your friends?” He keeps his eyes trained on you as he raises the lighter, flicking it so it paints the end of the cigarette a fiery orange. You can’t help but notice the chipped black nail polish adorning his nails, a couple of rings hugging his fingers, only adding to his rockstar persona. His cheeks hollow around it, taking a slow drag exhaling smooth puffs of smoke out of his puckered lips. He points the end of the cigarette towards you. “That’s a good girl.”

You feel your breath hitch on your throat, looking down as you feel for the second time in the day a heat taking over your cheeks. Standing awkwardly in the middle of the alleyway, your gaze waves around checking a few other lone smokers not too far from you. When you peek at him again, he’s still watching you with the same smug look he had when he first walked in. From this distance you can get a better look at his face, with it’s full colors, and you make a point to figure the forest green of his eyes flickering under the dim light. 

You clear your throat, trying to fill in the silence that’s taken over the space. Keeping your eyes still trained on a random spot where the alley meets the street, you speak up,  “So, how did get a gig here?”

“Trying to get to know me now, love?” There’s a smug tone to his voice, and it makes you shoot your eyes at him.

You shake your head, scoffing softly. “Was trying to be nice, forget it.”

He lets the air fall quiet for a beat, the corner of his lips tugging up as he takes another drag of the cigarette. “My uncle owns the place.”

“Ronnie is your uncle?” You crease your eyebrows.

“Yup.” He props his foot down from the wall, kicking a small rock on the floor. “He’s a right prick, but he can be nice if you get on his soft spot.” He shrugs, eyes meeting yours. “What ‘bout you, bunny?”

 “What about me?”

“How did you get in the spotlight?”

You breathe out a laugh, shaking your head. “I’m not in the spotlight,” 

“You’re stepping on that stage in a few minutes, love, that’s hardly true.”

You chew on your lip, locking your eyes on your feet as you sway back and forth gently. “But I’m, like, on the invisible side of the stage.”

“Invisible side?” 

You shrug, trying to appear unflappable. “Yeah, well, no one ever notices the bassist.”

“I do.” He says without skipping a beat, and when you search for his eyes they’re aloof as if the words just left his lips without a single implication behind them. You wonder if there is one. Or maybe you’re just reading too much into it. Nonetheless, it doesn’t stop a flock of butterflies to sweep on your stomach as he shoots you a warm smile. He motions to the door behind you with his head, “Better get going, darling, if someone spots us talking they might think we’re friends.”

                                 ❁         ❁        ❁ 

“Did you see how crazy they went when we did Call Me?” Abbey leans over the table, not paying any mind to the way it starts to tilt towards her side. You and Jaz quickly balance the weight, straightening surface before the filled cups can start sliding down and causing a mess. You give her a scolding look for not being careful, but she doesn’t even look at you, only picking a fry from the pile in the middle and dipping inside her vanilla milkshake, sitting back and elbowing Lena next to her playfully. “And to think you said it’s not a gig song.”

“I didn’t say that.” Lena shakes the cup in her hand, circling the straw as to mix the melting ice cream inside, completely unfazed by her friend’s tease. “Just said we should do something new if people wanted old songs they would tune on that good times radio station, or whatever it’s called.”

“People like listening to classics!” Abbey protests, raising her voice bit, she’s either forgotten she’s in public or is just simply too stoned to care. Either way, you try to shush her, muffling a giggle with the back of your hand as you see a group two tables down looking back at her. She only huffs, leaning back down on her seat, “What do you suggest we play, then? Duran Duran?”

“I like Duran Duran.” You pester, trying to repress a smile as she shoots you a pointed look.

“I actually think Duran Duran is a great idea.” Lena backs you up, the same taunting smile reflecting on her face as she says it looking at you. 

“You two are completely insane if you think I’m singing new wave, might as well start to fill in for a new vocalist.” She shoves her hand full of fries, dropping to her side of the table with a shrug.

“Jaz you think that girl from your choir is available? The blonde one?” Lena bites into her straw, barely containing her laugh as Abbey narrows her eyes at her.

You watch in amusement from across the table, the contrast between Lena and Abbey looking comical as they continue to banter at each other. In one side there’s Lena who’s leaning back on the wall next to her, her neon pink jumpsuit standing out from anyone else in your group, hair hardly styled, being more of a nest in her head, the sides shaved and the back falling on her shoulders in a mullet. On the other side, Abbey’s swallowed in black, the only color being the red of her hair, that’s pushed up in a high side ponytail.

It was her idea to come to the diner after the gig, declining every offer of an after party (which is new for her) and insisting you had to have this moment to decompress together as a band. What you didn’t take account of, is that a diner on a Saturday night isn’t exactly a deserted place. So after spending an hour sitting on the parking lot, waiting for a table, you finally got yourselves a booth tucked by the back. And now as the place gets clearer and quieter by the minute, after getting your round of burgers, you share a big pile of fries, not ready to leave and sleep on this experience just yet.

“You know who also seem to enjoy the show? That Harry dude.” The mention of his name calls your attention to Lena. “Caught him in the corner a couple times watching us.”

You take a sip of his drink, trying to mask any expression that exposes the fact that you’d noticed too, maybe more than just a couple times.

To your relief, everyone focuses on Abbey as she lets out an annoyed huff. “Why’d you bring him up of all people.” She picks up her nearly empty cup a bit too harshly, her voice rising again. “He called me a Joan Jett wannabe! Fucking prick.”

 “You do dress like her,” Lena raises her brows in defiance.

“It’s called an inspiration, Adeline, doesn’t mean I’m trying to be her.” She barks at her friend. “Doesn’t give that knobhead the right to be a dick about it.”

“Why don’t you like him?” The question slips out of your lips before you can stop it, and you regret it as soon as all eyes on the table set on you, Abbey’s face creasing in an incredulous look as if the answer was obvious.

 “Are you serious? Did you hear how he spoke to us?”

“I don’t know,” You shrug, looking down at your lap, fiddling with the hem of your shorts. “Just seemed like he was trying to get a rise out of you.”

“He’s got a stick up his ass, babe. A full narcissist, it’s ridiculous.” She shakes her head, scrunching her nose in aversion. “He’s also a complete womanizer, it’s disgusting if you ask me.”

“I guess,” You gaze up at her.”

“Babe, he’s a charmer, I’ve seen it before, he knows how to sweet talk someone.” She explains in a sigh. “They’re all like that.”

“They?”

“Men in bands.” She picks up another fry, poking it on her forehead as she makes her point. “Have their heads bigger than the whole stage, think they can do just about anything.”

“Suppose that’s true,” You agree, not wanting to get further in this discussion.

She smiles, biting a piece of the fry before pointing it at you. “It is, which is why we are smart girls and don’t fuck with them.”

                                 ❁         ❁        ❁

You’re aware that going for a walk by yourself at night is not a very secure choice. 

Even living in what you feel like could be the most monotone town in the area (where the biggest report on the local news was when two boys got stuck on a tree thanks to a dare with their friends). But it still doesn’t stop you from being careful, only going around the busier streets, watching the movement of people - mostly students - chatting the night away on the filled pub table, enjoying the short break between studies before going back at it once the weekend’s over. 

You stroll around with not much of a purpose, really, only needing a bit of time to yourself every so often when you feel the turmoil in your home becomes to much (on those weekends when both your roommates decide to stay home). So you just go on your usual path, breathing in the night air and enjoying some alone time.

The ending of your course is marked by none other than the Blue Bird, standing in a corner of the main street.

 A small group of people is gathered in front of it, smoking their cigarettes. You stare at them for a minute as you get closer to the led lights indicating the entrance of the pub, the girls with their bright-colored outfits, hair styled and puffed up as they laugh along to whatever one of the boys has said. One of them has a leather jacket thrown over her shoulder that almost swallows her figure, and you can only assume that it belongs to the man talking to her, leaning back on a payphone, the quiff in his hair so high it makes him look like a knock-off John Travolta. The thought makes you breathe out a laugh to yourself.

Once you reach the entrance you look at it mindlessly, not being able to see much from outside except the string curtain hanged on top of the open door. You turn on your heels, ready to start making your way back, but as you pay attention to the muffled sounds coming from inside the pub you stop on your tracks. A familiar tune catching your attention, making you turn in the direction of the entry. Somebody to Love. 

It peaks your curiosity. If you’re honest, you feel like covering a Queen song is probably one of the most bound for disaster decisions someone can make. But as you feel yourself approaching the entrance, the voice of whoever’s singing it all but lures you inside. It’s not the same as the original, of course, but the lower tone to it fits it just as beautifully and once you fully walk in you can almost feel your heart skip a beat to find Harry standing on stage. His eyes closed in concentration. 

It’s saturday. His saturday night. You forgot about that.

You don’t dare to try to mend amongst the crowd of people packed in front of the stage, making your way to the bar. You thankfully find an empty stool without much of a fight, allowing you a perfect vision of the stage.

Harry is playing the guitar, his voice blending perfectly with the vocals of the girls in the background, eyes closed as he feels every lyric coming out of his throat. His stage look is much different than the one he wore back when you first saw him, it’s something you reckon not many people could rock out as good as he does. A mismatched suit, light green blazer with a pink blouse underneath, along with bright blue trousers -- it’s as if he picked one piece from different colored suits (which you assume he probably did). The locks of his hair are no longer running wild on his head, instead, it’s gelled back, a single rebel strand falling charmingly against his forehead. You wonder if it’s on purpose.

It’s quite a sight to see him like this, you’re not gonna lie. All suited up with no tie, the blouse only partially buttoned so you notice a tease of some tattoos on his chest. You’d noticed his good looks before, it’s impossible not to, but there’s something about the stage glow that makes it impossible to look away from him. It’s mesmerizing.

To your surprise, the rest of his set mainly consists of originals, and unlike you’d expect for any amateur band that dares to sweep away from covers, he manages to hold the crowd’s attention as if he’s singing any other hit song you hear on the radio. Even not knowing the lyrics, people cheer along to the songs, moving to the beat as best as they can in the crowded space. And that’s a direct result of the charisma he holds while standing on stage.

It’s entrancing, really, how he holds himself as if he was born to be doing this. And you think maybe he was. 

There’s a mischievous glow to him, when he rocks out to his own songs, grinding slightly against the mic stand. A gesture that makes you flustered even from your seat a couple of meters away. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of him even if you tried. And you’re sure as hell not trying.

At one point you feel a poke in your arm, turning around to be met with the barman who recognizes you from the week prior. He greets you with a shout over the noise, offering you a drink on his account. Your first instinct is to refuse, considering you weren’t even supposed to stay for long, but after a bit of insisting on his part you accept with a shy smile.

By the time he’s ending the last song, you’re at the edge of your seat, catching yourself wishing you could see more of him. The lights in the audience turn on as he wraps up the set, and just before he bows down with the rest of his band his eyes wander in your direction. It’s so quickly that you think you could’ve just imagined it, considering his eyes don’t meet yours again, only rushing his way backstage.

You blink at the empty spot where he once stood for a moment, almost feeling frozen in place as you try to take in what happened. Turning on your stool to face the bar, you gaze down at your forgotten drink. You hold it to your lips, deciding to finish it so you can ease your way out before anyone else spots you. Your attempt is frustrated, however, when you hear a voice coming from behind you.

“Reckon Abbey Road would throw a fit if she knew you’re wandering around watching my concert.” You turn to face Harry, finding him looking down at you, signature smirk making his dimples poke onto his cheeks. His hands are hidden inside the pockets of his dress pants and he’s taken off his blazer, causing the pink of his blouse to stand out even more.

You chew the inside of your lip. “I can make my own decisions, you know.”

“That’s good to hear, bunny.” His smile grows, hand leaving the pocket to motion at the empty spot next to you. “Mind if I sit here?”

“Be my guest.”

He sits on the empty stool, turning to the bartender that’s handing a drink to a man standing behind you. “Can you give the lady another one of what she was drinking? On my tab.”

“Oh you don’t have to, I was about to--” You begin, but the man behind the counter doesn’t care to listen, only picking up your empty glass and moving away to fill it up. “leave.”

“Already?” Harry arches his eyebrows, resting his arm on top of the counter and leaning towards you. His voice comes out a bit softer, dropping the playful tone, “let me buy you a drink, angel.”

You ignore the way the hairs on your neck rise at the petname. “You really don’t have to--”

“I want to.”

“Okay.” You breathe out, not being able to hold back your smile once his own grows on his face.

As if on cue, the bartender comes back with two glasses, setting them in front of the two of you. You don’t fail to note the fact that he gives Harry his drink without being asked to.

He picks up his glass, holding it up, to which you do the same, clinking your glasses slightly before taking a sip.  “So, what brings you here tonight? Measuring the competition?”

 “I was just walking around, heard a lousy cover of Somebody To Love, and decided to come in.”

He throws his head back a bit in laughter, nose scrunching adorably. You have to look away as to not find yourself staring. “A Queen fan, then?”

 “You could say so.”

“A pretty girl with a good taste in music, gonna steal m’heart if you keep going, bunny.” And just like that, it’s like he takes all the words out of your mind. You only let out a small chuckle, taking a sip of your drink as you look away to cove the blush that paints your cheeks. His eyes are still trained on you, though. “Was it any good?”

“Huh?” You blink back at him.

“The cover.” He grins. “Or was it really that lousy?”

“Oh, it was amazing.” You say truthfully, clearing your throat. “You have a beautiful voice.”

“Thank you.” He bows his head slightly, smiling at you. And unlike before, it’s not smug, but rather warm, you smile back at him. “Enjoyed the show, then?”

“I did.” You nod.

“I’m glad.” He runs his finger around the brim of his glass, tapping against it once with a click of his ring against the glass.  “What would you change about it?”

The question takes you back. “What would I change?” 

 “Yeah.” He clasps his hands over his lap, moving his feet on the floor so his stool swivels from one side to the other.

“Uhm…” You crease your brows, trying to hack your brain for an answer. Your eyes land on his blouse, still halfway unbuttoned. “Your shirt.”

“M’shirt?” He questions, brows shooting towards his hairline, clearly not expecting the answer. He gazes down at the piece on his body, fingers pitching the material as he looks back at you. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Not a big fan of pink.” You shrug.

“Now, we just can’t have that, bunny.” He clicks his tongue. “Pink is the new color of rock n roll!”

You chuckle. “Says who?”

“Says me.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Oh, I’m sorry then, mister rockstar.”

His face lights up in a giggle, lips parting to say something but before he can let the words out a hand rests on his shoulder calling both your attentions to the man standing next to him. You recognize him from standing next to Harry on stage as the guitar player.

“We’re hopping over to Eamon’s.” He doesn’t acknowledge you until Harry’s eyes hover over in your direction. 

“That’s fine, think I’ll stay behind this time.” Harry looks back at his friend, but you see him glimpsing at you from the corner of his eyes.

You watch as his friend raises his brows, gazing between the two of you in a curious manner. You clear your throat, shifting in your seat as you look at them. “ It’s fine, I should get going anyway.”

“You don’t have to,” he says in a blink, a smirk twitching on his lips almost as if to cover up how quickly he said it. He turns back to his friend, who’s still watching the interaction with raised eyebrows.  “You can go without me, I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

“Harry, you didn’t have to.” You subconsciously reach for his arm, retracting your touch just as fast when he glances at it. Clearing your throat, you play with “I really should get going, I was supposed to be on a walk after all.”

“Let me walk you back then,” he gets up from his stool, giving his friend a brief hug before turning back to you and extending his hand for you to take. Your lips part to protest, feeling as if you’re holding him back even though it was his decision to stay behind, but before the words can even come out of your mouth he beats you to it,  “there’s no way I’m letting you go home by yourself this late, love.”

You sigh, shoulder dropping in defeat as you hold back a smile. Taking his hand, you stand up, “okay.”

The main street hasn’t exactly quieted down since you first walked by it, in fact, it only seems like it’s gotten rowdier. Time only increasing the buzz wandering in the air around the people filling the bars, voices louder, filled glasses clinking more frequently. As you stroll through it side by side there’s a comment or to that floats in the air, but you have to all but shout it, fighting with the turmoil of noise.

As soon as you turn into the first street away from the crowds it’s as if someone had turned off the sound completely, the nest of voices getting far-off in the distance and the loudest sound being of the night breeze kissing the tree branches above you. You can feel Harry glancing up at you from the corner of your eye and it doesn’t take long until his voice echoes in the air in an attempt to make small talk.

It’s surprising to you, how easy it is to be drawn in a conversation with him. Harry’s essentially not the same offstage as he is under the spotlight, most people aren’t. There’s no need for him to bloat his charisma when talking to you, he’s quieter. Shy, almost. And it takes you back a bit, to see such contrast in a short amount of time. 

The magnetic force to him, however, still lingers even when he’s like this. You feel drawn to it, wanting to hear him speak about everything that comes to mind, just to savor the way he articulates his words, voice so calm and low it sends an electric chill down your spine. As he tells you about his music inspirations, going on the story about the time he traveled alone to crash a Fleetwood Mac concert, hands brushing against yours when he walks, you catch yourself wondering what it would feel like to link them together.

Once you reach your street, just a block away from the entrance gate of your home, you notice the front lights are yet to be turned off, indicating your roommates are still up and around -- most likely arguing about MTV’s top ten of the week. The realization makes you come to an abrupt stop, catching Harry off guard as he takes a few steps before realizing you stayed behind. 

“Wait.” You say once he turns around, brows furrowed in a silent question as to why you stopped. “Uhm… You can drop me off here… It’s fine.”

“What do you mean? Is it too far? I don’t mind walking-”

“No!” You interrupt. “It’s not that, my house is right there, see?” You point to the bricked building no too far from where you stand.

“Why do y’want me to drop you off here, then?” The crease on his face deepens.

“I-- it’s just--” you begin, not knowing how to say it. “It’s just the girls are still awake, and..”

“Ah,” he clicks his tongue, an amused grin expanding on his cheeks. “Don’t wanna get scolded for hanging out with the enemy.”

“Don’t say like that.” You chuckle at yourself, looking down in embarrassment. “They just will never let me hear the end of it.”

“I get it, bunny.” He takes easy steps towards you, closing the space as he stands tall in front of you. You hold your breath as you look up at him, meeting his irises glimmering in enjoyment, dimples shadowing on his cheek. His hand reaches up, moving a strand of your hair behind your ear and you swear if he gets any closer he’ll be able to hear your heart thumping in anticipation. “Had a lovely time with you.”

“Me, uhm--” you clear your throat as your voice cracks, blood flooding your cheeks. “Me too.”

The streetlight above gives his face a golden glow that almost takes your breath away, his hair glistening in the light due to the gel pushing it back, and now even more rebel strands curl against his forehead. You half expect him to lean down, you don’t know why he would, but for a moment it seems like he will. To your dismay, however, he steps back, giving you one last smile before moving out of your way on the sidewalk. “I’ll see you around, then.”

                                 ❁         ❁        ❁ 

“I have some exciting news for you.”

Abbey’s voice startles you, not realizing she’d entered the dressing room while you focused on the book on your lap. Since you’ve gotten a spot at every other weekend on the pub, your routine just seemed to get even more busy, with rehearsals almost every day. So, because of that you barely find time to do your assignments. And with a book report due just around the corner, you’d thought maybe you could sneak in some reading time after the gig when everyone’s down at the bar and not prancing and screaming around the dressing room.

 Your assumptions shows itself to be wrong, however, when your perky friend bounces her way to where you sit. She kneels next to the couch, crossing her arms on top of your legs and resting her chin on them, looking up at you expectantly, lips lifted in a side grin. 

“What is it?”

“Got us an after-party, babe.” you notice a few colored lollies in her hand when she removes the plastic protecting a red one, shoving it between your lips before you can even protest. “And you’re coming with us.”

“I’d love to but I have class tom—“ Your voice is muffled around the sweet. 

She rolls her eyes, standing to sit next to you on the arm of the couch. “You should stop wasting your life with an outdated system” 

“You mean getting a degree?” 

“Do you watch the news? We’re about to be the last generation to live fully, the world is about to break into nuclear wars all around.” She says as a matter-of-fact, turning to rest her legs on top of your lap. “Cosmo said we probably won’t even make it to the 2000s” 

“Who’s Cosmo?” 

She sighs, reaching to move a strand of your hair behind your ear. Her voice comes out soft, but calculated, “what matters is that we should enjoy our time while we have it.” 

“You’re giving a whole speech about nuclear war to convince me to go to a party with you.” You arch your brows at her. 

“Yes.” 

You sigh, shoulders falling in defeat as you let yourself be convinced. “Okay. But I’ll—” 

“Great!!” She squeals, moving her legs from your lap and leaning down to grab your face, pressing a quick kiss on top of your hair before jumping from the couch, and out of the room. 

Once you arrive at the location of the after-party, Abbey leads you and Lena to a tall gate by the side of the house, explaining that you’re walking in from the back garden, considering the front door is locked. You find it odd, and if wasn’t for the muted sound of instruments echoing inside the bricked walls of the place, you’d doubt there was even a party happening here at all. The front of it was as regular as the other surrounding suburbian homes, grass neatly trimmed and the front lights turned off, as if nobody was even home.

Which is why you’re visibly taken back when you walk by the gate into the back area, finding an old vintage bus that could be around ten or even twenty years old, sitting in the middle of the grass. The wheels of it have been taken off, and every inch of the exterior is covered by graffiti, so much you couldn’t even make out the original color of it if you tried. Some of them are unreadable scribbles tangling on top of each other. Some are colorful drawings painted over them -- two sunflowers catch your attention, marked just above where the wheel would be, growing tall along the side and above the window.

“I know, right?” Abbey nods at your astounded expression. “Legend says John Lennon signed it somewhere.”

“Really?” You look at her, not able to hold back the way your voice pitches in amazement.

“Dunno, never looked for it.” She shrugs. “C’mon I’ll show you.”

She grabs your hand, dragging you to the side of the vehicle pointing at some random drawings and explaining the rumors behind their meanings. You try to concentrate on her excited babbles, but as you see Lena walking away from the corner of your eye you look up to watch her meet with a girl you’ve never seen. Before you can focus back on your friend, something else catches your attention, sitting on a wooden bench under a large tree, no too far from where you stand.

Harry’s in a small group sat in a circle. You recognize two men from his band sitting on the grass with guitars propped on their laps, one being the same that interrupted you the night at the bar. The rest are women who seem to have come right out of Fleetwood Mac’s tour bus, their long hairs pushed back with hairbands and earthtoned flare pants. But you barely even care about the ones sitting on the grass, humming along to the strings of the guitars. What grabs your attention is the one next to harry on the bench, her arm draped over his shoulder as she dabbles flower petals playfully on his hair. 

You hardly take in his appearance, half-mindedly noticing the tattoos decorating his arms that pokes out of his tank top and the twirls on his hair as the girl winds her fingers on it. it’s hard not to remember Abbey’s words when she said he knows how to sweet talk his way around, and the thought of having fallen down on his trap only makes your heart pang on your chest. 

“-- That’s basically why they won’t let anyone paint over it anymore.” You turn back to Abbey as she points to the sunflowers you’d spotted earlier, nodding along as if you’d heard everything she said. She looks at you, “but I like this way better, don’t you think?” 

“Yeah.” You agree, not exactly knowing what to.  

She wraps her arm around yours, and you grasp the minty scent of her perfume as she pulls you close. “Let’s go inside.” 

There’s an urge inside of you to peek back over your shoulder to catch a last glimpse of Harry, but you push it to the back of your mind, allowing Abbey to guide you around the bus where the entrance door is hanging open. 

A small group of people greet you inside the bus, amongst them is the said ‘Cosmo’.  He seems like the exact kind of person you’d imagine Abbey hanging around on her weekends’ escapades. Dressed in a baby blue velvet suit with nothing underneath his blazer except a few of - what you assume - hand-painted tattoos, matching with a rainbow stripe drawn on the side of his face, starting at the bridge of his nose and going all the way to the curve of his jaw. His hair hits just around his shoulders, the sides shaved so it’s like a puffed version of a mullet, edges dyed in a bright shade of red. He toys with a lit joint between his purple lips, picking it up and offering to you with a raise of his brows.

Normally you’d decline the offer, especially coming from someone you’d just met, but there’s an annoying feeling settling itself at the pit of your stomach. One you want to ignore but can only do so much to dull it, so you accept the joint, reaching for it and placing it in your mouth. 

You’re not a regular smoker by any means, and when you inhale you can feel the smoke burning your throat as it moves down to curl inside your lungs. It makes you want to cough it out but you hold it in, trying to take in everything before huffing it out in a choked breath.

“Do you want a drink?” One of the girls asks you, already pouring you a purple drink inside a labeless plastic bottle.

“What’s in this?” You accept the cup, giving her an skeptic look.

“Pure fuel, babe.” Abbey leans on your shoulder from behind.

You hang out in the bus for a while, and, to your surprise, you don’t feel left out as they keep notice to include you in their conversations. The drink ends up being not that bad, and, even having no idea what’s in it except for the very artificial citric taste mixed with some very strong cheap alcohol, you still refill your cup after you finish it. 

It’s a nice feeling, to get a bit looser in a party and allowing yourself to have some adventurous fun. And as time goes by and your mind gets cloudier, the group starts to disperse. Two of them find a spot in the back with as much privacy as they could get in a party to swallow each others faces. Another one passes out in one of the seats behind you, hugging the empty plastic bottle as if it’d run away from them. It leaves just Abbey and Cosmo with you, discussing with each other about something that you’ve stopped paying attention a long while ago.

You just watch them silently, resting your head back on the seat and feeling the late hours weightening on your eyelids. You feel like you could doze off at any moment, but what stops you from it is a loud screeching sound of an amplifier from inside the house. It startles you, making you jump slightly on your seat as you hear a voice speaking almost like a groan, and you’re not sure if it’s your drunken mind or the inaudible words but you can’t make out a single thing that’s being said. A crease deepens between your eyebrows and you turn to question your friend about it but, before you can do so what seems like the most obnoxious cover of  We Built This City starts playing.

Abbey gasps as the chords of the song somehow get even louder, grasping her hand on the man’s arm. “Oh my god!” She squeals, exchanging a look with Cosmo as they both all but jump from their seats. She glances down at you, “We’re going in, are you coming?”

You raise your brows at her, trying to hide the scrunch on your face. “I’m good.”

She nods, making her way out of the bus, her feet stumbling on each other as she holds onto her friend’s shoulder to keep her balance. And just like that, you’re left alone on the leather seat.

You peek at the couple in the back, eyes bulging slightly as you see the girl has lost her shirt, the boy’s hands caress her chest as they keep their lips locked harshly. Deciding to give them a bit more privacy, you make your way out of the bus as well, the contrast from the compact air inside the vehicle to the crisp wind of the outdoors sending chills down your body.

Looking around, you realize most people hanging around are gone, probably gone inside the house. You can’t help but let your eyes wander to the spot you’d seen Harry earlier, and you don’t hold back the shock in your face when you find him still sitting on the bench, but this time with no one else around him. He fiddles with a lighter on his hand, flickering every so often to watch the weak flame before letting it die again. 

Your feet start to move before you can really grasp that you’re walking towards him, your head still a bit cloudy from the substances in your bloodstream. He looks up once you get close to him, signature smirk growing on his lips as he glances up at you.

“Look what we have here.” He leans back, “a lost bunny.” 

“Hi, Harry.” You say simply.

His smile turns a bit softer. “Where are your bandmates?”

“Celebrating.” You shrug.

“Shouldn’t you be as well?”

“I am.” You hold up the mostly empty red cup.

He chuckles. “I see, having fun by yourself then?”

You focus on a spot beyond his head, suddenly feeling timid under his gaze. “Seems like it.”

“Want to join my private party here?” He shifts to his side, patting the spot next to him. “S’very exclusive, as you can see.”

“Well, I’m honored to be invited, then.” You sit down on the space he made for you.

For a moment, there’s a silence between the two of you, the only sound being the jarring cover of  Everybody Wants to Rule The World. The notes of it are so off that you can’t help but huff a relieved breath when it comes to an end, enjoying the few seconds of silence before they begin another song. 

A small groan leaves your lips when the noise starts again, catching Harry’s attention as you feel his eyes land on the side of your face. “It should be illegal to ruin great songs like this.” You shake your head to yourself, speaking your thoughts out loud in a rush of confidence. “They should get arrested for it.”

He chuckles. “You’re not wrong.”

Your eyes dart at him, meeting his. It’s hard to miss the way his irises glimmer under the moonlight. When he glances down at the lighter still in his hands you take the opportunity to really have a look at him. The proximity makes you aware of a small constellation of freckles kissing his nose, and the stubble starting to poke out the skin along his jawline. You want to blame the haziness in your mind for the thoughts of how it would feel like to have it scratching against your skin. Or how it would feel under your lips as you nibble your way all the way to his rosy lips. You want to push these away, belittle them as nothing but drunken thoughts. But you know very well it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve let yourself be entertained by them.

A pitched scream takes you out of your head. You realize there’s been a beat of silence since he’s spoken, so you clear your throat, a warmth creeping up on your neck as if he’d been able to hear your thoughts. “Do you know them?”

He shakes his head slightly. “Not really, no. They played in the pub once, Ronnie hated them.” He glances at you, corner of his lips itching upwards. “Call themselves Crystal Illusion, so there’s that.”

“Christ.” You can’t help but roll your eyes. “And here I thought it couldn’t get any worse.”

The sound of his giggle makes you look back at him, catching the sight of his dimples carving deep on his cheeks. “You’re really something, aren’t you, bunny?”

“Why do you call me that?” The question rolls of your tongue before you can even think about it. His brows raise at your question, and you decide to enjoy the rush of confidence and pick on it further. “Dunno if I’m supposed to feel offended or charmed.”

 “Don’t mean it as a tease, can tell that much.” He smiles, shrugging slightly. “You just remind me of a bunny.”

The words pique your curiosity. “How so?”

He looks back down to his lap, and if it wasn’t for the poor lighting you would be sure of the blush taking over his cheeks. “Just all cute -- could tell you were a bit reserved, and like, curious. Had your eyes wandering all around when I first saw you.” He moves his head around lightly as if to explain his point and you have to bite back a smile. “And when you were focused you’d scrunch your nose a bit. Like a bunny.”

“I’m glad you didn’t say I have big ears.” You try to humor, searching for his eyes.

He laughs, looking up at you. “I mean, now that you’ve mentioned it…”

Your gasp shifts into a giggle as you push him away playfully. “Well, if I’m a bunny...” You pause, racking your mind to think of an analogy for him, but your mind is still a bit slowed down, your thoughts taking a beat too long to catch up to your words. When you glance down to the arm that’s brushing against yours, you notice the tattoo peaking on his skin. You reach for it without thinking about it, fingers tracing the ink as you take in the drawing, his eyes follow your touch curiously. “Then you’re an eagle.” You cringe to yourself as soon as the words come out of your mouth, attempting to mask it as you breathe out a laugh.

He arches his brows, lips fluttering, trying to hold back a smile. “You think I’ll kill you?”

“Oh shit, you’re right.” You cover your face with your hand, shaking your head at yourself. “Didn’t think that one through.” Your laughs meld together for a moment, slowly dying off and giving space a comfortable silence. The only sounds being the nightly hum of cicadas and the whisper of the breeze against the branches of the trees, that and, well, the faint screams of instruments from inside the house. Looking up at him, a breath hitches when you realize the proximity of his eyes to yours. You try to tease him but when you speak your voice comes out lower than you expected, almost in a whisper,  “so you think I’m cute?”

“Course I do.” He says in a blink. “Don’t think that’s much of a secret, love.”

You chew on your bottom lip, not missing the way his eyes dart down on your face. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Yeah?” He smirks, wiggling his eyebrow teasingly. “Think I’m pretty?”

“I won’t inflate your ego if that’s what you want.”

“I tried.” He breathes out a laugh, eyes moving back down on your face but this time he doesn’t rush them back to yours, not hiding the intent of his gaze. For the first time, you’re glad for the background noise, afraid that if it wasn’t for it he’d be able to hear the thumping of your heart.“Can I kiss you?”

“Huh?” You blink at him, not because you didn’t hear him, but because you’re a bit taken back at the forwardness of the question.

 He moves his arm to rest on the back of the bench, turning his hand to play with the tips of your hair. “Can I kiss you, bunny?” He repeats.

You nod before you can find it in you to voice your answer, clearing your throat, “yes.”

The hand that’s not in your hair moves to caress your cheek, he takes a moment to look at you, thumb rubbing your cheek gently before he leans in. Your eyes flutter close instinctively, holding your breath in anticipation as you feel his lips on the corner of your mouth. He keeps them there for a beat before pulling back, tilting your face a little just to finally close the space between your mouths.

The kiss starts slow. Uncertain, even. His lips are soft against yours, warm breath hitting your cupid bow as he sucks in your bottom lip gently. You feel his hand cupping your jaw, sneaking behind your neck as he pulls you closer and you all but melt under his touch. Being this close you can smell the scent of his cologne mixed with the smoke of cigarettes, and something about it is so sensual you can’t help but grip on his shirt as to have something to hold on to.

You can feel yourself getting lost on his touch, shamelessly scooping to the side as you enlace your thighs for the sake of being closer to him. His hand falls on your knee, rubbing it as your tongue line on his bottom lip.

It’s the sound of the door that leads to the house sliding open that falls like a bucket of ice water on your head, reminding you of your surroundings, and that you’re not, in fact, alone with him in the garden, which means any of your friends could easily spot you if they were to walk outside.

  It’s almost like he reads your mind when you pull away from him, loosening your grasp on the material of his shirt. His lips don’t let you get far, trailing their way along your jaw until he can bite on your lobe. “Relax, petal” He whispers, pulling back to look at you as your noses brush together. “They won’t see us, even if they do they’re probably too stoned to even care.”

You let out a weak chuckle, gazing at the door where a group of people stumble their way towards the bus, voices loud as they slur incoherent words. It’s hard to see inside the house as most of the lights inside seem to be turned off, but you can tell how packed it is, bodies pressed so close together it makes you wince slightly just with the thought of being amongst them. Looking back at him, you ponder for a second before nodding. “You’re right.”

A grin paints on his face before he leans in, closing the space between you once again.

                                 ❁         ❁        ❁ 

“Still with us?” A call of your name on the mic snaps you out of your thoughts.

Looking up, you’re met with your bandmates curious eyes staring right at you and you realize you’ve probably been too lost in your own head to pay attention to the conversation in hand. Your lips part for a split second, trying to think of an answer that doesn’t give away your lack of focus but a single look at Abbey’s arched brows and you know you’ve been caught. 

You clear your throat, lips tugging on a guilty smile. “Sorry, I am now.” 

It’s hard not to let your eyes glimpse to the back of the room, where the sole reason for your distraction sits quietly on his regular spot, tucked behind his journal and doing his own thing. But you hold back the stare, knowing your moves were being watched by your friend who’s back to talking about the setlist changes for the night, and who would not be happy in the slightest to notice your wandering eyes falling on the one person she despises the most. You wonder how she’d react if she got her hands on the piece of paper burning through the back pocket of your denim shorts. 

The message was short and simple, but the connotation behind it carried a much stronger meaning to it.

Meet me in the back before the gig, want to see you. -H

You found it tucked inside your case, lying innocently on top of your bass, apparent enough so anyone who’d opened the case could’ve found it before you. Surely, no one else did, otherwise, you wouldn’t hear the end of it from the minute you’d stepped into the place. Which makes you wonder how he managed to slip in the note sneakily enough without anyone noticing it, but the curiosity is well dulled in your mind by the pounding of your heart.

To your dismay, however, you barely got a look at him throughout the rehearsal. You got to The Blue Bird later than you’d intended to, the tutoring session you had on the day ended up running later than you’d expected. So by the time you stepped through the string curtains of the pub  Harry was already tucked on the shadowy corner and everyone else was hanging by the stage waiting for you, barely giving you a second to set your bag in the dressing room.

So it’s hard for you not to stare when he gets up from his seat, walking into the lighter space of the bar with his signature smirk painted on his face. You’d just gone through the last song of your set for the second time -- an amplified version of Girls Just Wanna Have Fun (Lena insisting on repeating it after messing up on the first try). He’s holding a maroon leather jacket on his arm, along with his journal, leaving his arms bare under his Bowie tank top -- which, as he approaches the stage you notice the uneven hem on the sleeves, suggesting he might’ve cut them off himself.  His hair is running wild as usual, the fringe curling against his forehead and you chew on your lip at the thought of running your hands through it as you did not even a week ago.

He reaches to the back pocket of his jeans, pulling out a pack of cigarettes as he reaches the end of the stage. “That was a great one, everybody, maybe if you keep it going we can get you a spot on that wacky show they’re premiering.” He sets the stuff he’s carrying on the stage floor, crossing his arms on top of it. “What’s it called again? ‘S like ‘gag me with a spoon’ or something like that.”

“We wouldn’t want to steal your spot again.” The words leave your lips before you can process them, for a moment forgetting you’re not alone with him so your playful tease can be easily interpreted as mocking. 

He rests the things he’s carrying on his arm on the stage floor, hoisting himself up almost effortlessly before picking them up again, walking the few steps it takes for him to stand in front of you. His lips are tugged on a shit-eating grin. “Got another feisty one in here, huh?” He crosses his arms under his chest, and you can’t help but note the way his muscles flex at the gesture, his tattoos dancing slightly on his skin. “What makes you so smug about stealing my spot? Reckon Ronnie only said he needed more chicks hanging around.”

“If that’s the case then there’s no need for you to be intimidated by a band of chicks, then.” You keep your eyes trained on his, but you can notice Abbey’s getting wider from over his shoulder. 

His lips twitch up, and you can tell he’s holding back a genuine smile as not to crack your act. “Am I intimidated now, bunny?”

“It’s what it looks like.” You shrug, now holding back your own smile.

“Maybe you need to take a better look at things then, angel.”  He starts walking backwards in the direction of the backstage. “Wouldn’t want any more misunderstandings, would we?”

“Don’t think we would.” 

And with that, he turns around, walking the rest of the way out and disappearing as he rounds the corner to where you know it’s the door leading to the back alleyway. You just stand there quietly for a moment, following his steps as you try to recollect what just happened. For the two of you, it was clear that the tension was the product of an unspoken want circling around, but you question for a second if that’s the impression that your friends had. And as you look at their expressions, raised brows and mouths agape, it’s hard to tell.

“Holy shit, babe.” Abbey is the first to speak out. “Didn’t know you had that in you.”

You hold back a relieved exhale, shrugging slightly as you remove the strap of the bass from your shoulder. “He was just getting on my nerves.” You face away from her, placing the instrument on the stand.

The anticipation of meeting Harry grows impatiently on your stomach as you try to find a gap where no one’s attention is on you to sneak out of the dressing room. It seems as if every time you think you can do it, someone pulls you in, either to try to push you another pill of something you’re not sure what it is or to ask you to help with their makeup. But as the room gets filled and people get higher, their focus become more diffuse, and finally, after finishing assisting Jaz with her eyeliner (her hands were too shaky to get it right) you manage to slip out the room into the corridor.

There’s a sense of recognition that takes over your body when you feel the wind messing with your hair as you step out the building to be met with Harry’s figure leaning back on the wall, not too far from the spot you found him the last time you’d been in this same position. His eyes shoot in your direction as soon as you step through the door as if he’d been waiting for this just as eagerly as you were. He quickly throws the butt of the cigarette on the floor, stepping on it before standing tall as you slowly approach him.

“Hi.” You say simply, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shorts -- not knowing with to do with your hands.

“Hi.” His grin grows. “Came back here to intimidate me?” He teases, biting on his bottom lip.

“Actually,” you scrunch your lips, deciding to play his game as you reach on your back pocket, retrieving the small piece of paper and holding it up. “Got this very desperate note from a secret admirer but I don’t see any hotties here.” You click your tongue, looking around as you let out a loud sigh. “Guess it might be just a misunderstanding.”

He laughs, hands reaching for your waist to draw you closer. “That’s too bad, guess you’re stuck with me”

“Yeah?” You wrap your arms around his shoulders, stepping closer so that your chests meet and his forehead falls against yours.

He nods in response, your noses brushing gently before he leans to meet your mouth with his own.

                                 ❁         ❁        ❁

There’s a thrilling feeling that settles deep within you when it comes to holding a secret.

It’s that spark of excitement that brings a kaleidoscope of butterflies to come alive on your stomach. The kind of feeling that makes every cell of your body feel not just simply alive but as if it’s burning with joy. Which is why you guess falling into a routine of sneaking around with Harry on secret little rendezvous was so easy, to begin with. 

Of course, your friends’ opinions are important to you, but you know that you’re an adult very much capable of making your own decisions. That means sleeping with anyone you’d like despite their ill opinions about the person, without having to sneak around as if you’re teenagers hiding from your parents. You know that, and you try to remind yourself of that every time you catch yourself lying to them about your whereabouts at every coming day. 

In the beginning, you weren’t even sure that there was anything to it except for a couple of innocent kisses, maybe some not-so-innocent touches here and there, but nothing really worth even telling anyone. You’d only really see Harry on the weekends. When he would steal moments with you before your gigs when you “had to take a breather”. Or when mysteriously disappeared from your friends’ sides during after parties after they already had their minds buzzed and noses backed up. Or even when your night walks would tart becoming gradually longer due to your curiosity getting the best of you once you found yourself in front of the familiar Pub on Harry’s nights.

The weekends’ escapades took a different turn when they graduated to weekdays. Things took a quick turn then. It started with him offering you a ride to the houses for your tutoring or to the library (stealing kisses every now and then, of course). And before you knew, you were making up classes or books to rent for your oblivious roommates, only to spend hours on Harry’s car. Coming back with puffy lips and messy hair.

Part of you felt bad for going behind their backs, every now and then feeling an urge to pull Lena aside and gush about him for as long as your heart desired.

But it’s the thrill of it, of having something that’s just yours to have, that no one else knows except the two of you. The adrenaline that comes with the possibility of getting caught at any moment, but being able to get away with it. It’s almost addicting to you, so you prefer to have these moments just to yourself.

As the days went by, and those days turned into weeks, and those weeks turned into months, it just made it harder for you to tell them you’d been hiding a whole relationship for this amount of time. Well, not exactly a relationship, but as close as you ever got to one anyway.

And it’s not like you’d never had anyone before. Being in the music scene, you’ve had your quite a few amounts of flings — even though not as many as it’s expected. But no one has ever left you as enamored as him, especially not as quickly as he has. He’s intriguing, carrying around that mysterious aura around him that leaves everyone wondering the secrets he holds in his heart. 

Although when it’s just the two of you it’s like this cocky persona of him completely dissolves. It’s a complete contrast from the image he carries around the restless mouths of prying people. He’s not that enigmatic heartbreaker who hops around strangers beds as if to live that classic Rock ‘n Roll lifestyle you see on TV. Rather, he’s shown himself to be the most caring man you’ve ever been with.

And that’s how you found yourself in this position, your body awkwardly positioned on your side in the rear seat of his car. A hand tangled on his hair while the other pulls at his Bowie shirt, you know your lips are probably starting to get swollen and his are taking a raspberry tone from the way they’d been sucking at one another. So with that in mind, you part from his mouth, trailing kisses along his cheek, and a final one at his nose before sitting back on the seat.

Just as you predicted his rose-colored lips are plump as he grins back at you, his locks are wild on top of his head. His hair has grown around his jawline now, curls poking out in all directions and you can’t help but reach your hand to pull his fringe back from his forehead. His smile growing fondly and eyes fluttering shut as you run your hand through his strands. 

When you pull away you catch a glimpse of your wrist clock, cringing slightly at yourself as you realize you should start thinking of heading home.

“I have to go soon.” You let your hand fall to your lap with a sigh.

“Already?” He pouts. “Barely had any time together.”

“We’ve been here for two hours, silly.” You giggle at his dramatics, leaning to press your lips on his chin.

He throws an arm over your shoulder, keeping you close. “Exactly, barely any time.”

He turns his head to connect your mouths once more before pulling you against him so your head rests on his shoulder. You look beyond the glass of the windshield to the nearly empty street -- saving from a few people walking back from what you assume is a day of work

He’s parked on the usual spot two blocks away from your house, and from this angle, you can see the front gate that leads to the entrance. The front seat of the coupe still folded forward as there was no reason to set it back to place considering the circumstance in which you were on the backseat. You had called home from the payphone in front of the library, letting Lena know you’d be home late to catch up with some studies -- another lie to your pile.

There’s a comfortable silence that falls between the two of you -- apart from the low voice of the radio Dj interrupting A-ha’s Take On Me in the background. If you move your head just right you can hear his speeding heartbeat, and if wasn’t for the faltering on his breathing you’d assume he was just as relaxed as you are. You move away from him, his arm falling around your waist, looking at his profile as he pokes at his jeans, a crease between his eyebrows.

You rest your cheek against the leather seat, grasping his chin with your fingers and gently moving his head so his gaze meets yours. “What’s on your mind, handsome?”

He breathes out a laugh, shrugging lightly as he brings his hand to scratch at the tip of his nose. “Nothing much.”

“But there’s something.” You insist, being able to tell he’s pondering over something.

“It’s just-- I just thought--” he pauses with a sigh. You play with the rings on his fingers, waiting patiently for him to express his thoughts, you can tell he’s a bit nervous which is an adorable change from his regular charming demeanor. “I wanted to maybe-- like, we could have a date.”

. 

You straighten your posture, lips parting as you take in his words. “A date?”

“Yeah… A proper one, you know?” He shrugs, eyes darting back on yours. “If you want to, that is! Don’t wanna pressure you or anything.”

“I do, H.” You nod, chewing on your lip as you try to recollect your thoughts. It’s not as if you don’t want to go on a date with him, that couldn’t be further from the truth. But turning it into a formality just changes completely the scheme of things and, as much as you felt like this is an inevitable step to take at some point, you still feel protective to an extent of this secret you have between the two of you. So you can help but let your voice come a little apologetic, “it’s just--”

“I know.” His shoulders drop and you can’t help but feel a tug at your heart.

“Hey.” You caress his cheek. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Okay.” His lips perk up in a small smile, and you lean forward to give him a peck.

He’s still looking at you with puppy-like eyes and it does nothing to help the heaviness in your heart from turning him down. You lean again this time to spread kisses around his cheek as an attempt to pull a giggle out of him, but you only earn a light chuckle so you seat back tilting your head to look at him with a pluck of your lips. “C’mon where’s my smug rockstar gone?”

“He’s right here.” The shadow of his dimples appears on his cheeks. His voice comes out low and gentle, as if he’s still pondering over what you said earlier, “just toned him down a bit.”

You sigh, trying to rack your brain to another subject that can distract him from it. You catch sight of the slightly smudged end of his eyeliner, and your face lights up as you remember a request you’ve always wanted to bring it up. “Do you want to know something?” Biting back a cheeky grin, you cross your arms under your chin as he looks at you with raised eyebrows. “Should let me do your makeup, so you can be a proper rockstar.”

He lets out a laugh. “Do I need that, now?”

“Mhm, said it yourself, it’s part of the look.”

“Did I say that?” You nod, teeth still biting on your lip. He lets out a breath, contemplating the idea for a second before looking back at you. “Okay then.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Course, could never say no to you even if I tried.” He lets his hand fall on your thigh, rubbing it gently. “On one condition, though.” You arch your brows in question. “Come to my gig tomorrow.”

You face scrunches in confusion. “I always go to your gigs.”

“Yeah but I mean go earlier, like so we can hang out before and stuff.” His finger starts to draw circles on your knee. “So you can do my makeup, too, can go on stage looking all pretty.”

“As if you could ever look anything less than pretty.” You say before sitting back, thinking of his proposal. “You’re asking me to be there early…”

“What? D’you have plans already? Got a boyfriend I don’t know about?” And there it is, the teasing Harry you know.

You shake your head, poking his side playfully. “Oh yeah, maybe I should’ve mentioned him sooner.”

“Shut up.” He rolls his eyes before looking at you, his voice coming down to a pleading tone. “Come, please.”

Before the yes can roll off your tongue you remember that you wouldn’t be alone with him. “What about your band?” 

He furrows his brows. “What about them?”

“Well, do they know?”

“They couldn’t care less about us, baby.” He sighs, head falling back on the seat as he moves his hand so it rests on your inner thigh, rubbing a spot in there. “Have no meaning hiding you.”

You can’t hold back the smile that grows on your lips, leaning to press a kiss to his mouth before letting professing in just above a whisper, “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

                                 ❁         ❁        ❁ 

“‘S poking my eye.”

“Shh, quiet.”

“You’re rubbing it too harsh.” Harry grabs your wrist, eyes fluttering open to stare up at you.

“I’m being gentle, you’re just not used to the feeling of the brush.” You argue, keeping a finger under his chin so his head is tilted upwards as you shuffle on his lap. “Now close your eyes, I’m almost done.”

He lets out a huff, trying to feign annoyance, but the slight twitch of his lips and the subtle appearance of his dimples break his facade. You know as much as he won’t admit to it, he’s quite enjoying having you propped on his lap, fingers stroking gently his eyelids while you hum along to The Cure’s record that’s mixing with the murmurs of the other people in the room.

To your surprise, you’ve come to realize that the dressing room is significantly less chaotic when it comes to Harry’s band. The place is not nearly as packed as it can get during your nights, in fact, apart from the band itself, there’s only a handful of people hanging around. And as much as you notice their bloated pupils and stumbled walks, they mostly keep it to themselves, sharing around a bottle of vodka to wash down their pills.

Like Harry had assured you, his bandmates couldn’t be less bothered by your presence amongst them. And as much as you recognize all from the numerous gig you’ve been in before, and that according to them your name has been frequently mentioned by Harry himself (which did make his cheeks turn into an adorable shade of red), it’s nice to be formally introduced to them. In fact, they were so quick to treat you as one of their own that you could feel a slightly guilty feeling expanding on your chest from the number of times you’d heard your friends bad mouthing them in attempts to joke around. 

You swallowed the feeling back, though, accepting a plastic cup they poured with champagne (which you learned is a tradition before gigs) and making a conversation.

“Are you done yet?” You feel the vibration of his voice on that back of your fingers that touch against his throat.

“Yes,” you say with a final stroke of your brush on his eyes, sitting back to admire your work with your teeth carved on your bottom lip. “You can open your eyes, baby.”

He blinks his eyes open and you can’t help the smile that breaks through your lips as you examine the contrast of the burning red eyeshadow with his jade irises as he looks back at you. “How do I look?” 

You grab his cheeks, leaning down to press a quick peck on his lips. “Like a proper rockstar.”

“Yeah?” He grins once you let your hands caress on the smooth skin of his chest poking through his unbuttoned blue blouse. “Think I can finally get some groupies now?”

Scoffing, you swing your hand to shove him back playfully with a roll of your eyes. You try to move away but he grabs hold of your wrists, pulling you in again. “You’re insufferable.”

“Just how you like it.” His hands fall to your waist, bringing it closer as you let your arms wrap around his shoulders. 

His lips meet your on a slow kiss, allowing you to taste the strawberry flavor of the lipstick you’d applied earlier, the thought of messing it completely lost in your mind as you tilt your head to deepen it even more. His fingers now grip on your hips over your denim skirt that has ridden up considerably since you first propped yourself on his lap. For a moment you just stay like this, tangled on each other’s arms, every so often you scratch on his neck, pulling his hair just a bit so you can swallow the most delicious mewls.

He parts from you as slowly as the kiss started, pecking on your lips a couple of times before letting his head fall back, hands moving to rub at your thighs over your pink tights. His eyes are hooded as he looks up at you with a smirk, voice coming low as if he’s sharing a secret just between the two of you, “can we go to the back?”

“Sure.” You unstranddle him, adjusting your skirt as you stand up and offering your hands to help him to his feet. He takes them, almost bringing you back down on the couch as he pulls a little bit too hard. 

Once he’s up he takes a look at himself on the mirror in the wall opposite to the couch, a pleased smile on his face letting you know he likes the result of your work. He reaches for your hand then, guiding you into the hallway and out the back door you’ve become so familiar with.

Walking into the alleyway, he walks to his usual spot, leaning back on the wall and pulling you with him. His hands easily find their place on your waist once again, fingers tapping against the fabric of your skirt anxiously. Looking down at you, there’s anticipation on his eyes, as if he’s trying to tell you something but is waiting for you to bring it up.

“So,” he begins, eyes darting around as he parts his legs a bit, enough to fit you between them as he pulls you closer.

“So…” You say, drifting off as a way to encourage him to keep going.

“I’ve thought about the date thing.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, playing with the ends of his har. “Wasn’t I the one that was supposed to be doing that?”

 He shrugs slightly, looking down to where his fingers fiddle with a loose strand of your vest. There’s something very endearing about seeing him so nervous, a complete opposite to how he carries himself in public, as this cocky and confident guy. You’re grateful that he allows you to see this side of him, though, bringing your hand to caress his jawline as you wait him to speak his thoughts. “Yeah, but I had like, an idea, or whatever.”

“Do tell.”

“I thought we could do--” he shakes his head a bit. “We could go to a place that’s still more reserved, and stuff.” 

“Like?”

“I dunno, I--” he chews on his lip, a habit he’s starting to get from you. “Thought we could go to my flat and like hang out, we could go to that diner that has a drive tru and get something to eat and go back to my place.” 

“Are you trying to take me home, Styles?” You tease, not being able to hold back a smile.

“It’s not like that, I just--” he huffs, cheeks getting a bit flushed as he tries to explain himself. “Just if you’re comfortable with it, of course, we can still go around on my car if you prefer, I don’t mind.”

“Harry?” You hold his cheek, moving it so his eyes can meet yours. Rubbing your thumb against his smooth skin, you try to soothe him, shooting him a fond smile.  “I think that’s a really nice idea.”

“Yeah?” You don’t miss the way his eyes light up. “Is that a yes, then?”

“Of course.”

“Cool, I can, like, call you before I leave home so you can go to our spot and I can pick you up, yeah?” It’s the fastest he’s speaking since the moment you walked out of the building, voice a pitch higher. “How about Friday?

“Great.” You giggle, tangling your fingers on his hair to pull him down so his forehead rests against yours. Lips brushing, you blink up at him, jade eyes flickering around your face, “I can’t wait.”

He smiles. “Me too.”

                                 ❁         ❁        ❁

An annoyed puff leaves your lips as you notice another typo in one of the words inked in the paper poking out of the typewriter. You grab it maybe a bit too forcefully, this being the fourth time in a matter of minutes you had to do this. Taking it out of the platen, you reach for the whiteout conveniently prompted next to you, carefully correcting the error before putting the paper back on the machine.

With the end of the term peeking around the corner, you’ve been finding yourself in this position more often than not. Either rushing with your essays or grading assignments from your students. No matter what the arrangement is, however, there’s always a guarantee to have a half-empty mug of coffee and a pile of textbooks spattered on your desk. 

This time around is no different, as you lean back on your chair, closing your eyes and rubbing your hands over your face, you try to focus on Cyndi Lauper singing in the background as a way to relieve your stress. You can feel the inkling of a headache deep inside your forehead, indicating maybe it’s time to give yourself a break, So, you try your best to relax the tension out of your muscles, breathing in the soft chamomile scent of the burning candle on your nightstand -- it’s one Lena gave to you to help with the stress a few days ago. What disturbs you from your moment of meditation with Time After Time, making you snap out of your breathing exercise, is the ringing tone of the telephone echoing through the house. The sound comes into your room a bit muffled thanks to your closed door, but it’s still enough to irritate you.

You hear closely to the sounds outside your door, waiting for Lena, who you know is propped on the couch downstairs watching TV, to pick up the call and cease the annoying tune interrupting your moment. And as you predict, in just a few minutes the ringing noise stops as quickly as it started, making you relax back on your chair. Closing your eyes again, you let yourself go back to the moment before the interruption, untensing your shoulders. You can hear the pound of heavy footsteps coming up the wooden staircase, but don’t process them getting closer until your door swings open.

Lena is standing in your doorway with an expression that’s hard to read at first, her brows set on a slight frown her hairline and mouth agape. Before you can tell her off for her sudden entrance she’s already speaking, “can you tell me why the fuck Harry Styles is calling our house looking for you?”

You can feel your heartbeat falter at her words, eyes widening as you glance at your bunny-shaped clock and realizing you had gotten so lost in your studies you forgot about the date. “Shit,” you get up so fast from your chair it falls back on the rug. You turn to Lena, who’s watching the scene with the most amused smirk on her face, “is he still one the line?”

As soon as she nods you’re stumbling down the stairs, almost falling down on the last steps but catching yourself up on the railing. You reach for the wired phone lying upwards on the hallway stand, picking it up and walking into the closest door - which happens to be the coat closet - closing it behind you.

“Hello?” You sound out of breath, heartbeat roaring in your ear.

“Did I fuck it up?” His voice is hesitant, nearly remorseful, it makes your heart drop.

“I-- no, you didn’t.” You reassure, leaning back on the wall of the tiny space, instantly regretting your decision of not choosing the restroom in your panic state.  “I just got caught up with an essay and didn’t see the time passing.”

“Do you want to reschedule?” He drags out the words as if he doesn’t want to say them. “We can do this another day, I don’t mind.”

“No!” You protest quickly, reaching back to roughly adjust a hanger that’s poking on your neck, causing a raincoat to fall on your feet. “Of course not, I really need a break, anyway. I want to see you.”

“Want to see you, too.” You can hear the smile on his voice. “What about your friend?”

You sigh, rubbing your temple slightly. “I’ll talk to her, don’t worry about it.”

“Okay.” He says. “I’ll be at yours in around fifteen, is that good?”

“That’s perfect, yes.”

“I’ll see you in a bit then…” He drifts off, as if he wants to say something else, but stops himself.

“See you.”

The familiar sound of the deadline takes place and you sigh, letting your head fall back on the wall with a thump and staying like that for a moment. When you step out of the closet, the first thing you see is Lena leaning against the railing of the stairs, shaking her head at you in disbelief. “You bitch.”

Your shoulders drop, not wanting to have this conversation right now, as you put the phone back on the base. “Can we not do this--”

“You’ve been fucking him all this time and you didn’t tell me?” She crosses her arms under her breasts. “Abbey is gonna throw a fit when she knows this.”

“You’re not gonna tell her.”

“I’m not.” She agrees with you. “But she already knows you’re sneaking out with someone.”

“She does?” Your voice gets higher, eyes widening slightly.

“She might be high as a kite most of the time, yes, but she’s not stupid.” She chuckles. “And you’re not the best at hiding either, or you thought we wouldn’t notice you’re barely at home anymore?”

You frown your mouth, feeling like a deer caught in the headlights. “Does she suspect that it’s him?”

“Not really no, thought it was one of your students.”

You can’t help the horrified look that takes over your face. “I tutor children!”

“Ooh,” she breathes out a laugh. “Well, to be fair, he’s probably the last person she would suspect.”

“She’s gonna kill me.”

“Probably.” She shrugs. “But she’ll just have to get over it.”

“I guess.”

Lena looks at you, dropping her arms as she walks to you. Holding into your shoulders, her expression softens. “Don’t worry about this right now, okay? Go get ready for your date.”

“You’re right.”  You sigh, nodding. It takes you a second, but as you process her words, you frown, squinting your eyes at her. “How do you know we have a date right now?”

Her hands drop, mouth scrunching as she waves her hands around. “I just guessed.”

“Were you listening on the line?’

“Of course not!” She steps away.

“Adeline!”

She backs away, reaching the bottom of the stairs with the guiltiest look you’ve ever seen splattered on her face. “It was just a bit of it! I was curious!”

You shake your head in disbelief. “I’m gonna cut the cord of that phone in your room.”

“No, you’re not.” 

Raising your eyebrows in challenge, you take a careful step in her direction, causing her to go up another step. There’s a beat of silence where you two just stare at each other, waiting for the other to make the first move. When you finally give in, racing towards the staircase, she stumbles up the rest of the steps, the sound of your giggles mixing together taking over the space.

                                 ❁         ❁        ❁

There’s an instant sense of comfort when you see Harry’s lime green Ford parked on your usual spot, one that gives an extra pep to your walk, pushing all the stress you’ve been dwelling with to the back of your mind. And as you relax into the leather seat, windows down and radio up, you let yourself enjoy the anticipation of spending the rest of your day with him that settles deep in your stomach. 

You’d always wondered what Harry’s apartment would look like, imagining his LP’s splattered across the place, along with loose papers filled with guitar riffs and song lyrics. Maybe a couple of plants here and there, from what he told you he had tried to take care of one or two before, but always ended up forgetting to water them on schedule. And there’s also a notion inside of you that two young men living together in an apartment are bound to live in somewhat of a nest, so you brace yourself for the piles of beer cans and video game wires tangling on the floor.

When he opens the front door for you, letting you walk in before him, it does surprise you to find a tidier place than you’d expected his living room to be, but you realize you’d not been much far off with your assumption. It’s clear this is a house of musicians from the second you step in, the first sight being two guitars leaning on the wall next to the mud green couch, surrounded by - you guessed it - loose papers, which you assume are filled with scribbled ideas. A wall piano also stands out across the room, a single ashtray standing on top of it next to two candles, where you assume comes the faint scent of vanilla comes from.

“Sorry about the mess,” Harry speaks out from behind you, shrugging out of his usual denim jacket and throwing it over the couch arm, looking back at you with his hands on his hips.

“It’s alright.” Your teeth sink on your bottom lip as you take in the sight of him. Without his jacket, he’s left with just a wine-colored half-buttoned blouse, sleeves rolled up to his elbows so some of his tattoos are exposed. Part of the hem is tucked inside his low waist jeans that hug his thighs so perfectly it makes you want to grip your nails on it. Shaking your head, lightly, you let your eyes wander around the room once more, so he doesn’t notice you gawking at him. “Was expecting worse, to be honest.”

“Do you think that little of me?” He feigns offense.

You giggle, taking a lazy step towards him, shrugging. “I just don’t expect two young men to know the basic of cleaning, that’s all.”

“That’s fair,” he chuckles, taking a moment to just look at you. When a silence settles between the two of you, you raise your brows at him, waiting for him to make the first move. He clears his throat, running his hand through his hair. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“Sure!” You nod. “Do you have, like, beer or…”

“Yes, yes I--” he stops, face lighting up in realization. “No wait, I have something better.” He strides towards a door to where you assume the kitchen is, calling over his shoulder, “make yourself comfortable, I’ll be right back!”

You laugh to yourself, shaking your head as you pull your purse off your shoulder, letting it rest beside Harry’s jacket on the couch. Glancing over your shoulder, there are no signs of him coming back, so you take the opportunity to snoop around the area. 

There’s a small center table in front of the couch, probably the messiest part of the room so far, a few movie magazines splattered around with another ashtray lying on top of it, a few butts of cigarettes long forgotten along with their ashes. Next to it, is a VHS cover of </i> Ghostbusters, a rental receipt paper scrambled on top of it. What calls your attention is a couple of cassette tapes, some with titles you recognize from being Harry’s songs scribbled on top of them but others don’t have a label, which leads you to assume they must be blank. 

You walk around the table, gazing to the tv stand, where a poster of Freud is stuck on the wall behind it -- and breathing out a laugh as you notice someone had drawn glasses and colored his beard with a red sharpie. A bookshelf stands next to it, completely filled with records (apart from a single succulent that has a piece of paper with the name “Ziggy” glued to it). Your curiosity gets the best of you, picking up some LPs on random and what does surprise you, is the lack of a common theme between them. Finding a bit of everything, from some very recognizable names you’ve seen Harry rock to, like Billy Joel and The Clash, to some you’d never even heard him speak of like Culture Club and even a brand new Madonna record.

You have just picked up the cover of Ladies of the Canyon when his voice startles you from behind. “Mitchell, huh?”

Turning back with the record still in hands, you look down at it. “I love her.” You glance up, taking notice of the glasses in his hand, filled with a liquid of a yellow so bright it reminds you of a highlighter. “What’s this?”

“This,” he hands you a glass. “Is a drink we made.”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “You made this?”

 “I’m a man of many talents, bunny.”

“It looks like poison.” You bring the glass up to your nostrils, taking in the strong scent of alcohol. “Am I going to be poisoned? Is this a big plan to get rid of your rival’s bassist?”

“Stop being silly.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s mainly pineapple and vodka, takes weeks to be done, proper fancy stuff, you know?”

“Oh yeah super fancy.” You tease, chewing on your bottom lip to hold back a smile.“Pineapple and vodka.”

“Shut up and drink it.” He says, watching you carefully as you slowly bring the brim of the glass to your lips, taking a small sip of it. An instant sweet taste of pineapple invading your tastebuds, but the vodka is so present it makes you scrunch your nose. Harry gives you a small smile, eyes trained on you as he waits for your verdict, “so…”

“It’s strong.” Your face is still a bit rumpled from the alcohol, but you relax it eventually taking another sip of it, this time quite more prepared for it. “But it’s good, tastes like pineapple and vodka, who would say?”

“Shut up.” He chuckles, taking a step back and propping himself down on the couch.

With the record still in hands, you turn to put it back where you found it, admiring the full bookshelf once more. “Got a nice collection here, Styles, I gotta admit.”

He sips on his drink. “Found something you fancy in there?”

“A couple.”

“Put on something you like.” He motions to the record player standing next to the shelf. You look through the vast collection again, picking some at random and putting it back once you realize it’s not what you’re looking for. After going through a few, you finally stumble upon Elton John’ Madman Across The Water, holding it up to show it to Harry. “Oh, so we’re in one of those moods?”

You pull the vinyl from the sleeve, carefully placing it on the player and adjusting the needle over it. As the beginning note of Tiny Dancer float through the room, you look back at him. “What mood?”

 “Like, a happy-sad kind of mood.”

You nod, setting yourself on the couch next to him. “That’s a nice way to put it.”

As the first few songs swim in the air around there’s a light chatter that settles between the two of you. Nothing out of your ordinary conversations, mainly consisting of you gushing over John Taylor as Harry rolls his eyes and sips on his drink to mask the drop of jealousy that grows on his chest -- “He’s not that good looking, you lot should have better standards” he said with a huff, making you giggle at his antics and pinch his cheeks. But it doesn’t take long, barely going halfway through the record, until the two of you begin to feel more lightheaded, eyes glossy and tongues getting looser. You should’ve expected that from the very first sip of the drink in your hand, knowing it wouldn’t take much more than a glass of it to get you right boozed up. And it doesn’t help that which each sip of it the sweetness of the pineapple takes over the strong taste of the alcohol, and in a matter of a few songs, you already feel your mind soaring away.

Harry is not much different, you realize, becoming quite a bit of a giggly drunk as he looks at you through half-lidded eyes and slurred words coming out of his mouth (which only makes him laugh more at himself). From what he told you, it hasn’t been the first time he and Mitch attempted on making the drink themselves. They tried it at a cramped bar right outside a Tears For Fears concert and it had gotten them so knackered so quickly they went back the next day to ask the barman (who also happened to be the owner) what was it in. Turns out it was just watermelon and vodka, but the man also explained that the technique he used that took about two weeks for the drink to be ready. From the man’s explanation, it seemed simple enough so they decided to try it for themselves, except they replaced the watermelon with pineapple.

“Just to add a bit of fun to it.” He shimmies his body.

“Is it like the original, though?” 

“‘S close, but not quite his.” He hiccups. “I’m convinced he left out some of the details, the bastard, didn’t want to go around giving out the secret formula of it.”

You giggle, biting into the brim of your glass. “I’m curious to try it with watermelon, now that you’ve mentioned.”

“You have to, bunny!” His head falls back on the couch, dimples so deep you want to bite into them, his hand strokes lazily on your thigh, every now and then moving up to rub at the hem of your playsuit. “I’ll take you there sometime, we can get baked and crash into a concert at the music house that’s right in front of it.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

When the blue of the sky outside begins to fade into a golden glow, ribbons of pink and orange cutting through it, you’re already completely far gone. The record player is now only letting out a faint buzz from the lack of sound now that the LP is over. Your head is filled with clouds and you don’t register when Harry reaches back for the guitar, only really registering it once he’s stringing out a familiar melody. He stumbles with the lyrics but as soon as you recognize the beginning line of </i> Big Yellow Taxi you’re joining him, your voices tangling in a high pitch as you more of scream the lines than really bother to sing it. Harry gets completely lost in it, and you let him take over every so often just to watch him, mimicking Joni Mitchell's voice and even enacting her laugh, which makes you laugh until your belly hurts and your cheeks get flushed.

It’s one of those moments you want to get locked in, to live in it forever. Watching him stumbling the lyrics of different songs, the words tumbling out of his mouth between giggles, fingers stroking the cord of the guitar maybe a bit too harshly as you join him without a care in the world to who may be bothered by it. You feel so free with him, it’s a feeling that takes over your whole body, a warmth of knowing you don’t have to filter yourself or fit any type of expectation. And as he ends another cover with violent strokes on the guitar you laugh along with him for a moment before letting the room quiet down. Crossing your arms over the back of the couch and resting your cheek against it, you just look at him.

His bloodshot green meets yours, his chest rising as he catches his breath from the frantic songs, teeth sinking on his bottom lip as he smiles at you. “Gonna slow down a bit fo’ you.”

You raise your brows at him, smiling in anticipation as he begins to smooth his fingers through the cords much more gently than he had been previously. His head moves along to the beat as he gazes down at the instrument, a slight crease forming between his eyebrows in concentration. It’s a complete contrast from the playful demeanor that had taken over the room just minutes ago.

“Love of my life, you’ve hurt me.” He begins, and your ears instantly perk up as you identify the same song you’d heard him play months ago at the pub, the one that made you enter it to watch him for the first time. “You’ve broken my heart and now you leave me.”

It’s much different now, however, not just from the fact that he’s singing it on his own without the band backing him up. But it’s the meaning behind it, the rawness of his voice, low and slightly raspy, the words still come out a bit mumbled but you couldn’t care less about it, only focusing on the emotion he puts to them. 

“Love of my life, can’t you see?” His eyes are still set on the guitar and you search for them almost desperately, shifting closer to him and cupping his cheek, guiding him to meet your gaze. “Bring it back, bring it back, don’t take it away from me.”

The swell in your heart is overwhelming to an extent, his glossy eyes looking into your with such sincerity it makes you want to jump on him, but you hold back as he keeps going, feeling nearly hypnotized by his voice.

“Because you don’t know, what it means to me.” He leans into your touch, turning to press a quick kiss on your palm as he keeps stroking the chords in a quiet melody. “Love of my life, don’t leave me.”

You can’t help but shake your head slightly as he sings the lyric almost like a plea. “You’ve stolen my love, and now desert me.” He looks back down at the guitar, letting your hand fall to his shoulder. “Love of my life, can’t you see?”

“Bring it back, bring it back, don’t take it away from me.” Peeking under his lashes, he grins up at you, and you can only imagine how you must look to him. Mouth slightly agape, barely blinking as you’re scared if you do this will all turn out to be nothing but a dream. His voice comes out next a bit lower, stretching out the words, “Because you don’t knoow.”

He strokes the chords a bit mindlessly now, playing with the sound of the melody, and he does it so effortlessly you almost hold your breath as not to miss it. “What it means to me.”

When he stops, you don’t really think before latching yourself on him, throwing one leg on each side of his thighs, and cupping his face before meeting his mouth with yours. He immediately wraps an arm around your back, his other hand taking the guitar off his lap and blindly placing it against the wall next to the couch. Once the instrument is no longer a barrier, he places his hands on your hips, pulling you closer. You can taste the memory of a pineapple still lingering on his tongue as you lick into his mouth. The kiss is hungry, maybe a bit sloppy thanks to the substance still very much present in your bloodstreams, but you don’t mind, only moving a hand to tangle on his hair, scratching at his scalp before pulling at his roots. 

A whimper escapes from his mouth, getting lost inside your throat, his grip on your thighs tightens, nails digging in it and you know will leave crescent shapes on your skin. It only makes you do it again, this time his head tilting backward with a small groan, disconnecting your lips, but you’re soon to connect it again, splattering kisses along his jawline until it meets his neck. When you suck on his pulse point, running your tongue over it, his skin vibrates on your lips as he lets out a whine. His hands are now running all over your thighs before resting on top of your ass, bringing your hips to grind against his.

Even with your hazed mind, it’s still hard to miss the very prominent bulge under his jeans. It makes you pull back, looking down to see it straining against his zipper. There’s a flip of a switch inside of you when you realize how much he’s yearning for it, it’s the desire you’ve been pushing back for months now, crashing into you like a wave and you can barely contain a small mewl at the sight.

“Bunny.” He breathes out. When you look back to him, you notice his eyes have darkened considerably. “We don’t have to--”

“Please.” You let your forehead fall against his, rolling your hips again, stealing another whimper from him. “If you want to, I want to.”

“I do -- fuck, I do.” He nods as you keep grinding on him, his hand disappearing on your back pocket, trying to get as closer to you as possible.

When you meet his lips again, the kiss is somehow eager than before. The longing is evident as you grab onto each other. Your hands travel down his chest, nails digging softly on his exposed skin, and once you feel the fabric of his shirt, you’re quickly to undo the rest of the buttons, not disconnecting from him as you do so. Smoothing your hands back up to his shoulders, you help him shrug off the material, letting it fall to the couch without paying mind to it.

“Wait,” he sneaks between kisses, hands coming up to your waist you push you off gently.

You watch with your brows narrowed as he gets up from the couch, walking to his shelf and standing in front of it, looking for something. Leaning to your side, you let yourself admire the muscles of his back as his fingers run through the edges of the records. It’s impressive how even though his collection takes over the whole furniture, he still seems to know exactly where to look for it, focusing on a small section right at the top. He quickly finds what he’s looking for, pulling it with a ‘Aha!’ before turning back to you. 

He holds up a very familiar black cover, the imprint of Queen’s Greatest Hits instantly calling your attention. Doing the same as you’d done earlier, he takes out the disk, placing it on the player before adjusting the needle over it. You watch it with a smile teasing on your lips, finding oddly endearing how he made you pull away from him with the sole purpose of putting on a soundtrack -- making notice to put on something you’d like, as well. He cranks up the volume as the first words of Bohemian Rhapsody start to swallow your thoughts, turning back to you and offering his hand with a cheeky grin painted on his face.

Taking his hold, you let him pull you up from the couch and, before you can really register it, he’s guiding you through the hallway. You stumble on your footing as he rushes a bit to fast for you to really wrap your head around it, the walls of the corridor passing by almost in a blur as it takes your mind a beat too long to catch up with your eyes. Still, your giggles dance along with his all the way to his door at the end of it, making you feel like a couple of teens sneaking out for the first time.

He doesn’t give you a single minute to take notice of his room -- not that you would at this moment, your arousal pooling at your underwear only enhancing the haziness of your mind. In just a speck of a second, he’s already pushing the door closed, your body being pressed against it not long after. His arms find their place on each side of your head, his lips searching hungrily for yours as your fingers find their home between the strands of his hair once more. 

“Shit, need you so bad, baby.” he presses his hips against yours, mouth hot as he sucks in the skin of your jaw, all the way down your neck, finding a spot that makes you whine under his touch. “That’s it, darling, let me hear you again.”

“Harry,” you mewl as his teeth sink on your skin gently, his tongue swiping quickly over the spot before he trails back to your cheek. You melt under his touch when his hands find their way back on your body, one of them caressing the side of your breast softly, thumb poking out to rub the spot where you nipple pebbles under your layers of clothing. This brings out a desperate whimper from your throat, your head falling back on the door as you close your eyes, trying to savor every slight touch of his. “Please.”

“Look so fucking pretty in this piece, bunny.” The sound of his voice is right below your ear, his warm breath hitting your skin making the hairs on your neck rise. “Look gorgeous in anythin”” he turns his head to bite at your earlobe. “But I really need it gone right now.”

Your eyes snapback open when you feel him pull back from you, his hands finding the front buttons of your playsuit, fiddling them open so easily you barely register it. His lips are back on yours, this time slower, letting his desire be known at every brush of his tongue. Smoothing his hands on your shoulders, he helps you out of the sleeves of the top. As soon as your back is disconnected from the wooden door, you start moving forward before you can really think about it, pushing him back gently until the back of his knees hit the mattress and he’s sitting back on the bed.

There’s hardly a speck of green left on his darkened irises when he looks up at you, watching your every move as you shift the material down your body, letting it pool on your feet before you kick it to the side. Taking a slow step towards him, his hands holding onto your hips almost unconsciously, you reach back to find the hook of your bra, but he stops you before you can even quite grasp it. “Wait,” he pulls you closer, making you fall a bit awkwardly on his lap, your hands moving to grip on his shoulder for support. “Let me.”

You adjust your position on top of him, your knees resting next to his thighs, as he handily unhooks your bra, removing it quickly from your arms and tossing it to the side. A gasp escapes your mouth as he wastes no time before attaching his mouth to your breast, tongue circling on your nipple before sucking in. His hand tries to give the same attention to the other one, grasping onto it as his thumb caresses the pebbled nub.

The crescendo of the song comes muffled in the background and it’s as if it’s echoing inside your head while you mindlessly roll your hips against his. The motion makes the lining of his zipper rub deliciously against your clit under the thin fabric of your underwear, and it reminds you of his hardening length pressing on his jeans. It seems to remind him as well, as his mouth parts from your chest in a groan, his lips licking at the space between your breast, kissing all the way back to your neck, where he hides his face with a strangled moan when you grind down a bit harder.

“Can’t take the tease, baby.” He pants. “Need you right fucking now.”

You pull back from him, gazing down at the tent on his pants and bringing your hands to fiddle with his belt. It takes you a bit longer to manage to pull it out, as his eager lips attack your neck once again. At this point, you can only imagine the marks he’s made on your skin, knowing the reddened spots will soon come to a purple shade, but it’s the least of your worries as you pop the button of his jeans, opening up the zipper. 

“Stand up just for a sec, darling.” He taps on your hip and you do as he asks, stepping back to plant your feet on the floor.

He shifts out of his pants, bringing his briefs along with it and you watch the way his cock all but jumps out of its restrains, slapping back on his stomach. The tip is a reddened shade darker, a trace of precum already oozing out of it, dripping down his length and making you rub your thighs for some sort of relief as you feel your mouth watering. You want to reach for it, grasp it as you feel it throb on your palm. You want to trace the prominent veins adorning it with your tongue and discover all the sounds he makes when he’s all but begging for you to wrap you mouth around it already. But more than anything, and what speaks louder to you at the moment, is how you want to feel it deep in your belly, rubbing against your walls until your legs shake.

“My eyes are up here, love.” You look up at him, a smug grin on his face as he draws you in by your hips.

“Can’t help it.” You watch his fingers play with the waistband of your cherry colored underwear, meeting his eyes as you let yourself mess with him a bit. “Just have such a beautiful cock.”

“Christ.” He groans, yanking your panties down your leg, making your arousal drip down your thighs. His lips immediately trace on your pubic bone, hands travelling to grip on your ass as his teeth sink into your skin slowly. “Didn’t know you were this filthy, bunny.”

You enlace your fingers on his strands, pushing his fringe away from his forehead as you mount him again. “Only for you.”

“All for me? What did I do to deserve you?” He smiles, pecking your lips and pulling your closer so you can feel his cock poking at your stomach. “Why don’t you lie down for me?”

You shake your head, pushing his shoulders back gently until his back hits the mattress. “You lie down.”

“Shit, baby, gonna sit on my cock?” He shifts back just slightly, watching you sit back on his thigh as you grab his length, giving it an experimental pump that makes his breath audibly hitch. “Fuck-- such a good girl, aren’t ya?”

You chew on your bottom lip, flickering your palm over the tip and collecting a bit of the precum before rubbing it once more. He lets out a strangled moan, head tilting back on the mattress, his curls splattered around him like a halo. Which is an ironical contrast to what you’re doing to him. 

His voice comes out in a breathy, chest moving frantically as he peeks down at you when you give him another slow pump. “Please, darling, don’t torture me right now, need you so bad.”

If it were another occasion you wouldn’t listen to him, simply continuing your teasing as if he hadn’t said anything at all. But right now you can feel your wetness pooling where you sit on his thigh as you all but throb for him at the sight of his angry cock in your hand. It’s just as much torture to you as it is to him to keep this going any longer, so you just shift up, gabbing his base and rubbing it along your folds one, two, three times, before finally aligning it with your entrance.

His nails dig on your thighs in anticipation, his eyes watching with barely a blink as you slowly sink down. Your mouth hangs open but nothing except a choked gasp comes out of it. There’s a delicious burn that comes with him slowly spreading you open for him, and when you fully sit down your eyes are teary and can’t help but clench around him, earning a full moan in response.

“So fucking tight.” He pants, chest moving up as he takes a sharp inhale when you clench again. “So wet too, baby, drenching me.”

“Fuck, Harry.” You lean forward, hands lying on each side of his torso as you pull up the tiniest bit just to sink down again.

You want to start slow, gradually fastening your pace but you can’t seem to hold yourself back. As his hands grasp on your hips you start to bounce on him at a hard pace, your moans meshing together as well as the faint vocals blasting outside the closed door. Rolling your hips on his, he hits spot that makes you sit on your heels again as you throw your head back, crying out his name. 

It’s hard to keep focus as you mind is blurry from the pleasure that takes over every cell of your body as well as the alcohol still running freely on your bloodstream. All you can focus on right now is Harry. It’s his hands gripping on your skin, helping you fasten your pace. It’s the sound of his voice pitching on a needy whimper, telling you how good you feel around him. It’s the sight of his face creased in pleasure when you look down at him, the veins staining his neck and his locks sticking to his damp forehead, cheeks rosy and lips plump. He’s the only thing in your mind as you chant his name under your breath like a quiet prayer.

“Is my cock that good, bunny?” He meets your thrusts with his hips, making you sob out a moan. His lips tug on a smirk, “Look at you helping you helping yourself out on my cock -- fuck, look like a proper dream.”

There’s a familiar tightness in your stomach, one that makes your toes curl and your rhythm falters. “I’m almost there, shit.”

“Won’t last much longer too, baby, feel too good.” He groans holding your hips in place when you stumble on your pace again, deciding to thrust upwards, your pelvis meeting in loud smacks. “Gonna cum for me? Gonna let me see you looking all pretty when you cum all over my cock?”

“Harry, please.” You’re not even sure what you’re asking for, your eyes closing as you roll back your head. A trifling cramp is starting to set on the back of your thighs but you barely pay any mind to it as the bliss takes over your whole body. You’re so close to your high you can almost reach it, just needing a small push.

“C’mon, baby.” Harry urges you, hand reaching where you’re connected to rub at your clit harshly.

And that’s all you needed, opening your eyes as a couple tears fall down your face when you feel your orgasm taking over you body, the white ceiling feeling far away like an imagine you watch on the television. You’re not exactly sure when Killer Queen started playing, but as the waves of euphoria hit your body, you can hear the guitar solo ringing in your ears, the crescendo of the song only enhancing the thrill of your high as you ride your orgasm along with it.

You practically collapse  down on his chest, his hot skin sticking to your body. He’s still panting under you, warm breath hitting your neck as he holds onto your ass, his thrusts coming sloppier as he comes right after you. The sensitivity of your center makes you whine along with his strangled moans when he holds his hips to yours,burying himself in you as he paints your walls white.

For a moment you just stay like this, cheek resting on his chest, the sound of his heartbeat slowing down by the minute blending with the music coming from outside the closed door. His fingertips trace patterns on your bare arm that’s hugging his torso and keeping him close. You can feel your mind getting clearer, not just from the alcohol but from the high of your orgasm. And as the sound of the soft wind knocks against the window glass, you’re almost lulled to sleep just like this. 

Harry shifts slightly, you feel his lips pressing on your head before he carefully moves to sit up, letting you fall back on the bed gently. “Mind if I have a smoke, bunny?”

You give him a lazy smile, shaking your head as you look up at him, reaching for his locks that poke wildly on his head. Leaning down, he gives you a quick peck before getting up. Turning to your side, you watch as he looks around the room, finding his briefs thrown by the end of the bed and quickly putting them back on. He grabs the pack of cigarettes along with his lighter and heads towards the window.

Opening up the window, allowing the evening breeze to slip through the crack and dance around the room, he pulls a chair leaning on the wall to sit directly by it. The chair is stacked with colored cushions on top of it - one yellow, one red, and one blue - he throws two of them thoughtlessly on the floor next to it, adjusting the remaining one on his back as he leans down to sit on it. The stool is low enough so he can relax his feet on it comfortably, fingers fiddling with the lighter for a second before rising it to meet the end of the cigarette resting between his lips. Freddie Mercury still sings loudly in the living room, the sound coming a bit muffled thanks to the closed door, but making it as background noise as you come quiet to admire his figure against the last creeks of sunlight hitting the side of his profile.

You chew on your lip at the scene, wishing you could record it somehow and play it every night before falling asleep. There’s something inherently erotic about having him smoke a cigar just on his underwear, humming along to the tune of the song, right after having you scream his name into his pillow. 

The light streak of wind coming from the window breaks you out of your thoughts, making goosebumps rise on your skin as you come to the realization that you’re still sitting naked in his bed. It doesn’t take long for you to find your panties hanging from the edge of the mattress, picking them up to quickly slide them up your legs before you get up to search for your other articles of clothing. You can see the colorful pattern of your playsuit lying next to the closed door, but as you crouch to pick it up something else catches your attention in the pile of clothes thrown around mindlessly on top of a wooden chest

It’s the pink shirt. The same one he wore on the day you first saw him play.

A grin takes over your face as you pick it up, throwing it over your shoulders and sliding your hand on the sleeves. It has the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the lingering smell of cigarettes, something you’ve come to associate with him. You don’t bother to button up the material, letting it hug your body as you take a quick look at yourself in the full-body mirror leaning on the wall in front of you. You turn to him, his eyes still focused on the view outside, a thin coat of smoke leaving his lips and getting lost in the breeze, so you clear your throat as to get his attention.

He looks at you, eyes shamelessly scanning down your body and you’re afraid the cig will fall from his lips as they grow on a smug smirk. 

“Look at you,” he lets his feet fall from the stool, fixing them on the floor as he motions for you to get close. You approach him without a second thought, climbing on his lap as his hands hold onto your hips. He takes another look at you, grasping the cigarette with his fingers and taking out of his lips. Reaching for your face, his thumb caresses the side of your eyelid gently. “Looking like a proper rockstar now, even got the smudged makeup.”

You giggle. “That’s more your fault than mine.”

“I guess it is.” He taps the butt of the cig on an ashtray prompted on the stool of the window, eyes still trained on you. “Should do it more often then, s’fucking hot.”

You smile at the connotation, picking at the hem of the shirt and gazing at him from under your lashes. “Guess I might be starting to like pink, that’s also your fault.”

“Look way too good in pink not to like it, bunny.”

“Stop that.” You hide your face on the crook of his shoulder.

“Telling the truth.” His free hand grips on your waist, pulling you closer as he tilts his head to kiss at your neck. “Looks good in everything.”

“Could tell you the same thing.” You pull back to look at him, teeth sinking on your bottom lip as you smooth your hands down his bare chest.  “But I do prefer this fit on you, really brings out your eyes.”

“Naughty.”

You lean to connect your lips, hugging him close with your arms wrapped around his neck and enjoying the tender moment as you distribute kisses around his face just to hear him giggle. And when you bring your mouth to his again, you barely feel the softness of his lips before he all but jumps on his skin. You pull back, furrowing your brows, ready to question it but he beats you. “Forgot I got something for you.”

“For me?” You blink. “What is it?”

“Go sit on the bed while I fetch, will be just a minute.” He gives you a quick peck before you’re pulling away.

You do as he asks, sitting back on the bed, right next to the wrinkled spot where you lied just  minutes ago. He walks across the room, opening the door where you came from and disappearing in the hallway. The record is still blasting through the apartment walls, sound coming louder now that there’s no barrier between you.

While he’s gone, you take a moment to look around his room, something you didn’t get a chance to do when you first came in tangled on his arms. It’s not much messier than the living room, really, only the small piles of clothes you’ve spotted earlier that give the illusion of an untidy room. There’s a light wooden dresser that sits next to the chest, and from where you sit you can see two candles standing alone on top of it, similar to the ones on the piano. 

You swing your feet on the edge of the bed, letting them brush along a blue fluffy mat that hugs the floor underneath it. And as you run your hands on along his mattress, you notice the soft superficie, making you look down at a knitted blanket spreaded across the bed. It’s made of different colored squared stuck together in an oddly comforting pattern. You want to lie down on it, and let yourself be swallowed by the cozyness of the material against your skin, but before you can do so, Harry appears back in the room, closing the door behind him as he makes his way to you.

“This blanket is so nice.” You run your hands through it, smiling at him.

“Thanks, I knitted it.” The information makes your eyes bulge out, you open your mouth to inquire further but he’s already talking again. “This is-- uhm, I dunno, just something I thought you’d like it.”

The small box in his hand catches your attention as he hands it to you, his eyes looking down at it and even with just the moonlight illuminating the room you can see the blush on his cheeks. He props himself down on the spot next to you, watching your fingers turn the rectangular box around. It’s a cassette tape case, you quickly realize.

When you gaze at the back of it, there’s names of songs scribbled behind it. Not many, but a good collection of them, from Fleetwood Mac to The Bangles, and even Billy Joel. And it doesn’t take you long to find a pattern with the song chosen for the tape. Their all love songs. It makes your heart swell even more, if that’s even possible at this point.

“These are so cheesy,” you bite your lip, barely able to contain your smile.

He rolls his eyes. “They’re romantic, bunny.”

You keep examining the titles written neatly in his handwriting, raising your brows when you land on a specific one. “Every breath you take?” You tease, “That’s an interesting take on romance.”

“Shut up.” He giggles, eyes watching you carefully. “Do you like it?” His voice is adorably hesitant, it makes your heart stumble on a beat.

“I love it.” You say in just above a whisper, feeling the butterflies in your stomach get a little more vivid once your eyes land on the last song scribbled in the back of the tape. Somebody to Love. Brushing your thumb over the words softly, careful not to smudge the paint, you look up at him to find his green irises glistening at you. You shake your head almost in disbelief at the tenderness behind the gift. “Did you record this just for me?”

“Uhm yeah some of them I did but—” He looks down, focusing on his fingers as they pick a loose string from the blanket under his leg. “Some of them I just... Sang”

“You sang?” It takes you by surprise, how you thought there was no way he could make you feel warmer.

“Yeah… All of them, actually.” His dimples dig deep on his cheeks as he quickly peeks his eyes at you. “It’s just… The quality is shit when you record it from the radio and the dj keeps interrupting and stuff.” He shrugs, “Thought if I sang it could be more, personal? I guess.”

“I love it.” You repeat.

“You do?” 

“I do.” You chew on your lip, watching his eyes glimmering on the dim light of the room. “Is there a reason for this sudden present?”

“Kind of I--” He clears his throat, fully glancing at you. There’s an expectation behind his eyes, you can tell from the way he takes a sharp inhale that he’s nervous. “Thought I make you-- ask you, actually, if you’d be mine?”

You can’t help but giggle at how adorable he looks, your eyes getting a bit glossy as you nod without a blink of a thought. “Of course I’m yours, Harry.”

“Yeah?” His smile grows. “As like, m’girlfriend?”

Throwing your arms around him, you press your lips against his cheek, careful not to drop the tape in your hand still. You pull back, tilting your head as giving him a fond smile. “As in your girlfriend, yes.”

[wwwafflewrites]

A Rewrite of History

Chapter 10—Bugs (Part 1)

The Winchesters shoved you in the back seat, handcuffed and tied. You were mostly just thankful they spared you the indignity of a gag. Anyway, you kept your mouth shut. Not like there was any point convincing them of your innocence; they'd see enough proof for a lifetime.

The silence in the car was awkward, like you had impeded on what was usually their time alone. It obviously wasn't your choice, but it still felt like they were blaming you.

Dean had his music playing softly in the background, but that was about it. 

So this is how it's gonna be. Fun times.

They were silent the whole way, only finally talking when saw a town up ahead. Night was soon falling.

Dean sighed as he pulled into a bar parking lot. He asked Sam, "You wanna come with?"

Sam shook his head. "Nah. You go. I'll watch her." He proceeded to take out a newspaper and began perusing.

Dean shrugged and went on his way.

You couldn't help but peek over Sam's shoulder. 'Local Death & Medical Mystery' the title read. Looks like the public suspected it was 'Accelerated' Mad Cow disease. You both knew that that was not the case.

Sam got annoyed with you peering over him so he decided to get out of the car and sit on the hood in peace.

"Bugs," you murmured. Literally the worst episode, in your opinion. Then, you realized that the window was open and you fell silent. If Sam had heard it, he didn't react, though.

Nothing was ever resolved in Bugs. They just told them to never come back. And anyone with a brain knew that would never last. Eventually, after a few generations, people would be back at it.

You just prayed they wouldn't leave the car door open or something when the swarm came. Could bugs get into the car? You weren’t sure.

Wait. Hold on—were they just going to drag you around the country with them until they figured out how to kill you? Is that what this was?

Wasn't that just comical.

You'd save the 'I'm human' speech, then. The longer they thought you had something they needed, the longer you could see yourself surviving this. The longer you had to form a plan.

Not that you had much to work with.

///

A little while later, Dean came out of the bar laughing at the wad of money in his hand, waving it at his brother like a little kid.

Sam sighed. "You know, we could get day jobs once in a while."

"Hunting's our day job. And the pay is crap."

True.

"Yeah, but… hustling pool? Credit card scams? Not the most honest thing in the world, Dean," he scolded.

"Well, let's see. Honest…" he lifted his hands like he was weighing the words on a scale. "...fun and easy. It's no contest. Besides, we're good at it. It's what we were raised to do."

Sam was smiling, but he shook his head. "Yeah, well how we were raised was jacked."

"Yeah, says you." Dean started counting his cash. "We got a new gig or what?"

"Maybe." Sam stands. "Oasis Plains, Oklahoma. Not far from here. A gas-company employee. Dustin Burwash supposedly died from Creutzfeldt-Jakob."

Dean paused. "Huh?"

"Mad cow disease," Sam said. You muttered it under your breath along with him, shaking your head.

"Mad cow… wasn't that on Oprah?"

"You watch Oprah?"

You muffled your laugh—quiet enough so they wouldn't hear it through the window. This was the part of them you missed seeing. A side you'd likely never see directed at you, unfortunately.

Dean straightened, like his masculinity was hurt by admitting he's seen Oprah once or twice. "So this guy eats a bad burger. Why is it our kind of thing?"

Sam began explaining. "Mad cow disease causes massive brain degeneration. It takes months, even years, for the damage to appear. But this guy, Dustin? Sounds like his brain disintegrated in about an hour. Maybe less."

"Okay, that's weird," Dean admitted.

"Yeah. Now, it could be a disease. Or it could be something much nastier," Sam said.

"Alright." Dean clapped his hands. "Oklahoma."

You had to get out of here.

///

You refused to sleep on the drive there. It wasn’t far anyway: about three hours. You could tough through it. If you fell asleep they'd see that you were vulnerable—you were human, and you weren't comfortable with them figuring that out yet. Even if you had insisted so many times before.

So you kept your eyes peeled. Regardless of how tired you really were.

Sam seemed perfectly comfortable sleeping. Probably because his brother was right beside him.

You brooded, wondering if they were going to torture you for information on their dad. Information you didn't have.

"Do you even sleep?" Dean asked, breaking your train of thought. You were probably creeping him out.

You let the question settle into silence. It was one in the morning, and you were struggling to stay awake.

"No," you said softly, careful not to wake Sam. This was a conversation for you and Dean alone. If you could convince Dean you weren’t human, then he'd eventually convince Sam. Convincing Dean of your guilt would be a lot easier than convincing Sam, in your opinion. 

Despite Sam hating you, he was one smart cookie. Dean was too, but he also often blinded himself with his own stubbornness, and you could use that to your advantage.

Funny, how something you were trying to prevent a few days ago was now the only thing keeping you alive. 

As unfortunate as it was, you needed them to believe you were something more than human so they'd figure you had something to offer.

At this point, you honestly weren’t sure what side you were on anymore. 

It was probably more 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' kind of thing. The Winchesters just didn't know it yet.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "So what can you do?"

You took your shot. "I can tell you that Dustin definitely didn't have Mad Cow Disease," you said, twiddling your thumbs, which just barely jingled your handcuffs.

He gave you a dubious look through the rearview mirror. Does he ever watch the road? "What killed him, then?"

"Bugs," you said easily.

Dean scoffed, but you can feel yourself smiling. This was going to work—it would just take a little time.

///

The Winchesters still visited the gas company to confirm that Dustin never had Mad Cow Disease. You bit back your I-told-you-so when Dean came back grumbling.

They left you alone, again, when they arrived at the construction site. At this point, your legs were cramped, your arms sore, and your wrists rubbed raw; maybe later you'd ask them to loosen the handcuffs.

Maybe.

Though you had a feeling Dean would just tighten them.

When Sam came back with a dead beetle in hand, you felt a smugness play on your lips. You couldn't help the little grin. "What's up?" you said smoothly. You were getting a lot more comfortable with them, maybe because they weren't set on killing you just yet. 

There was tension as Dean drove, like they were deciding whether to even consider your opinion or not. Then, Dean swiveled around in his seat, and stared you dead in the eye. "How did you know?” he demanded.

You dared to raise a cocky eyebrow at him. “Lucky guess."

Dean looked ready to punch you in the face, but Sam redirected his attention by grabbing his shoulder to point out the sign saying 'Open House: BBQ'.

Dean was silently fuming.

Amused, you couldn’t help but add, "Oh, just so you're aware, they accept homeowners of any race, religion, color, or…" You smirked. "Sexual orientation."

Dean slugged you in the jaw, and your vision greyed. Frick—

///

When you came to, the Winchesters were gone and you were drooling against the upholstery. So much for convincing him you didn’t sleep.

Once again, they had left you helpless—waiting in the Impala as they worked the case. As a current hostage of the Winchesters, you were surprised by the lack of torture, and endless waiting that you had to endure.

You lazily watched as a red minivan pulled up in front of the Impala, probably to join the barbecue. "Don't mind me," you sighed, "just a hostage waiting in the car while you go to a party. No biggie." The guy looked stiff and awkward. Almost robotic. Weird.

You shrugged it off. 

Anyway, in your book, that was sometimes worse than torture.

You probably shouldn't be as shocked as you were that you weren’t getting tortured. Neither of these boys had even endured death yet. Dean hadn't gone to Hell… 

If Crowley had been here, he would have agreed with you. Nobody likes waiting. Though, he was probably off scamming some poor, naive people of their souls right about now.

Demons confused you.

Speaking of… did the Minivan Guy's eyes just turn black?

You stiffened. You pulled at your cuffs. "See," you hissed to yourself, "this is why you shouldn't leave me sitting in the car, Winchesters. This is exactly why—"

The man—the demon—approached the car, and you cowered as far back into the seat as you could. But no matter how you positioned yourself, there was no hiding.

Damn—he was a big guy, too. You probably couldn't stand a chance against this guy if he was a human, let alone a demon. He was almost bigger than Sam Winchester. Not taller, just... burlier. Meaner looking.

And as much as you hated to be a hostage of the Winchesters, the demons were not a better option. Whatever they had planned, you confident you wouldn't like it.

You cursed to yourself. "If anyone's listening, I lied earlier; torture is so much worse than waiting in the car all the time. I was freaking joking!" You desperately tried to open the door, but it was locked. "I swear this universe has it out for me!"

The demon was coming straight for you. Your car was gone, as was your angel blade. And… he had a brand on his arm that looked like a cancel sign. It was a binding tattoo. So exorcisms were out of the picture—so they knew your go-to, now. And they knew you were defenseless otherwise.

Your only hope was the angels, but they definitely weren't interested. 

When the demon brought up his fist, you covered your face, bracing for the inevitable. 

The window spat glass when he punched it. A hand reached through and grabbed for the chains of your handcuffs. When you pulled away, he socked you in your bruised face. 

The demon snatched your handcuffs. You leaned away, but it was useless. If a demon could casually open an airplane's emergency exit, it wasn't going to have any trouble uprooting you from your seat. 

And with that, he wrenched you through the broken window like a whip, resulting in your head slamming into hard concrete, and glass cutting into your exposed skin.

Ow.

How was nobody seeing this?! Sure, mostly empty neighborhood, but sheesh. They were having barbecue while you got your brains knocked out on their driveway.

You wheezed on the pavement, blinking up at the Impala's broken window. The Winchesters going to think I did that, aren't they? Always my fault…

Unless you left signs of struggle.

There was already some blood on the sidewalk, but that could be dismissed. No, you needed to leave an alarming amount. And the demon could give that to you.

With what small amount of strength you had left, you pulled your arms toward your chest, and bit down on the demon's arm. You spat the blood on the ground, and his arm left puddles behind him.

The demon laughed in his deep, demonic voice, but you struggled to hear him over the ringing in your eardrums. "You think that will harm me? And you call yourself a hunter."

Who ever said I was a hunter? Survivor, maybe, but never a hunter. Hunters are supposed to be brave.

And I am not brave.

[marmolady]

A Ride to Remember (Estela x MC)

Main Pairings: Estela x (f)MC

Summary: Endless Ending.  As Estela continues to help Taylor along her road to recovery after freeing Vaanu's essence, she shares with her a bittersweet part of her life in San Trobida.

Word Count: 3255

Chronology: carries on from ‘The New Taylor’, precedes ‘Inheritance’.

Tagging: @saivilo, @edgydepressedchoicesthot, @sceptilemasterr, @greengroove 

“Okay, sit naturally, with your back straight, and I’ll adjust the stirrups to the right length.”

Taylor shifted her position on a small, grey horse until she was comfortable. “Well, I’m up, and I haven’t fallen off yet, so I guess that’s a good start.”

Estela chuckled as she fiddled with the saddle. “We’ll take it slow. It’s good for your core strength and your balance, which will be really important for you. I read that it’s actually helpful for your circulation and for relaxing . The movements should sort of gently work your joints and muscles, and I think your spine too. As low-impact exercise, it’s pretty hard to beat-- unless you fall off.”

“I’ll just… try and avoid that, then.” Taylor patted the horse’s neck, swallowing her nerves. She’d ridden a freaking yeti; this should be a piece of cake. “Pepper here is the friendly one, right?”

“Ha. Right. Better him than this asshole,” Estela said, while, as if on cue, the dark bay horse she was beside made to take a chunk out of her. Reflexively, she moved out of the way. “They call this one ‘Miel’. It means ‘honey’, which is exactly what she’s not.”

“You know, I’m seeing that. I’m guessing she’s the one who threw you back when you were a kid?”

“Of course. I’m sure it’s a memory she treasures.”

A little laugh made Taylor relax into her seat. This outing had been coming for a few days; her physical recovery had been going well, thanks in a large part to her very attentive and encouraging personal trainer. Taylor could feel the progress taking place within her body; something that she’d not long ago feared had stalled. There was a way to go yet, but… the climb to get there no longer felt insurmountable. Putting the focus on complete relaxation and actually getting some undisturbed sleep had done wonders.

Estela clicked her tongue, and as Miel moved forward, Taylor gave Pepper a little squeeze.

“Okay, buddy. I’ve got this.”

The movement beneath her took a little getting used to, but as Taylor sat straight, she realised that her core really had been strengthened in those past weeks. No doubt she’d be tired by the end of the ride, but for someone who just a couple of months ago couldn’t even sit up by herself, this was an achievement.

Estela grinned. “If you do fall off, I’ll try and throw some ninja moves so I can jump down and catch you.”

“Hahaha. You are absolutely hilarious. This is a cakewalk.” Let’s just keep it at a walk though. To be safe.

“I know. Nothing you can’t handle.” Estela brought her horse so she was walking parallel with Taylor’s. It was wonderfully weird to see her wife out here in the San Trobidan countryside even after all these weeks. But now, it could never be home if Taylor wasn’t there. “There are a few different tracks I used to take from here; we’ll probably get around to a couple more before we head back to La Huerta, but I figured the shortest trail is probably our best bet for now. There’s a really nice lookout spot in this one as well, so you can take a break if you need it.”

The trail meandered through thick primary forest, the shade of canopy bringing a drop in temperature that could be felt in an instant. All was quiet but for the calls of birds and the steady plodding of hoofbeats. That this could exist in a place so war-ravaged was startling to Taylor, and she could quite imagine how such a slither of peace could become a lifeline.

“You used to come out riding here a lot?”

“Yes,” Estela said. “It was one of the few useful things I could do when I was a kid. Seňor Ruiz loved these horses, but when he became involved in the war, he didn’t have as much time for them. When I was about twelve, and then… pretty much until Mom died, I kept the horses exercised and groomed, and Tio would get me off his back. Mom was quite friendly with Seňor Ruiz as well; she used to do this with me whenever she had the time. Obviously, with everything that was going on, I mostly felt like I was trapped. Riding was freeing. There were trails off the beach and up into the hills; I could disappear for hours. Sometimes I needed that. To just take those hours away from a world that seemed to be falling down around me.”

“I’ll bet. It must have felt like a whole different world out here. Has it changed a lot? Everything else seems to have changed so much for you… this place looks like it’s never been touched.”

“It’s the same. I could probably take another shot at jumping that log if I was so inclined.”

“So you didn’t stubbornly come back and try again?”

Estela’s eyes sparkled at the tease. She shrugged her shoulders. “It was a way off where I usually ride. But, yeah, I did jump it later. Not on Miel, though-- on Pepper. I’m stubborn, not an idiot.”

Taylor laughed. This wasn’t so hard. She had a distinct feeling that her butt and thighs would be killing her the next day, but it was enjoyable. At the slow pace, her body relaxed into it.

“But, no. This part hasn’t changed a bit. It’s stupid, but it makes me feel sad. Everything is as it should be, except my mother isn’t in the picture. This was her thing. What she did to unwind.”

The mood changed, taking a turn for melancholy. Estela winced apologetically. It wasn’t fair on Taylor; this was supposed to be about her recovery, not looking backwards.

“I’m… guessing you haven’t done this… since your mom died?”

“No. No, I couldn’t. To begin with, it would have been too painful. Then I’d managed to push myself into rebellion, and if I wasn’t helping-- really helping, this time--, I was training my mind and body so that I could take my revenge on Rourke.” She looked back at Taylor with a bittersweet smile, sorrow still lingering behind her eyes. “I didn’t realise how much I’ve actually missed doing this.

“Thank you for sharing it with me. It really means a lot. I feel like, slowly, I’m being woven into the tapestry of the real world… and it’s because of you; what you’ve given me. I know so much of it is painful, but you’ve not held back from me--”

“I want to feel your touch over every part of me. You know that, right?” Estela flushed a little, but didn’t avert her eye contact. Taylor’s gaze was full of love, and she returned it. “It makes it all easier to bear. And this kind of intimacy helps you, then… it’s important.”

“Yeah, I know. Just… I appreciate you letting me be that person.”

Estela’s lips curved to a smile. She didn’t need to be thanked, not for that. “I love you, Taylor.”

“I love you too.”

 Coming out at the other end of the thickest part of the forest, the sun was blinding. A downed tree had cleared all that stood in its wake, and now made for an easy post to which the horses could be tied. Having offered both horses a piece of apple, Estela helped Taylor join her atop the vast log so they could enjoy the view over the jungle-fringed coastline.

“Wow. It really is beautiful.”

“It is,” Estela said wistfully, staring out into a hauntingly familiar horizon. “It’s kind of a miracle it is still as untouched as it is. Around a lot of the edges of the forest, it’s all been destroyed. Of course, people would go into the forest to hide-- I know my mother and I did. When people are scared for their lives, why should they care about protecting a few trees? But a lot of it’s still okay. Us and the jungles. We’ll rebuild and get stronger.”

She frowned. Maybe something could be done to help. The resources available to Aleister through Rourke International could do a world of good here. It was difficult to bring up. Something would be asked for in return, something Estela was adamant she wouldn’t-- couldn’t-- give. As much as she fought it, though, she felt the burden of responsibility. If it could be as simple as taking Aleister and Grace out here and showing them why her home was special…. That time was coming soon.

“It’s weird to think, in just a few days we’re going to have Aleister and Grace here. Worlds colliding all over again.”

It wouldn’t be just a friendly visit. She’d had Aleister badgering her far too long for that to be the case. She knew. He had a burden to force upon her, as if sharing it would somehow distance himself from Rourke. As if cold, unfeeling money could in any way ease the suffering that had been caused. Aleister could take guidance about righting his father’s wrongs without tethering Estela to that name. After all that company had taken, it owed her that much.

“Hey,” Taylor said soothingly, her voice as gentle as the expression in her blue eyes. “They care about us, about you. Whatever conversations anyone might want to have, no one can force your hand. Only an incredibly stupid person would try, and that’s neither of them. They just want to be here for you.”

Only because of my blood. As soon as the thought came to her, Estela pushed it away stubbornly. However she thought about Aleister’s intentions for Rourke International and that blasted fortune, she did know that both he and Grace cared for her. And they cared for Taylor. And Jake. They must do, for it would take a brave person indeed to be in Aleister’s shoes and face an introduction to one Nicolas Montoya.

“I’ll have to tell Tio some more nice stories before then. I don’t know if my ‘warts and all’ approach to sharing our experiences on La Huerta have painted my poor half-brother in the best light.”

At that, Taylor chuckled darkly. Meeting the approval of Tio Nicolas had been a mighty intimidating feat to take on, albeit worth it a thousand times over. “Aleister did so much to keep you safe in the fallout, even under threat of your wrath. I think Tio of all people could appreciate what a challenge that must have been.”

“I’m lucky to have so many people looking out for me,” Estela said quietly. Then, as if she had no control over it, her tone became harsh, defensive. “But I don’t need looking after. Not with anything from Rourke.”

Taylor looked at Estela with aching affection, and saw it returned, the storm clouds clearing under a tender gaze.

“I’m doing it again,” Estela said sheepishly.

“Yeah. And it’s okay.” Taylor took her wife’s arm and held her. There was a whole lot Estela was working through right now, and she would not have her do it alone. “Maybe you could use a date with that old punching bag.”

Estela exhaled heavily. “That thing’ll be a pile of frayed string by the time I’m done with it.” She leaned closer, touching her forehead to Taylor’s, closing her eyes. It’s okay. You’re in this together. Look how far you’ve both come already? “You are amazing, you know? Taylor. You really are.”

“On a good day,” Taylor chuckled. Her whole life had been an erratic ride of peaks and troughs, of glorious highs and despairing lows. It hadn’t suddenly become easy once the world was restored and she was home with her soulmate.

“On a bad day, you’re even more,” Estela said solemnly. “You never give in.” She blushed slightly. “It’s one of the things I loved about you first.”

Taylor came away so she could press a gentle kiss to Estela’s nose. “And you still loved me when I could barely leave my bed. When I had no freaking control over my bladder,” she laughed. “And I couldn’t have sex without falling asleep after five minutes. It’s… starting to feel like we’ve made it. It’s like our future is actually possible. I don’t have a damn clue what it’s gonna be, but it’s gonna be us.”

“Yes. You and me, forever.” Estela took Taylor’s face in her hands, and brought her in for a deep and lingering kiss. God, Taylor; I’d go through every heartache a thousand times over for a day with you, a day like this. “Come on, mi amor,” she said airily as she came away, riding that wonderful high. “It’s about time those old horses got some real exercise. Let’s take them down into the sea.”

“Oh god, why do I feel like I’m about to get really wet?”

Estela smirked. “You better hold on tight, then.”

 _________________________

 2011

 The bay horse, Miel, flicked her ears back, responding to the tension feeding from the young woman atop her back.

“You expect me to want to leave… to just turn my back on everything that’s happening here. What if I refuse?”

“You’re a minor, Estela. You could dig your heels in and refuse to leave, but your uncle won’t make a revolutionary out of a fifteen year old girl. Nicolas wants you out of here as much as I do.”

Estela bit back a retort. No, he doesn’t. He would let me be useful. “I thought you cared about this place… these people.”

“Don’t.” That tone of voice didn’t come out very often, but even Estela knew better than to argue with it. “My child being killed in this war won’t make things better. You are bright, and determined, and compassionate. I won’t have your light snuffed out before it even has a chance to shine.” Olivia shook her head. “You are too precious. To me, and to all you care about. You finish your education, you grow and you learn, and then you will have more to offer. Then, it will be your choice. But while you are a child in my care, I need you have faith in my judgement.”

How, when it’s taking you away from me? Estela chewed on her lower lip,fighting to keep her tears at bay. Who would make you smile when you had the whole world in your shoulders?

Olivia must have felt the emotion in her daughter, for her voice trembled when she spoke. “The thought of being away from you is… torture. I don’t know how I’m even going to breathe knowing you’re so far away, knowing that the violence here could escalate at any time. But I have to do this, mija. I would not put us through this if it wasn’t desperate. But it is, and I am. If working on Rourke’s island for a year means that you come through this all, alive, there is no question.”

“I’ll miss you, Mami.”

“I know, Estelita. Mi preciosa. But we’ll get through this. One week at a time, and I won’t ever let you forget that my heart is home with you.”

Choking on the lump in her throat, Estela spluttered a sob, and roughly wiped tears from her eyes. “We’ll get through this,” she murmured weakly. This will pass. She had to believe it, she had to try,for it was all that would keep aching loneliness from taking root in her heart. For everything her tio was fighting for, she’d be strong. For her mother, she’d be even stronger.

“Come now, my star.” Olivia reached and stroked her daughter’s face, tenderly caressing away the tear-tracks that Estela’s harsh brushing had left behind. She cupped her cheeks and chin, adoring her. “If these are the memories I’m taking away with me, I’m going to need to see your beautiful smile.”

What is there to smile about--?

“Mija, this is our time. You and me, holding on together. So, I’m going to race you. One end of Cala Paraisa to the other. I’m not going anywhere with you under the delusion that your mother can’t leave you in the dust.”

“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry you’re gonna be stuck on that island, stewing in the knowledge that I kicked your ass out here.”

Olivia scoffed exaggeratedly. There it was; there was her smile. “Fighting words!” She petted the grey horse’s neck. “What do you think, Pepper? We can take them?”

With a roll of her eyes, Estela clicked her tongue, encouraging Miel to walk forwards. This hurt. This really hurt. But her mother was right; they couldn’t let this time be taken from them. This was theirs.

“I think you and your horse are dreaming. We start at that driftwood-- are you ready?”

The still of the quiet cove gave way to the pounding of hooves and the whoops and hollers of mother and daughter at play. One last time.

[haifengg]

The Dutch Room - Chapter 5

Find all chapters here!

The people working at Panoma were as different as they could possibly be. There were only a few things they all had in common and one of these things was the love for Barbara. Pretty much every Panoma employee was coming here at least twice a week and it wasn’t just because the place was run by their close friend Taeil but also because Taeil was offering the two most appealing things humankind knew about: Booze and Girls.

Even though the ladder only appeared to about 95% of Panama's personnel, at least one half of the 5% was a regular at Barbara herself and June was in no way inferior to her male colleagues.

Perhaps she liked Barbara for other reasons than maybe Doyoung or Johnny but she liked it. The money they spend on girls, she invested in drinks. Every time she came here she remembered how important this was to her. Just like now.

Taeil was part of the Panoma team from the very beginning. In fact he had already been there when June joined the company so wasn’t really able to tell how he got there or what he was doing before he became a male madam. All she knew was that the lady who used to run the place was the actual Barbara but she never got to meet her just once.

That in mind June sometimes wondered what the place had looked like before it was passed on to her friend. The premises were located on the first floor above a copy shop a few blocks from their office. Which made it reachable and a place to go for a drink after work. Or for something else to do after work.

Taeil once told her that he refurbished the whole space except the bar. According to him it was hard to arrange the counter, drinks and shelves in an actually effective way and when he first started working here it was the first thing catching his attention: How easy it was to operate behind the counter and how everything was at the most ideal place possible. So he decided to keep it this way and it remains the same until today.

“I heard you helped out the big boss.” June stated, sitting on one of the high stools, stirring in her drink.

Taeil just showed up again after picking something off the floor. “Pardon me?”

She chuckled. “I said: I heard you helped out Jaehyun with something?”

He grinned. “Please, you don’t need to act as if you don’t know. I’m aware he’s telling you everything.”

June shrugged. “Not everything.”

“You know, even though Doyoung is officially his boy for everything and Johnny’s acting as his right hand, you’re the one he tells things.”

“Speaking of which-” June turned around as she spotted Doyoung from the corner of her eye. “There is our boy for everything!”

She grinned at him widely, watching him approaching with a woman closely following him.

“How’s it going pal?” June asked and thrived on the annoyed look he responded with.

Doyoung might not like being teased but if he would be serious about that he surely wouldn’t make it so damn easy for her.

“You do remember you have work tomorrow? That means getting out of bed on time.” She reminded him, her voice raised, as they walked past her.

Doyoung didn’t stop as he answered “You just go fuck yourself.” and disappeared with his usual hostess to the usual room.

June scoffed and mumbled into her glass “I would still be doing a better job than any guy I had lately.”

Taeil laughed. The Panoma people not just became friends to him, after years of being loyal customers, but some of them turned this place into his home away from home. And June was one of the people he got so close with he would consider her a sister.

“To answer your question: Yes I did.”

She looked up. “Did what?”

Taeil sighed and leaned forward. “I helped out Jaeyhun with this problem of yours.”

“So I was right. He didn’t tell me anything but I had a feeling.”

“Someone had to. Your boyfriend left quite a void we had to fill. That was some hell of a talk we had the other day and I’m glad we came up with something.”

June’s lively vibes died the second Taeil not only mentioned Lucas but also called him her boyfriend. She hated it when people knew better and still don’t care.

“He wasn’t my boyfriend. How many times do I have to tell you? I thought you would especially get it.”

“Why?” Taeil scoffed and handed a drink to one of his employees. The woman had just walked up to the bar and left with the drinks in her hand, without wasting a thought about the two of them or what they were talking about. “Because I own and run a hostess bar I would know about you don’t catch feelings for anyone?”

“Yes?”

“Honey, exactly because I do what I do and see what I see I know how it looks like.”

Now it was her turn to scoff. “And that makes you an expert about what I feel?”

“I didn’t say that. It’s just that I saw how you were letting yourself go just a little bit. People who didn’t know you wouldn’t have noticed.”

“But you do know me, huh?”

He smiled. “I imagine I know you quite well. I learned a lot about you the past few years and I’ve never seen you like this before.”

“Well”, June said and chugged the last bit of her drink: “I’m sorry to tell you you’re mistaken if you think i could actually have cared about Lucas.”

She got up and grabbed her purse. “The only thing I cared about by that time was how the hell we were going to fix the catastrophe he caused and how we would be able to pull off everything we’ve worked for. To think a man - no - a fling was more important to me than the actual cause is foolish of you and you should know better. Good night.”

***

He dearly enjoyed her presence.

In this place of dozens of women it seemed to him as if she was the only sane one.

Compared to some of her coworkers she wasn’t actually pretty in a way which only meant she wasn’t hitting every single beauty standard society had come up with.

But she was ticking all the correct boxes for him. Her face was symmetrical but it looked like someone started to draw a portrait with a lot of motivation but lost track halfway through the process. And she knew that.

But instead of trying to cover it up or undergo plastic surgery she wore it with pride. Anong was never wearing heavy make-up and at some point Doyoung wasn’t sure if she even knew how to put it on.

In any case: He prefered her this way. Natural and approachable.

He was seeing her for almost 2 years every time he visited Barbara and he enjoyed her company up to this day. She made sure to always book the very same room beforehand when she knew he was visiting. Anong could sense how important consistency was to him.

“You know I’m discreet.” She said carefully and sat up. Anong never bothered to cover up her chest with the sheets or anything. Doyoung had once asked her about it and by that time she just laughed it off, replying that he had seen it anyway so why bother? Doyoung nodded at her question, calmly smiling and responded: “I know. That’s why I like you.”

“And you also know I am not into gossip. At all.”

He nodded again. “I know.” By now he could sense something was weighing heavy on her shoulders and he was impressed how well she hid the entire time they spent together this evening.

Anong rubbed her arm and avoided his eyes for a sheer second before taking the courage to ask:

“I am not asking this for myself but” She looked up meeting his gaze. “why has Lucas not been around for a while?”

Doyoung pushed parts of the sheets aside to sit up a little bit more straight. “What do you mean exactly?”

She tugged her hair behind her ears with both hands and took a deep breath.

"I'm asking this for two of the other girls. They are worried.”

“Honestly” He put up his hands. “I don’t know anything about his habits and who he is seeing.”

Anong sighed. She could sense how his mood changed, even though his face didn’t and immediately regretted having brought it up. But she had no choice.

“That’s not what I mean. You know some of us have children who they have to provide for. Those girls, the ones he was seeing, they’re struggling. So bad. And I need to tell them something. They know I am seeing you regularly so they keep asking me. They are my friends, please.”

The bagging tone rang out and made Doyoung get up and reach for his clothes.

“I can’t tell you anything about work.” He said terse as he pulled up his pants.

“I know but -"

“I can’t tell you anything about work.” He repeated with more emphasis and turned around. “If I were them I wouldn’t wait for him, there are plenty of other men out there.”

Anong looked him directly in the eye and understood what he was saying to her even if he didn’t exactly put it into words. She also knew that he wasn’t mad at her in any way. He understood she had to ask and she understood that he couldn’t talk about it. His job was at stake. Maybe more.

She watched him putting on his remaining clothes and eventually got up on her knees to check his tie. The rooms at Barbara didn’t have any mirrors for some weird reason so this became their little ritual because he hated looking sloppy.

As he walked up to the door she carefully asked: “You got nothing to do with it, right?”

Doyoung turned around, one hand on the door nod. “You know what I do for a living.” Then he paused, taking in the picture of the naked woman sitting on the disarranged sheets. This flawed woman that eventually got under his skin without him planning on it.

“You’re not one of the ones with children, right?”

Anong smiled softly. “You know what I do for a living.”

Navigation

[lovely-sanie]

𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚌𝚢𝚘𝚗 𝚙𝚝. 𝟹

⎬𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: NCT Hybrid!AU

⎬𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: ??? x OC

⎬𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 2,812

⎬𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: dissociation, beginnings of panic attack, lots of angst

⎬𝚊/𝚗: All parts dealing with dissociation were run through my friend who deals with it. I’m sorry if it’s not 100% accurate, but she said it was pretty close to what happens to her. 

➤ 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟷 || 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟸

➤ 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

Eunmi wasn’t sure she was hearing Ten correctly.

“They want us to model?” 

Ten nods, flipping through a magazine. “The companies will do this from time to time. They’ll invite a model’s hybrid to pose with the for a spread to make their model seem, I don’t know, more approachable? More real? Whatever it is.”

“But I don’t belong to Taeyong. Surely that’s an issue.”

“Not really. They don’t check papers and tags and backgrounds. We probably won’t even be wearing our collars so no one else will know. You’ve been here for over a month so no one will question whether Taeyong owns you or not.” Ten sets the magazine back on the coffee table. “Honestly, it’s just because we’re Taeyong’s hybrids that we’re posing. If he didn’t have any, they’d rent him one for a couple weeks.”

Eunmi frowns. “That sounds terrible.”

“Yeah. It is. The “renters” get all the money. The hybrids get nothing. It’s honestly pretty disgusting. The hybrids don’t even get to keep things that the models or companies give them. The “renters” take it all.”

“And that’s legal? Like renting human beings is legal?”

Ten shrugs. “The hybrids are supposedly there willingly so it’s similar to an escort service. And I suppose it isn’t the worst life to live. They always have food and a roof over their head. Sometimes that roof is luxurious, other times it’s not. They’re kept healthy so they look nice for photos.”

Shaking her head, Eunmi pulls her knees to her chest. “I couldn’t do it. Not knowing what type of human I’d be rented to. Being rented to humans at all, actually.”

“I couldn’t either. Taeyong is the only human that I trust, even after all these years.”

Eunmi hums. “So what all does this posing involve?”

“They’ll do our hair, our makeup, give us clothes and jewelry to wear, take some photos and that’s it. It’s a lot of chaos, but our part is relatively simple.”

“Me being in the middle of chaos doesn’t seem like the best idea.”

Nodding, Ten slides over to sit next to her, his hand finding her ears and rubbing. “You don’t have to do it. It will be a lot and I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“I want to do it. I’ve been feeling good lately. I want to try and see what happens.”

“Okay. You can leave the moment that you’re uncomfortable.”

Eunmi nods. “Okay. I’ll keep that in mind.”

That’s how Eunmi finds herself being dolled up by a makeup artist and hairstylist. A stylist was off to the side picking out an outfit for Eunmi to wear out of a rack of clothes that looked more expensive than her life. 

Eunmi fidgets as the makeup artist steps away to grab something.

“Please stop moving,” the hairstylist says, a glare on her face. “This is already hard enough.”

“Sorry,” Eunmi murmurs, sitting as still as possible.

“Go easy on her, Somin. It’s her first photoshoot,” the makeup artist says.

Somin scoffs. “She shouldn’t be here. Neither of these hybrids should.”

“Somin!”

“I’m saying what everyone is thinking. It’s disgusting that the company wants us to deal with these creatures.”

“Speak for yourself! Hybrids are beautiful creatures and deserve just as much attention as human models.”

Somin shoves her brush and hairspray into the makeup artist’s hands. “You do her hair then. I can’t even do anything good because of those stupid ears.”

Eunmi shrinks down in her seat, covering her ears, her cat ones, with her hands. Somin was the type of human she usually avoided but she couldn’t this time because of this stupid photoshoot. 

Seeing movement somewhere above her, Eunmi looks up. The makeup artist is speaking and gesturing to her, but Eunmi can’t hear her. She’s so lost in her own head that the real world has lost all meaning.

She watches, blankly, as the woman steps away, a panicked look her face.

When she returns, she has Taeyong and Ten in tow along with an annoyed looking older man. Ten immediately kneels in front of her, speaking to her, but hse can’t make out anything that he’s saying.

The next thing Eunmi remembers is sitting on the couch in Taeyong and Ten’s apartment.

Looking around, her brows furrow in confusion. How did she get home? And where was-

“Ten!” she exclaims, running up to the other hybrid as he enters the room.

“Eunmi!” He immediately envelops her in a hug. “You’re okay! Taeyong and I were so worried! You weren’t responding and you just looked so blank and Kun said it was okay and that you would come back but it didn’t seem like it and-”

“Kun?” Eunmi questions. “Dr. Qian was here?”

Ten nods. “He said something about disassociating or something?”

“How did I get home, Ten? I don’t remember.”

Ten steps back, looking concerned now with a frown on his face. “Taeyong and I brought you home, Eunmi. You don’t remember?”

Eunmi whines, shaking her head. “I don’t remember any of it, Ten. What’s wrong with me?”

Ten’s arms back around her immediately. “Shh. Relax for me, please. Kun said that you might not remember certain things and that it was normal for what was happening to you.”

“I’m broken,” Eunmi whispers. 

Ten lifts her chin. “You’re not broken, Mi. You’ve dealt with a lot and this sort of stuff is a natural response to the amount of trauma you’ve been through.”

“Did you go through any of this?”

“The disassociating? No. But I had many panic attacks in the beginning.”

Eunmi looks up at him. “How did you overcome it?”

“I still deal with it,” Ten tells her. “I go to a psychiatrist whenever things start to spiral. It’s a lifelong process. You can get better at dealing with it, but it never truly disappears.”

Frowning, Eumni asks, “How do you trust a human with, like, everything?”

Ten smiles. “It was hard. Especially since I couldn’t keep an eye on him at all times. But he’s really nice and he didn’t push. He let me reveal things at my own pace.”

“Do you-” Eunmi considers her question for a moment. “Do you think something like that would be good for me?”

“Yes. I would say so. But when you feel comfortable. Don’t push yourself too much. You have to get outside your comfort zone, but don’t throw yourself into the deep end with no way back to safety.”

Nodding, Eunmi steps back. “Thank you. Not just for that, but for everything. You’ve helped me so much over the past month.”

“It’s what any being with a heart would do.”

“Still. Thank you.”

“You can thank me by getting better.”

Eunmi’s smile is bright. “Definitely.”

Eunmi’s first therapy session was nothing like what she thought it would be. She expected to lay down on a couch as some old man analyzed every word that came out of her mouth. 

Instead, she sat in an extremely comfortable chair across from the psychiatrist named Dr. Kim, though he had told her to call him Dongyoung. 

The first question out of his mouth wasn’t some weird push into her subconscious.

It was simply, “How has your day been?”

From there, things were even weirder.

There were no in-depth questions pushing her to reveal everything. The questions were soft like what her favorite hobbies were, where her favorite places to nap were. Things most people didn’t care about. 

It felt good to talk about mundane things with someone that wasn’t with her every moment of the day. She had ranted about Ten taking arguably the best spot to nap, which was under the window in Taeyong’s room, and Dongyoung had simply chuckled. He didn’t scold her for acting like a child or sneer at her. 

“Um,” Eunmi pauses at the door as she’s about to leave the session. “What exactly was… this?”

Dongyoung smiles. “Trust is important, Eunmi. If I force you to open up, it’ll send you back ten steps. You need to reveal what is troubling you in your own time. Until then, we will talk about the things Ten does to annoy you.”

Her face scrunches. “I thought therapists were supposed to try to get to the root of things quickly.”

“Sometimes. Other times, we have a notion of what’s wrong and simply have to let our patient tell us.”

Eunmi nods. “Okay. So, next week?”

“Next week,” Dongyoung agrees. “Try to have a good week, okay?”

“I’ll try.”

In the month she had been seeing Dongyoung, she had had 2 dissociation episodes, each caused by a rude human in some sort of setting. The latest one had actually been on her way into Dongyoung’s office for her weekly session. She had bumped into a businessman and spilled his coffee which he yelled and ranted about until she just shut down. She didn’t remember going up to Dongyoung’s office or even the first half of the session. When she came to, Dongyoung was scribbling something down in his notes as she cuddled with a stuffed animal.

“Welcome back,” he had said and smiled. “You were just telling me that you loved soft things a lot.”

He hadn’t treated her like she was insane. He had been worried and expressed his concern then talked through the encounter with her, but not once had he made it seem like there was something wrong with her.

Ten and Taeyong tried to be calm about everything, but when she had shut down during a shopping trip, they had immediately called Dongyoung to figure out how to fix her. It had hurt after she came back to hear it being called “fixing” like there was something broken inside her. She didn’t feel broken. She felt happy. 

They had apologized when she had mentioned it and had assured her that that wasn’t what they meant, but there was still a little nugget in the back of her mind saying that that was exactly what they meant.

Apart from all of that, Jisung and Donghyuk had come to visit again. As promised, Eunmi plays hide and attack with Donghyuk with Jisung and Ten joining in. It was chaotic, to say the least.

“Okay so Jisung will be it first,” Donghyuk states, with a grin.

“Why me?” Jisung whines. “I’m always first.”

“Because you’re the youngest,” Ten offers.

Donghyuk scoffs. “We all know it’s because he’s the only dog.”

Rolling his eyes, Ten shoves the younger boy. “You could at least try to be nice.”

“Nice? What is that?”

Eunmi giggles. “I can go first if you want, Jisung-ah.”

Jisung immediately shakes his head. “No. I’ll go first, noona. It’s okay.”

“Suck-up,” Donghyuk says. “Oh well. Let’s shift!”

Within moments, there are three cats and a dog all sitting in the middle of the living room.

“You know,” Johnny says as he comes to sit on the couch. “It’s kind of funny how tiny you cats are.”

Even in cat form, Donghyuk manages a deadly glare. 

While he’s distracted, Ten nudges her and motions to a box on it’s side that Donghyuk had brought with him specifically for the game. It was in shambles, certain parts barely holding on, but that was apparently what made it so good to use.

She and Ten dash over to it and hide inside, peering out the hole on the bottom. 

Donghyuk, noticing them in his box, lets out a loud complaining meow. 

“Should have been quicker, Hyuk-ah,” Johnny teases.

Donghyuk hisses then jumps when Jisung pounces down behind him. Turning abruptly, he swipes at Jisung’s muzzle making the dog back up.

Donghyuk’s tail whipping angrily catches Eunmi’s attention and her eyes zero in on it. Quietly stepping out of the box and around it, Eunmi lowers her body to the ground and prepares to pounce on the wiggling appendage. 

She’s in the air, halfway to the tail, when Donghyuk whips around. He smacks at her with his paw then pounces on her, sending her tumbling backwards. The two begin play fighting, Eunmi getting distracted by Donghyuk’s tail every few moments. 

In a moment where Donghyuk has her pinned, he’s pounced on and lets out a ‘mrow’ sound as he’s taken down. 

Ten holds him down and bites at his ears and neck. 

Sitting up, Eunmi watches as Donghyuk wiggles around before finally turning on his side and knocking Ten off his back. The two then roll around pawing and biting at one another for a while.

Eunmi, bored, stretches out on her stomach and lays her head on her paws.

Jisung plops down beside her and flops his head onto her back. His body curls around her and she ends up wrapped in a very warmth puppy shaped blanket.

Eunmi doesn’t even notice her eyes drooping as she dozes off.

She’s nudged awake what feels like moments later by a cold, wet nose which must be Donghyuk since Ten’s is usually dry.

Opening her eyes, Eunmi is confused at seeing Donghyuk laying on top of her curled up form, staring at her. He meows then snuggles into her, eyes slipping closed as he starts purring.

“You’re lucky that we’re here until Taeyong gets back later,” Eunmi hears Johnny says. 

There’s another meow from somewhere around the pile she’s in that sounds like Ten, but she really doesn’t have the space to look up to check. That dilemma is solved when Ten wriggles his way underneath her head and curls up with the majority of his body laying on Jisung’s flank and back legs.

A camera clicks above them and Eunmi internally huffs but can’t be bothered to express her dislike of the photography.

“Taeyong will love that one,” is the last thing Eunmi hears before she dozes off again.

It’s that weekend that everything implodes.

It was a calm Sunday with all three inhabitants lazing around the apartment. Taeyong was actually relaxing for once, flipping mindlessly through channels on the TV with Ten’s head in his lap. Eunmi, restless, was walking around, straightening things up.

She was dusting off some glass objects on the shelf underneath the TV when it happened.

She sneezed, knocking one of the knick-knacks off the shelf. She watches in horror as it drops onto the floor, shattering into a hundred pieces.

Tears gather in her eyes as she hears shouts. This was it. This was when Taeyong finally stopped pretending. She knew it was too good to be true. 

Unable to sit and wait for the inevitable punishment, Eunmi jumps up and rushes to her room, locking the door before dashing into the closet and hiding in the back of it.

Rocking back and forth, Eunmi tries to stave off the oncoming panic, nearly succeeding before she just goes blank. 

Staring at the blackness around her, she can vaguely hear someone banging on her bedroom door, but feels nothing about it. 

When she comes back up, she’s sitting on her bed, swaddled in a blanket with her arm in the grip of Dr. Qian who is cleaning a wound on her hand.

“What happened?” she murmurs.

Dr. Qian looks up at her and smiles. “Just a little accident.”

“Please.”

He sighs, looking back down at her hand as he continues gently cleaning it off. “You tried picking up the glass from the knick-knack and sliced up your hand. Nothing major, just looks bad because there’s so many cuts.”

Eunmi buries her head in her blanket. “When am I leaving?”

Dr. Qian’s head snaps up. “You’re not leaving, Eunmi. It was an accident. Taeyong knows that. Hell, Ten has broken more of those knick-knacks than I can count.”

“But Ten belongs to him. I don’t. I’m just a stray that they feel sorry for.”

Dr. Qian leans forward and, with his voice almost a whisper, says, “That’s not true, Eunmi-yah. They love you. You are no different from Ten in Taeyong’s eyes.”

Eunmi sniffles. “Those words sound nice, but I know they’re not true.”

“They are very true.”

Eunmi looks over towards the door and sees Taeyong standing there.

“Ten and I planned to do this in a much more special way, but I guess now is good enough,” Taeyong says, walking over. He sits on the bed beside Eunmi and rests a hand on her back. “I want to adopt you, Eunmi. I want you to have a permanent home here with Ten and I.”

Eunmi’s eyes water. “But I-”

“Ten has purposefully broken hundreds of those. It was an accident. An accident that even I could have had.”

“So you’re not mad?”

Taeyong shakes his head. “Not in the slightest.”

Eunmi looks unsure for a moment, her face scrunched up. “You want to keep me?”

“As long as you want to stay.”

A smile blooms on Eunmi’s face as tears roll down her cheeks.

“I want to stay forever.”

⎬𝚊/𝚗: All that’s left is the epilogue! I may play around with this universe a bit more and involve some other NCT members, but I don’t know yet.

[eldonash]

New Order for the Brood || Orobas & Carrington

Summary: Orobas and Carrington establish mutual relations and agree to bringing the vampires together in due time. Off camera they shop for a house for the future brood. @carringtonblackwood

Set up

Orobas was a man who listened, and observed. Information was always a vital piece to survival. He had taken great advantage of this new era and online shopping. If they needed any supplies at all, amazon was one click away to putting it on their doorstep the next evening. It was glorious, and dangerous for a man who had a decent amount of money. It was a shame he couldn’t shop locally often. He was walking calmly down a street in downtown, window shopping their wares while their doors were closed late in the evening. Orobas contemplated if he could get one of the owners to stay open late one night, let him shop their store alone. It would be worth their time and money. Pausing his easy strides, he stared into the window of a suit store, admiring their choices when he heard whispers up the road. Faintly, but with a peak of interest that lured his gaze in a different direction. 

Carrington was also a listener and an observer. It was partly how he’d managed to survive for so long. By knowing what was happening in his immediate surroundings. And beyond. Beyond being the community he currently lived in. Whether it was Europe, Japan, Scotland, or here in White Crest, Carrington made it his business to listen to the whispers that drifted through the air. Lost words of conversations carried on the breeze. Rumors that slipped from tongues loosened by alcohol or drugs. Or even by the occasional bit of compulsion. Tonight, Carrington had merely gone for a walk to clear his mind of too many racing thoughts. He had no real destination in mind. No real purpose to his steps other than to let the relative quiet of the evening settle in around him. It wasn’t until the murmur of voices reached his ears that he paused. It was a subtle thing, the way he simply… slowed to a halt. His eyes never the pavement that he’d been frowning at for the duration of his trek. Until he’d pinpointed the source of the sounds. One had grown suddenly frantic… the other sharp and raised, though it still tried to be quiet. Carrington’s eyes slid towards the side-street, and he waited a beat before turning his path towards the growing sounds of conflict. 

Orobas curiously turned down the alleyway near him. It's darkness was almost impenetrable less the other side which faintly glowed with a street lamp in mirrored reflection to his position. There he stood for a few seconds, this silhouetted figure blocking the pathway as he stared down, head cocked slightly as he suddenly smelled blood and the muffled choke of a seized throat. Something delirious spun his mind into visions of war and murder, and an insane, almost amused smile twitched his dead muscles into an eerie expression. He walked into the alleyway, seeing another figure on the far side lured in. The more steps he took, the sounds turned into gasps and shuffling as a punch sounded, and someone started coughing as they caught their stolen breath. When he was about ten steps away, he didn't look at the two humans hurting each other, but on the other. "Hmm, seems the world finds it time we meet,"  

The scent of blood curled through the air, overlying the dirty, damp smell of the dimly lit alley. Carrington knew the sounds of a struggle, and his instinct was - and had always been - to intervene. If it was necessary. Though he had spilled his own share of blood in dark corners all over the world. Some in self-defense, some in anger. Some in the desperate desire to feed on something warm and living as it struggled and cried out against him. The latter was the flash of a past life that Carrington pushed down fiercely and firmly. He was no monster that preyed on the unsuspecting and unconsenting. The blood he took was freely given. Unless it was that of someone that deserved death. Hunters, slayers… those that harmed the weak and the innocent. Their blood had coated Carrington’s blade time and time again. But this was no hunter attack. Nor was it one of his kind feeding on an unwilling victim. This was a mugging of some sort. Another punch and the sound of forcibly exhaled air sounded through the alley. But it wasn’t this that had Carrington’s attention. Let the humans sort it out between themselves. No. His attention was on the figure that stood less than a dozen paces away. A figure he didn’t recognize, but at the same time, he did. Like recognizes like, after all. Carrington tilted his head slightly, studying the other. Finally, he gave the tiniest dip of his head. “So it does. But what would the world have of us, I wonder.”

One of the people pushed the other back down on the ground, wrapping their hands back on their throat and slammed their head to the ground. The crack of bone ignited old memories, ones filled with desires and bloodshed over a battlefield. Their hand reached out for him, and Orobas had a mind to grab it, to pull them up and into his embrace only to see the realization as they met with another monster. One that was hungry-- someone who was far, far worse than the one attempting to kill them now. He placed his hands into his pockets and relaxed his shoulders, further ignoring the humans. "I'm patient-- perpetually, and you know-- the world always delivers me who I require. I anticipate what immortality means and how much of the life we can remember and enjoy every waking moment, but I’m usually wrong." He seemed almost happy, "I have been waiting hundreds of years to meet you, and it is now that we do, it's extraordinary how that happens. Do you wish to chat?" 

The fight between the two humans was becoming a distraction. Carrington wasn’t one to let someone die needlessly, so as the underdog’s skull cracked against the concrete, he frowned. It wouldn’t do to have someone get killed here tonight, especially if someone had seen him enter the alley. Carrington doubted he’d been spotted, but one couldn’t be too careful these days. “I am as well,” Carrington said of patience. “Immortality is both a blessing and a curse. Though the definition of either of those things is all relative. Depending on what the world decides to bring us.” The stranger’s words struck an odd feeling deep in Carrington’s chest. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but it also wasn’t a good one. It was more… to be determined. One thing was certain, however: he did wish to chat. “That it is. That we should meet after so many years, at this very moment in time.” So Carrington nodded that he did indeed wish to chat. But he also had a mind to finish the human squabble himself, before it got out of hand. “A moment, if you will.” And that’s all it took. A moment. Before the man with his hands around the other man’s throat was being slammed against the alley wall. A flash of a blade as he tried to stab Carrington. But the vampire had his fist in his hand before the blade made contact. He squeezed just enough to hear bones break. The human assailant cried out, but Carrington covered his mouth. A few whispered words, and a heavy dose of compulsion, and the man slumped. Carrington let him go, and he staggered off into the street, heading to the police department to turn himself in for assault. But having forgotten all about Carrington and the other vampire. The man on the ground groaned, and Carrington hefted him to his feet. The smell of blood was all around him, but he was alive. Another bit of compulsion and Carrington sent him on his way to the hospital to report the attack, and also forget about the other two men. “Shall we?” Carrington asked, giving the other vampire a small tip of his head. 

Orobas would always, and forever, care about his kin to an obsessive, and almost absurd protective point. He was an evil creature to the core, but he had a code he liked to follow, which placed other vampires always by his side first over being enemies. Just like with Harsh, someone he felt deeply with for the longest besides his maker, seeing another vampire who carried the air of age, and wisdom felt like coming home again. He smiled as the fight broke up, the two humans blurry in mind and compulsion as they staggered off. Orobas was intensely curious about what caused it, but other matters now were much more important. He moved away from the dark alleyway, calm, steady, and content in the company. Typically, he'd introduce himself as his new name, but between kin, he didn't mind being honest. Often curious if such a thing was known when legend around it existed. "My name is Orobas Ash," he offered one of the biggest secrets right away to show his trust already. "Are you staying in White Crest for a while? Our kind moves often, don't we? I like it here. This weird little town. It's different than anywhere else in the world." 

Carrington had been born to be a knight. His father before him done so, and Carrington had followed in his footsteps, serving his king and the people until it had cost him his human life. Yet even in this second life, Carrington refused to lose his humanity. His sense of honor and purpose. And while he was always a champion of his own kind over the lives of those that sought to harm them - slayers, hunters, and the like - his loyalty to his species only went so far. As he’d told Matty, the vampire slash addict he’d met in another alley much like this, if he couldn’t hold his tongue and made the mistake of tipping off the hunters in town to any of their kind, or Carrington himself, Carrington would cut off his head. He had no loyalty at all to cowards or traitors. But to those that didn’t deserve to be harmed, Carrington would step in when needed. 

The humans moved away, and Carrington forgot about them as he took up the slow pace of his companion. It was rare he met someone that felt as old as he was. Carrington didn’t know how he knew this. Call it a feeling, perhaps. But he didn’t question it. It wasn’t until the stranger revealed his name that the odd feeling in Carrington’s chest returned. The unnameable one from before. Orobas Ash. If Carrington’s skin was capable of having goosebumps, they would’ve raced across his skin at the very utterance of that name. Because Carrington had heard that story. And in his naivety at the time, thought it merely a legend told among humans and vampires alike.  The flick of Carrington’s eyes to other man’s profile was the only indication of his surprise. Though he was quite aware that the name could be fake. Could be. But Carrington was quite certain it wasn’t. Christ. “I was born Carrington Bishop.” He nodded in agreement of how often those like themselves moved. “It’s Blackwood these days.” He turned back to the road ahead. “I find myself wanting to linger awhile. There are… things keeping me here. By choice this time. Things the world never told me about until I found them.”

"Sounds romantic," he mused gently, curious if that was the real answer or if it was because they were able to call it home. Orobas often wondered what his birthplace looked like now in modern times. He's not been back in South Korea in hundreds of years though, big cities and sprawling neighborhoods would surely devour such a little village. "I had a revelation about a decade ago. A child, school-age, came up to me without an ounce of fear. And you know what they did, Carrington? They placed beautiful flower petals into my hands and lifted them--" he did the motion gently, "right to my face and told me to smell it. Such innocence, this shocked me. It was the first time in my life I wanted to see this little human live their entire life in peace. That is what's here. White Crest is a place of mystery and wonder. I cherish it."

“Perhaps,” Carrington said, his tone giving away nothing. It was the truth, such as it was. There were people here that he cared about, and wanted to be around. Be with. He hadn’t had a place he’d called home for a long time. Not in two hundred years at least. White Crest was slowly starting to feel that way. And that both thrilled and terrified the vampire. As the other man mentioned a revelation, Carrington glanced at him again. His expression was attentive and curious, and as the other revealed the source of this turning point in his immortal life - a human child, of all things - Carrington found his expression softening ever so slightly. He heard truth in the other’s words, and when Orobas was finished with the tale, Carrington gave him a nod of gratitude for sharing it with him. “‘The soul is healed by being with children’,” Carrington mused aloud. “And I couldn’t agree more. There’s something about this place. It…” He paused briefly, searching for the words. “It’s as if, as you said a moment ago, the world finally decided it was time for something. And brought us here.” 

Carrington held the same level of sentiment as he did about children. It was challenging to express his emotions clearly, his face stoic, and still less, he managed to smile, but his words, now they could always get to the point. "I tend to speak candidly when I'm not dreaming about the universe caring about the immortals," Orobas joked lightly, offering a chuckle. "We have been brought here, to this one little spot. Have you ever once in life considered settling down with more of our kind? All our life, my maker and I have been together, running, country to country, war to war, but this isn't what we want anymore." He glanced over, shoulders square, and holding a fondness in his gaze. "We'd like to think we could all be together, keep each other safe."

Carrington laughed slightly, the sound warm and soft in his throat. “I find the universe rarely cares for any of us, no matter what our species. It exists as it always has. And when we are all dust, it shall continue on until the end of time.” Though there was humor in his voice as well, his own emotions were usually a whorl of sensations and thoughts that had to be wrangled and sometimes forcibly tied down before they could be expressed clearly. Especially the ones that gave him pause. The ones that shook themselves to life as their conversation continued were just these sort. Old emotions, dry and cracked and stiff from years of disuse. “My maker and I haven’t seen one another in over a century. He still lives - I can feel that much - but…” He shook his head, slipping his hands idly into his pockets. “... I haven’t heard from him since the turn of the last century.” What it must be like, to always have someone there with you. Someone that understood. That just… knew what it was like. Knew you better than you knew yourself. As for the rest. “I settled once,” Carrington said quietly. “But not with another like myself. He was a witch. I… tried to convince him to let me turn him, both to cure the wasting disease that was killing him and so that we might be together, but he wouldn’t have it.” Carrington swallowed. “I’ve not considered settling again. Until recently.” He glanced over at Orobas, noting the soft expression on the other vampire’s face. Carrington wondered if that’s how he himself looked when he talked about a certain doctor he’d grown quite fond of. The notion of a group of vampires existing together for mutual companionship and protection wasn’t unheard of. But it had been a long time since Carrington had heard someone speak the idea out loud. “I could…” He hesitated briefly, before pulling his thoughts together again. “I could certainly consider it. And I’ve a friend who might feel the same.” 

"Not that it's our business-- but I'd hope you could find out what they are up to. We can help you if you need it. Pull old contacts." Orobas felt very saddened by this news. What would his existence be without his maker? Haxian did so much to encourage him, to be this other conscious in his mind that to even think about not being with him even for a few nights seemed-- impossible. They likely had a codependency problem, not that they were aware or cared. He frowned sadly at Carrington not knowing where his maker was. At least they weren't dead like Harsh's. "That's-- unfortunate," he said about their partner but didn't understand the emotion Carrington felt for this other person. Never sure about love, especially with a human as well as he should. Even though Orobas tried, he never grasped it a way a human could follow. His steps paused, genuine pleasure exposed. "Wonderful. They are welcome; we are working on a location. We have enough money, but precautions are wanted to go into it, which will require a bit of compulsion to keep the humans out of our business. Taking our time will only ensure it will be safe. Do you have a progeny?"

The offer to help locate his sire was a kind one, and Carrington nodded, stating that he would certainly give it some thought. To see the man again after so long would be… Carrington wasn’t quite sure he had the words to express that particular emotion right now. Carrington could almost claim codependency as well. But not with his sire. Though they had been extremely close, that bond was different from the bond he’d felt with his partner. The love was a different sort of love. An all-encompassing one that had left Carrington hollow and near out of his mind with grief when the man he’d loved more than his own life had passed. It had taken two centuries to even start to consider moving on. And as soon as he had, a man came into his life who was… good and kind and pure. Who made Carrington remember what it was like to feel short of breath and flushed, to have your heart race and your palms sweat… who looked at Carrington in a way that would’ve taken his breath. If Carrington had had any to give. 

“Yes, it was,” he answered simply, not wishing to linger over that particular subject. Though his tone conveyed the sadness that still remained, even now. The subject changed, however, and Carrington paused as Orobas did. “One can never be too cautious these days. I came here initially because there was talk of the Hunter population being rather large. They’re out there, as I’m sure you know.” Time was fortunately on the side of the immortals, so even if it took a long time to make a place secure enough for more than a few vampires to meet, it would be well worth it. “How many are you so far? If I might ask?” Carrington knew several others like himself, but had no real numbers as to the actual vampire population in White Crest. “And no. I don’t,” he said of any progeny. 

Orobas spent centuries hunting down innocent people. From slaughtering entire ancient fishing villages in south China, or in New York when the skyscrapers were newly forming and penthouses could be splattered in red. Now, Orobas quelled urges he’s had since the beginning, even-- as a human he was someone who killed without feeling. Though redemption was a fickle thing in him, he knew deep down he needed a focus to keep it up, and being with other vampires, seeing them all thrive together here without hunters picking them off. It could be enough to humor retirement until Elder status. Then-- well. “I know of a few I could humor being around, though, I haven’t quite pitched anything yet. I’m not some revolutionary type, but I have met a werewolf in town who has the fire for it. It’s something else to see.” He chuckled. “We have time, I’m in no rush, never have been with anything. Hunters will always exist, and I have taken pleasure in killing off entire family lines.” His grin sharpened, as if knowing the one before him might know that feeling too. “White Crest will always need hunters to kill the things going after humans, eliminating them here isn’t the point. It’s in making sure we are untouchable, unreachable, and too powerful for them to bother. They can worry about the other monsters of the world, and we-- can just exist in our immortality until it grows boring.”

Carrington had spent centuries hunting down people as well. Except his mission had been the opposite: hunt down those who would persecute and harm the innocent. Be they human, vampire, fae, witch, or otherwise. He’d done his share of merciless killing in what he considered their defense. Though he was old enough to know that along the way some innocents had paid the price for his actions. Or lack thereof. Carrington huffed slightly at the thought of being a revolutionary. “Neither am I. Once, perhaps. But not now.” He made a curious sound at the mention of the werewolf who had such a constitution, and tucked the fact into the back of his mind to explore later. Carrington’s expression turned a bit more serious as they moved briefly to the subject of hunters. He gave a small nod of agreement, even if there had been no pleasure taken from killing others. Not in a long time at least. “I’m not interested in the ones that hunt monsters. Only in the ones that harm the innocent.” The idea of being untouchable was… a tempting thought process to fall into. But no one was untouchable. Everything could die, even immortals. But the idea of being something the hunters didn’t dare bother with was appealing to Carrington. “The idea certainly has merit. But you know there are those foolish enough to see a gathering of our kind as some sort of threat. And take issue with it.”

Orobas agreed. “Probably, likely, either way-- it will be interesting. There are already places we all group up in, locations filled with supernaturals in town and they tend to look the other way or know stepping in would be too dangerous. That, is information I want to take advantage of,” Orobas offered a curious glance over, but it held no malice or evil intent. Simply a gaze, all consuming, like he was still surprised they were on the same page. “Would you like to walk with me some more Carrington? To see the houses I have in mind? Another opinion on the manner would be welcome, and the company.”   

It was true. There were already several bars and establishments meant solely for their kind dotted about town. So it wasn’t as if such a gathering was unheard of. Perhaps it wouldn’t be seen as so unusual. Or as something that would draw unwanted attention. “Of course,” Carrington smiled in agreement. “I’m quite a fan of good real estate. Though the American obsession with the Colonial style will never cease to confuse me.” They walked on into the night, voices quiet as they disappeared into the shadows. What would come of it, only time would tell. But as they both knew, they had that in spades. 

[930club]

We recently chatted with Jamie Stillman, owner and mastermind of Akron, Ohio’s Earthquaker Devices, one of the leading innovators in guitar pedals/effects. We touch on everything from general guitar nerdery to how the pandemic is affecting the day-to-day operations of EQD. You can delve more into everything Earthquaker Devices related here.

Dave Kezer [9:30 Club]: There’s a joke that anyone who starts to listen to rap immediately wants to try to rap. It seems like anyone who starts to build guitar pedals immediately thinks they can start a pedal company. What do you think it takes to actually get a company off the ground in a sustainable way?

LOL! I used to make a similar joke that every guitar player with a soldering iron is a pedal company. It used to feel that way, but I think the craze has died down. It takes a lot of patience, hard work, and (possibly most importantly) good ideas to build a stable effect pedal company. They almost always start out as a hobby and it’s good to realize when it has moved beyond that point. In my case, it was very important to realize when I was in over my head and when to bring on people who have real knowledge in handling the business on a day-to-day level and have the ability to look at the bigger picture. I have punk rock business skills which worked up to a point, but I’m better suited to the creative role.

In your EQDQ&A Ep. 1, you joked about how long it took you to truly start understanding the differences/complexities of gear. I nerd out on gear so much that sometimes I lose focus on just enjoying playing instruments for the sake of it. How far is too far when it comes to putting every facet of gear under the microscope?

I think the threshold is different for everyone. There are people who won’t settle down until every piece of gear they own is top of the line and Reddit approved and there are people who don’t give a shit if their cable crackles if it moves a certain way. I put myself in the middle. I don’t really care about the proven quality or name brand of whatever I’m using, and I just make sure it works 100% of the time whenever possible. I make an exception on pickups, cables and power supplies because I think those are the most important part of the equation for me personally. I’ll always use the best I can find, and I decide what is best by putting it to use and seeing how it performs.

Your feature on the Rainbow Machine focuses on the usability of weird pedals. Have you designed something so weird that it is truly unusable?

Personally, I don’t find the Rainbow Machine to be so weird, but a lot of other people do, so we ran with that. I know the “pixie trails” function of the Magic switch is obnoxious, but I think it’s cool. There are way weirder pedals out there, lol. I’ve definitely designed things that I thought were cool but not exactly functional in every setting, but I usually work to make them more multi-dimensional. There’s only one that I’ve been working on for a really long time that has a million controls with minimal functionality. I’m not sure I’ll ever finish it but it’s (kind of) fun to keep trying once or twice a year when the mood strikes.

Are there any guitars that you’re completely satisfied with and won’t continue to modify? It seems like for gear people (myself included), a piece of gear will operate at 99% of its maximum potential, but the search for that 1% will make your brain itch forever and lead to continued modification.

No, I constantly modify all of my guitars lol. I change pickups a lot, more than anyone should. The closest I think I’ve gotten to “perfection” would be my stock Nash Telecaster and a heavily modded Fender Jazzmaster. The Jazzmaster is a 60th anniversary that I gutted and replaced almost everything except the neck and body. It has Seymour Duncan custom shop ’59 humbuckers for Jazzmaster with 500K push/pull pots for coil tapping and the rhythm circuit is removed. It also has locking tuners, a Mastery vibrato, bridge, and string tree. It still feels too new, but it sounds perfect.

Your Reverb “Does This Work?” interview focuses on old effects and their tendency to break down over time. What are the typical things that cause old circuits to stop working?

In my experience it has been dust, humidity, and neglect resulting in bad switches, corroded solder joints, cracked wires and dried caps. I never get around to fixing my old gear though. I’ll get in there if I really want to use something, but I’ll usually turn it over to Joe Golden, our in-house repair wizard. Most of the broken gear in the Reverb video is still broken…

Two of my favorite EQD pedals are the Tentacle and the Acapulco Gold, if not simply because there are one/no options to choose from when getting sounds. I tend to get freaked out when I see a pedal that has 4+ knobs, which is something I’m working on, haha. Where do you draw the line when it comes to simplicity vs. versatility when designing pedals?

I used to have a “whatever it takes” approach to design as long as it wasn’t confusing for the general user, but I’ve been moving towards a “less is more” approach. I don’t think pedals should require hours of reading manuals and menu diving to use. The faster you can get to making actual music the better. That’s not to say I don’t have some elaborate, sometimes confusing, products in the pipeline but I’m generally leaning towards simple design.

Don’t mean to be a bummer, but I have to ask — how has the pandemic affected EQD’s business operations? If I understand correctly — it seems like your builders are assembling pedals at home?

We have taken the pandemic very seriously. We knew the shutdown was coming and some of our employees had already been working to get things in place to make the transition to home building as easy as we could. We had almost 50 employees working from home for almost three months and the production capacity was greatly reduced. We didn’t ship any product for about two months. We kept all the employees on the payroll and had regular Zoom meetings to keep everyone up to date on what we were doing. Now, as of June 16, 2020, we are still mostly working from home but we have a skeleton crew in the shop so we can populate PCB’s more efficiently and start shipping product. We completely rearranged the shop to spread people out and invested a lot of time and money into making it a safe and sanitary workspace. We have gone above and beyond all the recommended protocols — too many precautions to list. It would be very hard to catch any illness inside EQD now.

Do you have a favorite “Let’s Go!” guitar riff? For example, whenever I’m driving and “Unchained” comes on the radio, I dime the volume and start driving like a complete lunatic.

I’m pretty reserved but, oddly enough, “Unchained” is also one of my favorite riffs ever! I think I play it at least once every time I pick up a guitar. Also a big fan of “Siberian Khatru” by Yes once it kicks in. Same with “In the Light” and “Rain Song” by Led Zeppelin and anything on Sonic Youth’s Sister. I guess these are more riffs that I wish I wrote than riffs that make me lose my shit. I guess most of them also make me sound like a real dad rocker too.

Is there a piece of gear you’ve spent a completely stupid amount of money on simply because you had to have it?

Yes, a Sunn Model T and it was worth every penny! It’s the most perfect amp I’ve ever owned.  

Not asking you to talk smack, but do you have a “Dumbest Pedal Ever Designed” award in your head?

I’ll keep my mouth shut on this one.

Finally, have you been through D.C. while touring or seeing shows? Anything about D.C. venues or the music scene in general you’d like to share?

I’ve been through D.C. about six or seven times, maybe more. I’ve always held D.C. in high regard because of Dischord records and bands like Ignition, Bad Brains, Jawbox, Fugazi, etc. 9:30 Club is actually one my favorite venues ever. I’ve been through twice when I was tour managing and the staff was super friendly and accommodating, which is unfortunately rare in the touring world. It also has the best green room of any venue I ever worked in; the bunks are a nice touch!

— Dave Kezer

[basileusgerudo]

William’s Backstory

I had the weirdest god damn dream and I’m pretty sure it was just my William taking over my brain and laying out his life story.  I’m just copy pasting it directly in here, so it will be written as a dream, but, this is officially William’s backstory.

Big oof.

So like, it happened in the house but the layout was a bit different because my computer was in the corner of my room, and there’s usually a window and my a/c unit there, but all that was gone.  So it was truly just in the corner.  And mom was with me for some reason and wanting me to google something, or whatever, but the desktop was acting really weird so I held the power button down to restart it but it was taking a really long time??  And when it finally restarted it instantly came back on and a Fuck Ton of red nonsensical text appeared and just scrolled on and on and *on* until it stopped, went black, and then formed a face made of text.

He called himself ‘William Afton’ and the face looked like him, not like any one specific version, but like, I was looking at him dead in the cyber-eye and I knew it was him?  Anyway, he said via text that if we wanted to make out of this encounter alive, I’d have to play his game(s) and of course I didn’t believe him, it felt so vividly real that I figured something was fucking up so I said, out loud, “You’re lying, you can’t be real, this isn’t real, I remember laying down for a nap so this must be just a dream.” And he replied,

>Not real? >Just a dream?

>Well, how about I give your leg a poke then.

>Does this feel real to you, Catherine?

And I felt a pressure on my leg and, of course, freaked the fuck out and just told him to go away, there’s no way this was actually happened, etc., and the entire time I was freaking out the screen was being filled with nothing but laughter like:

>hahahaha(etc. etc.)

But then he threatened mom and said if I wouldn’t play along he’ll just have to “toy with her instead” and I flipped my damn shit cause me and mom are really close and I wouldn’t forgive myself if she got hurt because of me and I just remember sobbing and begging him not to hurt her to let her leave the room and I’ll do as you say, whole nine yards.  He agreed and she left and went and sat in the living room, I guess, but I still didn’t want to play his games because they were like, 8-bit pixel fnaf style mini games of killing kids, so I just started talking to him to stall for time.

And somehow we got into a conversation into his home life and told me about his father, whose name was also William Afton, and how his father was an abusive alcoholic and would beat him and his siblings, he had a younger sister and a younger brother, he was the oldest of the three.  I never got ages but anyway, his dad ended up killing his younger sister b/c he beat the shit out of her so bad and then when the cops showed up (i think the neighbors called?), his dad had William lie or

>He’d do the same thing to me that he did to her.

>And I was terrified, so, of course, I lied.

I started feeling really bad for him so we just kept talking, only it wasn’t because I wanted to stall, it was mainly b/c he seemed really lonely and I figured he hadn’t had a real conversation with someone in a long time.  The next thing he tells me about is the first time he ever killed someone.

>School was the only safe place we all had.

>I always like learning, I made sure to get good grades.

>I suppose because I thought that would make him proud of me, but he never cared.

>I could’ve stayed home a whole week and he wouldn’t have cared.

>Would have just given him more time to beat me.

>So, when I found out my brother was being bullied, I snapped.

>I made him tell me who, what grade, what class he shared with them.

>They were a class above me but I was taller than him, I was taller than nearly everyone in the school, so I had a clear advantage.

>They put up a fight.

>I didn’t know how to punch, but I copied what my father did, how he held his fist, and landed in a few decent hits.

>I suppose he could see he was losing so he ran but I chased after him and I tackled him.

>There was a cinder block nearby so I used it to bash his head in.

>I’ve never felt more powerful in my life.

And I told him I understood why he did it and he accused me of lying but then I went on a whole rant about how I was bullied back in school and my brother would always look out for me (not to the extent of Literal Fucking Murder™) but that I really did understand where he was coming from.  I think he said thank you, or seemed appreciative to some degree, and then I kinda shifted the subject b/c I said,

“Wait, where’s your mom in all this?”

Because he hadn’t mentioned her once.  So then he tells about how he started Afton Robotics and how his mother came into his life and then promptly out of it.

>My mother was just as much a monster and just as guilty as my father.

>She left us soon after my sister was born because she couldn’t take the abuse anymore.

>I begged her to take at least the baby and my brother with her, I would stay behind, as long as they were safe.

>I’ll remember what she said to my dying day.

>”I never wanted any of you, your father just wanted more punching bags.”

>So she left and I’ve hated her ever since.

“William, I’m so sorry.”

>It’s alright, you have no need to apologize.

>You did nothing wrong.

“I know, but I’m still sorry.  You didn’t deserve any of this.  Your siblings didn’t either.”

>...Thank you.

“I only feel a bit terrible for asking but did you ever kill your Dad?  Take over the household, all that jazz?”

>Oh, yes, of course.

>He was drunk one night, too drunk to put up a fight, so I hauled him to his feet but it didn’t quite finish him off.

>So I snapped his neck.

>I told the cops the same exact thing I told them years ago.

>”He fell down the stairs Officer, he’s always been a bit of a drunk and I guess he just lost his balance.”

>They believed me, of course.

>I was free to take over the house, the money, and I went to college and worked on a Robotics degree, started my own business and my own company, Afton Robotics.

>I ran it out of my garage, mind you, but it was successful.

“That’s great!  I mean- minus the murder, but he really fucking deserved it.”

>He did.

>Thank you, for understanding.

>I suppose I should apologize for threatening you.

“It’s okay, you didn’t actually hurt me or Mom, so don’t worry about it.  Tell me more about Afton Robotics.”

>Very well.

>Did I ever mention I had a penchant for the joy of creation?

“No?”

>Well, I did.

>I do, still.

>Ever since I killed that bully, felt such a high, I wanted to keep it.

>I read up on creation and God and decided that if he could make life, so could I.

>So I shifted my focus to technology, robotics, how to build them from scratch, which leads back into the founding of Afton Robotics.

>I was *finally* good at something so I wanted to make some money from it.

>I made kittens, puppies, and small birds for people, sold them as ‘Never-Dying Pets.’

>”Get your child a friend that’ll last them a life-time!”

>It was a hit.

>It was a stable income and it helped when my father’s money, which wasn’t much, eventually ran out.

>I kept the house stable, funded my way through college, and kept it up for a few years.

>But then business dwindled.  My creations weren’t life-like enough anymore.

>Too cold, too clinical.  That’s when I remembered something from my short stint in studying religion.

>Souls.

>My creations didn’t have souls, didn’t have *true* life.

>I decided to give it to them.

>I didn’t want to harm any animals, though so people did just fine.

>I adjusted my robots accordingly - making small dolls was far easier than animals, actually.

>And children are such fragile creatures; so easy to win their favor with promises of candy, of fun, of a friend.

>That’s when I discovered Remnant.

“What is that?”

>Without going into the finer details, it is a substance that is in everyone.  It is in you.  It is in me.

>Children have more of it, everyone does when they’re young, but when they age, it spreads and disperses.

>Much like a soul, it never truly goes away.

>But, given its abundance, it was always far easier to collect it from children.

“But you watched your sister die, didn’t you feel bad?”

>Not at all.

>You see, when my sister died in my arms, she looked so peaceful.  Happy.

>Death, in itself, must be happy.

>I always singled out children who looked sad, were lost, crying.  Unhappy.

>That was the best lure I used: what better thing to offer a sad, lonely child but a chance to be happy forever?

“I… don’t agree with that but, okay. How does your mom factor into all this?”

>It’s alright, I don’t expect you to.

>She factors in because she figured out I had money and she wanted it.

>She called me, of all things, didn’t even bother to track me down, come back to the house.

>Told me she’d heard of my success and so sorry about your father’s accident.

>It didn’t even phase her when I told her about my sister’s death. >That’s when I decided I would kill her too.

>So I told her to come to the house, we could talk about money, and she fell for it.

>She came a few days later.

>She didn’t even apologize for abandoning us.

>She only begged for mercy as I stabbed her until the screaming stopped.

He also never mentions his brother again so I really really don’t know what happened there, other than I guess he left home.  I don’t think he wanted to hurt his only sibling and I guess I didn’t ask or don’t remember, but the next thing I remember is him telling me about Fredbear’s Family Diner.

>I came up with the idea for the Diner when I was nearly caught killing another child.

>I had to come up with something inconspicuous, something that would let me hide the bodies until I could be rid of them properly.

>So I went back to college, got an undergrad in Business, and started to draft blueprints for a bigger animatronic.

>A golden bear.

>Gold is such a soft color, pleasing on the eyes, and I often saw children with stuffed bears, I thought, “what better animal to make full scale than a bear?”

>It took me a year to develop the springlock suit - I’ll get into that in a bit - and then another year to develop the second animal, a golden rabbit.

>I’ve always loved rabbits, such soft, innocent creatures.  Until they aren’t.

“What do you mean?”

>Rabbits are adorable.

>But they are unnerving to some.

>Empty, soulless eyes.  Sharp teeth.  *Quick.*

>A predator hiding behind soft fur.

“Kinda like you.”

>Yes!

>Yes.

>That’s why I made the rabbit suit for me.

>I would become a symbol of innocence, something children would love.

>I would take them away, take the lonely and the sad, and I would make them happy forever.

>I would let them live their happiest day forever.

>I would give them a family.  *My* family.

“William-”

>So I started Fredbear’s Family Diner.

>There were games, pizza, prizes, and of course, two brand new forever friends.

>Fredbear and Spring Bonnie.

>It was an immediate success.

>And the suits, oh, the wonderful springlock suits.

>They were even better, my magnum opus.

>A creation of duality, like rabbits.

>Something that could be worn by an animatronic skeleton or worn by myself.

>I was always in the rabbit suit, I was careful to never let anyone see my face.

>I hired someone as a faux manager, someone easy I could manipulate, and if they ever showed signs of betrayal, I ‘fired’ them and hired another.

>And it was much easier to lure a lost child away, into the back, with promises of meeting Fredbear.

>With a chance to play with me.

>A friend.

>I would stuff their bodies into Fredbear after I’d collected their remnant and their soul.

“Could you collect remnant from the managers you ‘fired?’”

>Caught on to that, did you?

>Clever.

>Yes, I could.

>Like I said before, remnant never truly goes away, it simply thins out.

>A few factors make it collect within the body, but I found fear to be the most enjoyable.

“Why not give adults a happy ending?”

>Because adults are cruel.

>They’ve lost their childhood innocence.

“More like they can see past your act.”

>Haha.

>Yes, I suppose that too.

>I cannot offer an adult candy and pizza and get the same excitement from a child given the same offer.

I kinda lost the plot after that because someone broke into the house and tried to steal the living room T.V. so I chased them off and then me and mom had to run for some reason and the backyard was hella foggy and there was construction equipment everywhere.   ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[bigsnzstanacct]

Sneeze Headcanons But Giant Sneezes Part 1: MCU

Tony Stark: Not particularly huge sneezes, in context, blows papers and clothes and leaves and knick-knacks and such around. Seems to sneeze quite freely and openly (and often) but actually does a quick check to make sure he won’t cause any *real* damage before he lets fly. Itchy, active nose. Lots of rubbing. When he was still drinking, sneezed notably larger and with notably less control/aim/care for what he blew away when drunk, whence his reputation for being a rich asshole who sneezes all over the place cause his (daddy’s) company’s money can pay for it. But it was actually prolly just cause being drunk makes him have to sneeze really bad.

Steve Rodgers: Terrible allergies pre-serum, far less severe allergies post serum but if he *does* have to sneeze, watch out. Discovered how ginormous his sneezes had become shortly post-serum. Expected an annoying allergy attack, and still got a fit of sneezes, but it also pretty much demolished the room he was in. He later discovered that was a small one. *Intensely* focused on making sure he sneezes in a way that will minimize (unintentional) damage. Hates the loss of control. Has several battle plans that include sneezing.

Black Widow: Stifles are very rare in this world. Much more difficult to execute, given the greater pressure and force at play. Black Widow can forestall or stifle any sneeze at any time. When she does allow herself to sneeze it is usually three or four in a row, quite large. (Not as large as Cap but probably enough to topple furniture).

Bruce Banner: Teeny, barely a puff of air, wildly unsatisfying but he doesn’t allow himself any more.

Hulk: Explosion.

Thor: Alien, so the giant sneezes don’t work the same way, but he does have the loudest sneezes of the bunch and each sneeze is matched with lightning and thunder in proportion to the violence of the sneeze in question. Quite irritated to find that while his sneezes are the largest on Asgard and the loudest on Asgard and among his Earth friends, basically all of his earth friends have much more forceful sneezes than him.

Hawkeye: sneezes *extremely* rarely, only ever once at a time, big enough to rival Cap, if not Hulk. No one knows what makes him sneeze except Phil Coulson and Nick Fury. and probably Natasha he guesses. She knows everything.

Bucky: Has scary control over the size and power of his sneezes as Winter Soldier. You do *not* want to know how they trained him into that. (Or maybe you do.) As he recovers his Bucky persona he recovers the sneezes of his original life as Bucky: Tony, but louder and a little more forceful. As Bucky, he never fights off a sneeze, always has a rather lengthy but silent buildup, often used this to sneak up behind someone and suddenly sneeze them off their feet as a prank. Never did this to Stevie though. He’d never. (Steve asked him why once, though they both knew, and he made a joke about how Steve’s a punk who gets himself knocked down plenty on his own, then hugged him close).

Ant Man: Depends on what size he is but weirdly it’s the inverse of his size?

Pepper: Excellent control, has never sneezed in public, in part because she has wild, banshee-loud sneezing fits that leave her dazed and usually makes a mess of whatever room she’s in, and she’s not saying she’s blown a hole in a wall but she is saying she saw cracks and like... now she mostly sneezes in a reinforced soundproofed room in Avengers Tower. Ironically, quite allergic to pepper.

Dr. Strange: Sneezes make his magic go haywire. He tries not to sneeze. Weird dimensional shit. Very unpleasant.

Loki: Same but he loves sneezing for that very reason. Chaos god and all.

Phil Coulson: Fairly unremarkable, just a quick “h’CHOOOO!” he directs down towards the floor, does that thing where he kinda lifts up his jacket and ducks his head down behind it and it flaps out in the gust. Sneezes are rare, sudden, and decisive.

T’Challa: *really* long, itchy buildup, lots of talking through it, *terribly* big sneezes takes great care not to damage anything, which is made more difficult by the fact that it is considered good luck in Wakanda to see the King sneeze.

Okoye: she fights pretty hard to keep control but naturally her sneezes strike completely out of the blue and have blown both T’Challa and her husband off their feet many, many times. Very intense but brief buildups, has a couple really intense allergies that cause her to have watery eyes and a runny nose and sneeze (almost always singles with the RARE double) off and on for several minutes to hours or just until she gets away from the allergen.

Nakia: long itchy buildup during which time she either prepares to (painfully) stifle her sneeze into silence or find a place to aim her cannon fire sneeze. Has she intentionally induced a sneeze to blow down a tree, whether to clear a path or to cross some water? You can’t prove it even if she has.

Killmonger: quite small sneezes actually, not much wind or volume to them, rather enjoys having big sneezes for once, once he gets the Black Panther power. (Everyone with the Black Panther power sneezes more or less the same way, although they remain sensitive/allergic to whatever made them sneeze before).

Falcon: Feels it coming way in advance, wiggles his nose, talks through hitching breaths before turning away from whoever he’s speaking to (or excusing himself from the room, depending on where he is and how big the sneeze is) and unleashing a single sharp intensive violent “YIIESSHH” of a sneeze that somehow rivals Cap in power. “Sorry. I’ve always had big sneezes. That’s why I like to spend time outside.” Occasionally uses his sneezes to help with the flying.

Captain Marvel: GINORMOUS. Rivaling the Hulk? Bigger than the Hulk. Always sneezed huge but when she got full control of her powers? GINORMOUS. Just blasts out more and more and more air. Long sneezes. Usually flies out into space or the upper atmosphere real quick to let it out. They’re that big. (And also flying is super easy for her, to be fair).

Nick Fury: Is allergic to about two things in the universe, both of which send him into wild incapacitating sneezing fits that usually cause considerable property damage, if only from the repetitive nature of the sneezes. There are two people left alive that know how he sneezes. Everyone who knows what makes him sneeze is dead. That’s just a coincidence, though.

Okay that’s enough I guess lol. I know I forgot some characters but I lowkey haven’t seen all the movies and don’t care about all the characters soooooo...

[disrespectfullcalum]

A roaring fire (2/?)

Pairing: Bjorn Ironside x OC

Word count: 2.122

Summary: Bjorn comes back after a long raid to find a new healer in town. She’s living on her own, trying to make a living and raise her brother while secretly wanting to be a warrior herself. Bjorn makes it his mission to see the distant Ríkví smile at least once - but does he know what he’s getting himself into?

Warnings: mentioning of death & violence; drinking; name-calling; kinda slow-burn; lots of swearing (later parts)

A/N: Second part is here! It’s longer than I thought, but well. Also, the song in here is originally from the movie Brave (link) and so, yeah, it is actually Scottish. But let’s just pretend they also sing it in Kattegat, alright? As usual, feedback/likes/reblogs/etc are most welcome! xx

MASTERPOST

It had been long eight weeks since he left his home. The Gods had not been kind and they had not only lost some of their treasures to the sea, but they also lost good men. Bjorn did not take that lightly, it was a shame whenever a man couldn’t return home to his family and he was a lucky man that he always came back in one piece.

The crowd had gathered at the harbour of Kattegat to greet him and the other men, screaming out names in joy and some in pain, taking in the plenty of treasure that they brought with them. A huge smile formed on his face when he spotted his smaller brothers waiting for him. It had been weird at first when his parents seperated but he realised over time that it had been for the best. His mother was now an Earl in her own right after murdering her abusive husband and his father was thriving as King of Kattegat. Though Ragnar now was nearing his 55th nameday and had quite a few strands of grey in his beard and hair, he still made an impression and would never see himself as an old man.

“I’m glad to see you back, my son.” Ragnar spoke with his booming voice and hugged his eldest son tightly. When he finally released him, the woman next to him made a few steps forward and curtsied slightly in front of Bjorn. The Prince only chuckled, placed his big hands on her shoulders and gave her a kiss on each cheek. “There’s no need to do that, Brunhild.” He spoke warmly as she rose and smiled at him. “I’m just paying my respects to the great adventurer and Prince of Kattegat who also happens to be the eldest son of my dear husband.” Brunhild said with a slight cheek in her voice which caused Ragnar to grin broadly. She was his third wife now and set to bear some more children to his name who would carry on the bloodline of the Ragnarssons.

Behind his father stood Bjorn’s half-brothers: Ubbe, who greeted him with a big smile on his face and a strong clap on the shoulder. He was the oldest of the four and already very skilled with the sword. It would not be long until he would be allowed to join on his first raid so that he too could become a warrior in his own right. Next were Hvitsverk and Sigurd, both just a year apart in age and close in their development as men. The latter had just received his arm ring days before Bjorn had left and wore it proudly – he had been a true pain in the ass when Hvitsverk had gotten his one first! They both grinned at their big brother and Hvitsverk immidiately started asking questions about where they had been, what they brought with them, and many more. But Bjorn simply stated that he would answer all his questions later when they had time before turning to his youngest brother, Ivar. He was quite small for his age and not as well-developed as Bjorn had been at 10, but his mind was that of an old man.

“There’s going to be a feast tonight for you and your men, but you probably should freshen up a bit. If there are any men injured, you send them to Ríkví – she will be an inviting change!” Ragnar laughed, knowing exactly how the young woman would react upon seeing roughly seven vikings at her door: all smelly, sweaty, and without the company of an attractive woman for weeks. She’d be furios!

Bjorn’s brows arched at the name. Ríkví… he couldn’t recall any woman living in Kattegat with that name. But then again, there were always new people here whenever he came back from a raid and when he stayed here as well. “So Helgard did retire at least?” The man had been the healer at this town for as long as the young man could remember. Brunhild smiled slightly and nodded while looking after the younger Ragnarssons who were already leaving the landing. “In a way, yes. He is still the main healer and will continue to do so as long as he lives – his words, not mine – but he took Ríkví on as a…” She left the words hanging in the air for a few seconds before continuing. “She cares mostly for the younger ones. And the women.” She was stroking her growing belly as she spoke which made Bjorn smile slightly. As it seemed, his father had been busy with continuing his bloodline.

But the thought also struck something inside of him which he didn’t like at all. Jealousy. His 28th nameday had passed last autumn and he still lived on his own, without a wife or children. Most of his men prayed to Odin that they would make it back to their family or that their children wouldn’t grow up without a father. Bjorn wished mostly for the well-being of his father and his brothers. Not that there were no possibilities – there had been many and Bjorn wasn’t one to keep a willing lady out of his bed! But it had always been more of an adventure to him, nothing too serious and definitely not love. He had been in love with a girl before and it had seemed like she loved him as well, but then she went and married some other man that had been into more fights and to more raids than Bjorn at the time. He was 18 at the time and lovesick like a fool – a feeling he never wanted to experience again. It made him feel weak which he couldn’t allow himself to be. He was Bjorn Ironside!

“C’mon now. Your father will want to celebrate your homecoming with lots of ale and won’t take it lightly if you don’t do the same.” Brunhild gave him a slight pat on the chest before walking ahead of him, away from the water towards the buildings that made up Kattegat.

It was true that Ragnar liked to celebrate with lots of ale and mead whenever his son or his warriors came back from a raid – especially when it was as successful as this one had been. The men were sharing their stories of the cities they plundered, the money and precious gems they brought home, and how they made some of the people their slaves. Everyone knew that most of the women and young girls had been dishonored at least once because that was just how the vikings were.

Bjorn never participated in telling such stories. He took no pride in fucking a woman who was too scared to move and oviously not enjoying herself. So, he didn’t do it but who was he to tell his men to stop it? It was a viking custom and he simply decided not to take part in it. Of course he had done so when he was a young and impressionable boy who went on his first raids and wanted to be just like the other warriors there! It hadn’t been easy to explain to the other men when they went and he stayed in camp – but he was Bjorn Ironside and most of them thought that now there were just more left for them.

Now, he was listening to his friends telling their stories of victory while watching the room. His family sat at a table on a little platform at one end of the room so that they would see everyone and everyone could see them when they entered the big hall. There were some other tables at the sides of the hall, placed around the big fire in the middle of it. A lot of people fit into the hall, men and women alike and Bjorn spotted some younger children here and there. They likely stole food from the tables to take with them outside where they now could play without the adults watching over them. A smile lingered in the corner of his mouth as he watched a particularly bold girl sneaking up between some drunken guys and taking the fresh meat right off their plates. She ran like a whirlwind on her way out as the men realised what had happened and tried to get up in time.

At some point, music had begun to play and a few people got up to dance around the fire. As Brunhild went to join them with some lady friends of hers, Bjorn moved to sit next to his father as he had sat with his friends. “Boy or girl?” He asked with a grin and took another swig from his cup. Ragnar barely moved his eyes away from his beautiful wife to glance at his eldest and grinned as well. “A girl if the Gods are good. Odin knows I have enough sons to send into battle, it is time for some shieldmaidens!” There was pride in his voice as he talked. Ragnar loved all of his sons but he wished for a girl this time. The gods had taken Gydda far too soon after he held her in his arms all those years ago – barely a week old. Bjorn had been four at the time and still remembered the cries full of pain and anger by his parents that filled the nights at the hut for months.

“I pray for it every day.” Bjorn answered simply and then joined his father in watching the women dancing. The musicians played a tune he didn’t recognize but apparently some of the younger women did as they quickly fell into pace: They all danced in unison, entrancing everyone with their turns and jumps. But there was one he had never seen before – her hair swinging just a bit more, her turns more of a natural movement than a learned step, her eyes closed as she seemed to feel the music rather tan hearing it.

Where dark woods hide secrets And mountains are fierce and bold Deep waters hold reflections Of times lost long ago

Bjorn didn’t know who had started singing and he didn’t care. All he knew was that he couldn’t stop watching her as she came closer to their side of the hall with the circle the ladies had formed.

I will hear their every story Take hold of my own dream Be as strong as the seas are stormy And proud as an eagle's scream I will ride, I will fly Chase the wind and touch the sky

The music stopped and Bjorn felt like he had been ripped out of a dream. His cup stood forgotten on the table in front of him as he watched the young women lose her stiffen position from the end of the dance and joined the other girls in their chatter and laughter. Apparently his gaze had gotten noticed by either one of her friends or herself as she slowly raised her head and looked straight at him.

Bjorn was taken aback a little by her boldness. She simply looked at him without even a hint of a smile or any emotion before raising her chin a little higher, turning on her heel and leaving the hall. “Try not to look so much like a lost puppy, son. Doesn’t suit your reputation well.” The amusement in Ragnar’s voice was clear and Bjorn wanted to retort something just as Ubbe joined them, confusion clear on his face. “Where’s she gone? You didn’t tell her anything, did you?” Even at 16, his voice still tended to get pitchy when the teenager yelled, got upset or just hadn’t his emotion in line. At the moment, he was clearly upset but Bjorn had no idea what he was talking about. “Who should I have told nothing?”

Ubbe huffed and crossed his arms in front of him. “Ríkví’s mine, not yours to take, brother. Not like she’s gonna like you anyway. Not into that beefy, big guy type of a viking.” He regained his composure and managed to send a glare at his brother that was probably meant to be intimidating. Ragnar laughed out loud at the words of his second son and patted him on the shoulder lovingly. “Any woman here is fair game until she’s married, Ubbe. So you should probably get into that if you seriously wanna protect her from your big, beefy brother!” A tomato couldn’t be redder than Ubbe’s face right now. He huffed a last time and quickly made his way through the hall to leave.

Bjorn sat there, still a litte starstruck at the whole situation. What in the name of Odin had just happened here?

[regentcorpse]

Added after I wrote this, I know my grammar is a mess in this. This post is 2223 words, longer than most high school essays which averaged 1500 words. If you don’t want to read all of this it has been separated into paragraphs and most of the conversation points are in the last three paragraphs. This sentence was added in after word count, the original post was on Facebook which is why the link in this does point to my own blog: My sentence structures are not correct, and this is Facebook and I don’t give a crap about that here. I did try to do my best to make it somewhat understandable with several ideas and conversations all in this. Also I didn’t originally separate it into paragraphs. If a sentence seems out of place at the start or end of a paragraph, my bad. But please read, comment opinions, not angry but constructive to build a conversation. I also don’t know how but this became more like an info blog post, but valid points and openings for conversations are made.

These newish Apple features like the Memoji, like it’s aight but still lacking in so many hair styles and facial depth, forehead, chins, and noses. Hopefully the will add a lot more features to be able to make it more like you, in a cartoon version. I’m about to check out the full bitmoji app to see what all they have, but I feel like apple should of used bitmoji, and since Apple has a version, I know android does. How is their version in your experience? (Please reply even if you don’t know me, I want to have decent conversations with people, but I hardly have anyone to talk to about random stuff like this.) Also the fact that Apple has Memoji in their database of words and not Bitmoji, is extremely weird, and pointless not to have it.

I don’t know how I feel overall about Apples decisions on these updates. They seem to be trying to almost build a legit social media around their platforms, I wouldn’t be surprised if they make something like Google+, which will most likely fail all together as a product, not because it will be awful but because we already have the social media giants that control most people’s lives, work, and reputation.

Facebook is for memes mostly and socializing with like minded people with their pages and groups. Not to mention that so many people use their marketplace now as well, which did shock me that it took of with other apps offering the same thing before Facebook did. To those who didn’t know, yes, Facebook stole that idea from OfferUp and LetGo(I think there was another around before the marketplace.)

You have Snapchat, the goofy fun social media where you can have personalized stories, private or public, and I may be wrong but they are also the ones that introduced the idea(maybe didn’t originally have the idea, but did introduce it, I think. Let me know if I am wrong please, I would like to know.) Next, the thing that made Snapchat big originally was the disappearing pictures after 10 seconds, which you couldn’t edit when the app first came out, the initial release didn’t even have filters or all the extra stuff they have now, it was so basic and simple and blew up. Another thing that made Snapchat big in the same way, disappearing photos meant disappearing nudes for both male and female, only that at first they could be screenshots, that didn’t notify you. In a future version, they disabled screenshoting photos from the default system buttons, but of course people found ways and made apps to get around it. Snapchat then started to block accounts for using those apps, then came the solution of notifying users of screenshots and then recordings when Apple released that feature. I know Snapchat probably wasn’t the first to make the goofy photo filters, but they did make it so much easier and almost more advanced with their simple facial mapping(yes it is simple since it’s meant to work with phones without facial recognition and all the other fancy face features.). Now Snapchat is a place to socialize in groups, or privately with friends through photos, messages, and video. Another big use now is the porn industry, where I think it’s safe to say only females succeed at making a lot of money with. It also seems to avoid spam bots and stuff. I’ve never received anything from a fake user or bot, besides their built in Snapchat bot, so that is honestly impressive and I applaud them for trying to keep it safe and friendly, except for the usual douchebag guys that send dick picks and stalk girls no matter their age. Danger lurks at all corners of the internet, and making friends is easier now, and just an add and a message away sometimes. But be careful who you add and honestly block anyone who harasses you or sends you unwanted images. And report them, help improve internet society and safety. This goes for all social media platforms.

Instagram is built solely around the personal sharing of photos to a feed and nothing else really. I know everyone was shocked that it became as big as it did, considering you can do the same thing in Facebook, and easily share other peoples photos to your friends. Although it is just photos, the people on there that are successful, actually do influence people and promote sponsors and their products. Some use it to get money, for their more explicit content. It followed Snapchat in adding stories, then filters, and has been successful in its endeavors. You can find everything legal on their as well as some illegal content such as drug use. As mentioned above, yes bots and fake accounts exist, be weary in who you talk to and exchange messages and photos with on here as well.

Twitter has been around for a long time and honestly, I see it being the first to die, due to overall lack of community and now with all the user interface updates and whatnot, it can be difficult to understand how the social environment of it works. Basically you get I think 140 characters to insert into the status prompt or whatever you/they want to call it. I personally don’t use it much, I get on there to see any updates from game companies and some of my favorite authors and music artists. I do this maybe once a week or two. I honestly don’t understand the point in twitter nor how getting followers and conversations started on there, if you have any suggestions for me please let me know if you are still somehow reading this.

Tumblr, ye olde blogging platform, one of the best until the pornography bam that yahoo added once their app was removed from the Apple store after I think being reported for child pornography. A lot of people lost their blogs and thousands of followers and countless hours of work. Many others had a lot of their content censored by a community guidelines photo or by being completely removed. So yes we can all agree that it’s a good thing they are trying to do what they can to combat child pornography of Tumblr, but a lot of people saw this as a complete change of environment for tumblr, whether being used for art, music, porn, pizza, cats etc.. Another big complaint that caused this change is how easy it was to lie about your age and turn off the content filter that got rid of the majority of inappropriate content. It was literally just a search option, then they tried moving it to your phone settings to the app setting in there to turn it off, which was still too easy. I can say you will still see pornographic content on Tumblr, mostly by accident, but there are people still posting getting around their image search algorithms. Past that to summarize, it’s basically a bigger version of Twitter, allowing for blog posts of most media types now, they have a reblog button to repost on your own page(these also get their own sub domains where it follows such as mine regentcorpse.tumblr.com. This is not for promotion, just an easy example(it’s a new blog with only like one blog post, but yes is my personal blog.) You can use your own domain if you own the address and route it to tumblrs name-servers, which most domain hosts have guides available to help you understand the process and set it up. They follow Wordpress in allowing themes which are only visible in a web browser and not the Tumblr mobile app, but on mobile you can edit the color scheme and fonts to what they have stock. To be like twitter with the features of Wordpress except custom plugins, it is a phenomenal platform still where you can truly be yourself and no one actually has to know who you are, you just post the content you love, the content you create(except for the porn content that a lot of people now went to Snapchat and Twitter for, and probably some private instagrams). You can find almost everything you heart desires within lawful reasons, I mean honestly you could probably find someone to buy illegal stuff from like guns, drugs, etc but I’ve never looked for that type of stuff on there. I love cyberpunk culture and there are so much content around it on tumblr. It also has pretty decent privacy setting for a blog, which can be password locked I believe and you can set permissions for it to be only people you follow or follow you, or no one or everyone can message you, ask questions(which can be anonymous), and submit content to your blog(also can be anonymous). The tumblr community can be toxic but also so helpful and beautiful seeing some of the ways people come together on there. It can range from legit bugs to books and quotes to programming and even professional use.

There is also LinkedIn, which is a very professional platform where you can add your professional resume and skills and may get recruited to jobs. I remember something like this tried to launch on Facebook but I do believe it failed out, as I haven’t seen anything about it or a link since they probably removed it.

So this leads me to ask What would an Apple Social Media Platform consist of? How would they try to outdo the others, and how would they make it appealing enough for people to use/switch to. Yes Apple is a big name, but so was google which failed at social media. They had good ideas but went about it completely wrong.

I feel like Apple would attempt to make a platform around creativity and art of all types. I feel like it would be a platform that would combine GarageBand, IMessages, Memoji, and all their other great apps into one. If they added collaboration on projects a lot easier in that aspect, and didn’t force themselves into everyone(Yes, Google that’s a shot at you.), they could make a truly great platform where we could see great things made by groups, communities, artists, and I could see them adding some sort of collaboration for web developers and programmers, which I would like to see knowing that Facebook, the corporation not social network, owns Oculus, and they already have a lot of resources for developers. Do you think Apple might be working on a social media platform, or do you think they will just keep adding out of place features? Do you think they would succeed in it or absolutely fail? Do you think Apple would stand a chance against the other giants that have been around and built up their user base? Also another issue is how exclusive Apple is with everything, just the fact you can log into Apple TV and watch it on a Windows Pc is a miracle. Do you think Apple will make it exclusive or would they put in the effort of being their media platform to everyone no matter their device? Remember everyone had a MySpace, now you never even hear about it, Facebook was a surprising switch with it having limited functionality and basically no customization options for your profile like MySpace and some other media’s had.

I want to hear your thoughts, opinions, and speculations about this, let’s start an open and friendly conversation, no hate or trolls, I don’t want all of that and your comments will be deleted and I may even block you from seeing posts like this on your feed and my page. This is at an end because my thumbs are tired and my phones dying and Facebook is lagging from how much I just put on here, but seriously comment, let me know what’s running in your mind, even what you would like to see change in social media in general or even in specific ones. I hope you all do open a nice and positive and informative conversation, I want to see that on Facebook more and I want to make friends I can talk about this type of stuff with in depth or even as broad as mostly common knowledge.

[pocminiseries]

3 A.M.

CLAIMED.

"PENOMECO-SMT"

•••••

Kim Taehyung was eight when his family decided to up and move from South Korea to the states due to his mother's rare illness. It was a last minute decision but the type of care that she needed was exclusively treated in the city of Richmond. Wanting his wife to feel comfortable, Ji-ho willingly agreed to her request to build her dream home in a nice, quiet town away from the bustling world around them.

In the beginning, Taehyung wasn't all that fond of his new surroundings or the people around them. Especially after his father decided to expand his company, buying several run-down businesses and turning them into money making machines which gave many people in their town and surrounding areas better jobs.

Just as his father wanted, they all worshipped the ground that man walked on and had the utmost respect for not only him but his family also. Taehyung hated it. 

The people treated them like royalty whenever they went out, waiting at his parents every beck and call like servants. Suck ups were what Taehyung described them as. It was pathetic in his eyes.

Of course being a foreigner, his knowledge of the English language was limited. Since his parents didn't trust the poor education system in America, he was provided with the best tutors they could find. By the time he was eleven, he spoke five different languages, although still preferring his native tongue.

Naturally, he didn't have many friends because he still possessed the mindset that he was better than everyone else which in return left him lonely. Occasionally his parents would fly out his close friends from back home but that only lasted for so long. 

One of the very few people Taehyung took a liking to was Ms. Brown, an older woman hired by his mother to cook and help around the house when needed. The small boy enjoyed the warmness that she brought whenever he was around her. She was sweet and wise, always making him feel comfortable and content on his usual moody days. Not to mention her cooking was probably the best he's ever tasted. He took a huge liking to a dish called gumbo, which she made often just for him.

On one particular day, he stumbled into the kitchen to see Ms. Brown watching over a little girl as she stirred something in a big bowl. His dark eyes scanned the girl's pretty brown golden skin and wild curls that were pushed back by a colorful bow headband. She had a toothy smile, showing an all white bright set of teeth.

But it was her eyes that he favored the most. They were a unique shade of green, a color he wasn't used to seeing in girls of her ethnic group.

"Hey! You wanna help?" Her small voice called out to him. She had paused her movements, giving him her biggest smile after spotting him standing by the entrance to the kitchen.

Usually, Taehyung would've denied the request to join in but this girl was special. Nodding his head, he slowly walked over towards the counter where she stood on a stool in order to reach the top of the countertop. He noted how much taller he was than her even at his age of being eleven. Moving the bowl in front of him, the little girl instantly took one of his hands and placed the wooden spoon inside of it for him to grab.

Ms. Brown watched the two closely, surprised that Taehyung even allowed her granddaughter to touch him since she knew how picky he was about skin to skin contact.

"I'm Kiana! What's your name?" She asked with such enthusiasm, still smiling at him happily.

Taehyung blinked at her a few times before softly introducing himself. "Taehyung." He answered simply, watching as she butchered his name a few times until she got it right. It was a sound that he would never forget.

Over the next few minutes, he stood there a bit awkwardly as the animated little girl he now knew as Kiana talked on and on about the most random things. She asked him many things as the two helped Ms. Brown prepare for dinner as best as they could. Taehyung had found himself deeply intrigued by her the more she talked, even staring at her for the longest time.

After that day, Kiana would join her grandmother a few days out of the week and spent time with Taehyung, bothering the older boy as much as she could.

He didn't realize that hearing all those rumors about his family were true. It was said that the Kim family had been cursed with a high level of insanity. A certain type of madness that made them obsessive and possessive over anything they held dearly, especially their loved ones. Without realizing it, young Kim Taehyung had a put a claim on Kiana that from that day forward, she belonged to him and only him.

Period. ___________

A miracle had happened.

Or at least that's what Kiana felt like it was when she had woken up the next day in her bed at exactly 10 A.M. Her mind was still hazy on what had occurred the night before with her only remembering bits and pieces of it.

She hadn't bothered to text Jazz or anyone for that matter and since today was Saturday which meant sleeping in late for most college students, she found herself in the school's library. It was a place usually damn near deserted on the weekends, and today was no different. She sat in the back where people barely wondered too, sitting on the floor with food she had purchased from Panda Express. There was no food or drink policy but Mrs. Adams didn't care since she knew Kiana was the responsible type to not damage any of the books.

Chewing on some noodles, she thought back to arriving at the party and Rich greeting them at the door but after that, everything became a blur. But she knew something had happened at the party, the hickeys on her neck made that clear as day.

But who the fuck gave them to her?

"I should have known you'd be here hiding from the real world." A voice spoke up from beside her, scaring her almost. Her head turned to see someone she hasn't seen in almost three weeks. She took in his handsome features, nothing out of place as usual with the exception that his hair had grown longer than before. 

"Ji-soo." She greeted him, her eyes briefly flickering to his lips. Ever since she's known him, she noticed that he didn't believe in this thing called personal space and this time was no different.

"Missed me?" He teased, smirking at her playfully. He had just arrived back in VA only two days ago from being away to handle...business. 

Kiana shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, sticking her fork into another piece of chicken and held it close to Ji-soo's lips. Slowly, he opened his mouth allowing her to feed him, something that two did occasionally. Mainly because Ji-soo could be kind of whiny when she didn't share her food with him.

She watched him chew, following his tongue sticking out to lick off the excess sauce. Typical Ji-soo, she thought to herself, rolling her eyes at his flirtatious ways.

"Where have you been?" She asked, already knowing he probably wasn't going to tell the truth anyway. He rarely ever did when he decides to just vanish into thin air.

"Private manners with the family." He told her half truthfully. The less she knew, the better. Ever since she's known him, she noticed that he always had a secretive, dark demeanor about him that no one else seemed to notice. That was probably because most of the girls they knew or even saw usually just wanted to fuck and the guys just dug his easy going personality and maybe something more.

She didn't exactly know of his sexual orientation. Not like it was any of her business anyways, so she naturally left it alone.

"How have you been sleeping?" She had anticipated the question before he even asked. Like Jasmine, he knows about her dream and the pattern of her waking up at 3 A.M. He even witnessed it for himself a few times from spending the night at her place.

"Surprisingly, I woke up at 10 this morning." She revealed, glancing at him to see a look of surprise cross his features. He looked at her curiously, taking in how beautiful she looked in her natural state.

"What did you do last night?" He questioned, thinking that she had to have changed something in her nightly routine. But then again getting her to fall asleep wasn't difficult, it was keeping her that way past 3 A.M.

"Jasmine took me to a party that Rich had hosted but I can't recall what happened after we arrived beside being inside a hot tub. Everything else is a blur." Even now she tried to think back but nothing stuck out. "And before you ask, I didn't drink anything. At least not when I arrived."

Ji-soo found what she said to be weird, and it honestly didn't feel right to him knowing something happened to her. He was going to have a few choices of words for Jasmine. If he was there, he wouldn't have let her out of his sight at all. Kiana tried to fight back a smirk, seeing the scowl on his face that she found way too cute. Turning his dark eyes back on her, his left eyebrow raised, eyeing her curiously.

"Not even going home?"

She shook her head. "Nope but I somehow know that Jasmine wasn't the one that brought me back to my apartment, much less put me to bed." Although they matched in height, Jasmine was smaller than her. Kiana witnessed first hand her friend attempting to help her once before, the petite woman struggled just to get her inside of her car. That alone let her know that she couldn't have been the one to bring her home safely.

Matter of fact she was convinced that Jasmine probably didn't even leave the party at all.

Ji-soo was quiet for a while thinking of multiple scenarios in his head. The whole situation was way too suspect for him. "You sure you were alone in the hot tub?" He knew Kiana wasn't the type to mingle amongst their peers, so he figured she probably headed straight to a place to be alone.

Subconsciously rubbing her neck, her fingers brushed over the hickies. "No. Someone put these here and I doubt it was an insect." She told him, showing him the dark marks. Ji-soo rubbed his thumb across them causing her to shiver from his cool touch. A small smile tugged at his lips from her reaction but faltered realizing that someone had touched her.

Without any warning, he grabbed ahold of the back of her neck pulling her closer to him. His mouth instantly attached to a hickey closest to him, sucking hard on the already tender piece of flesh. Kiana hissed, taken back completely by his sudden and definitely unexpected action. Her hand gripped his shirt as she gave into his assault knowing her panties would be soaked by this action alone.  

Wanting to see how far he could go, Ji-soo grabbed at her thighs hosting the woman onto his lap to straddle him. He sucked and licked her on her skin, leaving newer marks of his own. Her soft moans filled the air around them but he wanted more, he wanted to feel more.

He left soft kisses up her neck until his lips hovered over hers, lightly brushing against them. Her eyes were dark as he searches them for permission. On the slight nod, she gave him, their lips barely touched when the sound of someone clearing their throat caused the two to jump apart.

Falling back, Kiana caught herself quickly, looking up to see the face of the guy she remembered seeing at the coffee shop. He stood there with his hands in his pockets, staring down at her with that same unreadable expression as before.

Ji-soo stood up slowly, not seeming the least bit fazed by him being there. "Taehyung." He greeted lowly, the name causing a chain reaction on her brain as the events of last night came rushing back to her mind all at once. Kiana's face flushed red, getting warm at her coming to her senses at what she allowed to not only happen here in the library but the hot tub also.

Quickly grabbing her things, she clumsily stood up and power walked out of the library with their eyes staring after her.

It was silent between the two men until Kiana disappeared from their sight. "When I told you to watch over her, that didn't code for putting your lips on her," Taehyung said dryly, not all that surprised by Ji-soo's actions as the man smirked at him mischievously. 

"Now because of you, I have to punish her for it."

[lukes-writing]

Chapter 1: The Man from the Trailer

Project introduction | Previous chapter | Next chapter

Word count: 4000 Warnings: Mild violence, profanity

September 21st, 8:55 PM, Casino Northstar, Trinity Gate

The young man strides towards the casino’s main entrance, keeping his head down. Several people notice him - wealthy gentlemen in expensive suits with fine cigars in their hand, leaning against a luxurious car, trying to make a good impression on the women who accompany them, usually young enough to be their daughters.

They give him just one quick glance and continue to pay attention to the beauties by their side. Why should they care about some sketchy figure dressed in unkempt street clothes, walking with a heavy limp? His posture is hunched up, with hands in the pockets of his hoodie. Tall, but neither athletic or muscular; even though he has to be in his early twenties, he is still lanky like a teenager.

The casino in the Confederation District is built to resemble an ancient Roman building - white, with numerous pillars, a triangular pediment above the entrance, even a dome on the roof. There are several marble stairs leading to the glass-filled front door.

The sketchy man draws more attention as he starts to climb the stairs. The wealthy visitors presumed he’s there only to inhale the atmosphere of luxury and beauty. That he’s some kind of miserable homeless man, or possibly some trailer trash, just continuing his journey with no goal. But now, it seems this otherworldly man wants to disrupt their social bubble and invade their territory.

Some of them take his mere presence as an insult. This is no place for such lowlifes.

As the man conquers the last stair and starts to make his way to the main entrance, a large bouncer blocks his way. He’s shorter than the mysterious visitor, but much larger and stronger, dressed in a suit and sunglasses. “Hey, where do you think you’re going in such clothes?” he barks at the man.

The bouncer has mixed feelings about that guy. Of course, he looks unbecoming to say at least, but he’s not filthy and neither he does smell bad. There’s also nothing weird about his face. It’s completely forgettable, neither attractive or ugly. Long and thin, just like his body and limbs. A short stubble of facial hair, shaggy, short brown hair, prominent nose and tired, almost black eyes.

“I think I’m going inside for some gambling,” the limping man replies with a gruff voice. He seems not to be afraid of the big thug at all.

Subconsciously, the bouncer wants to get rid of the man, mainly because he just doesn’t belong here. His youthful appearance, however, can offer a reason to kick him out. “May I see your ID, please?” the bouncer requests curtly. “I am not allowed to let in anyone under the age of twenty-one.”

Annoyed, the man reaches into his pocket and hands the guard his ID card. The bouncer notices his name: Skellinger, Parker. Twenty-three years old. Parker receives his ID back, secretly enjoying the distress he caused. Inside, he’s laughing at the bouncer’s attempts to get rid of him. Outside, his face stays emotionless.

Sure, Parker is wearing a hoodie with a logo of some metal band almost nobody knows, well-worn jeans and durable army boots. However, he made sure the casino has no official dress code before he decided to go inside. The bouncer has no valid reason not to let him in.

The heavy finally gives up and steps aside, making room for Parker. “Thanks,” Parker utters and hands the man a five-dollar bill, confusing the bouncer even more. Then he walks in, his boots resting on the red carpet which covers the floor.

The casino’s inside is a display of luxury, just like the outside. There are men in suits everywhere, chatting, playing a variety of games the casino offers, drinking fine liquor and, if they have no official escort, flirting with waitresses dressed in splendid Roman gowns.

More and more people stare at Parker as he limps towards the big poker table made of heavy, dark wood like most of the furniture in the casino. Some with revulsion, some with amusement. Who does he think he is? Probably another lowlife trying to gain a fortune by gambling. It won’t take long and he will leave even poorer than he came. That’s how it goes.

To everyone’s surprise, Parker reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pack of banknotes. “Ten thousand,” he says. “Give me tokens, please.”

The surprised croupier does as Parker requested. The sketchy man nods and continues towards the poker table, now enjoying the attention of the whole casino. The regular visitors play for such amounts of money rather frequently, but nobody expected this particular guy to step up the game like this. The desperate souls are usually willing to bet only about a hundred dollars. However, this guy doesn’t look desperate at all.

His determination and confidence unsettles even the most famous gamblers.

The players around the poker table aren’t playing yet. They are up for a friendly talk and a glass of nice Scotch, enjoying the golden glow of the casino’s interior. Parker takes advantage of it and takes the free seat. The men stop talking immediately. Their body language now shows the man in a black hoodie makes them uncomfortable. However, they don’t ask him to leave. He has money - money they can possibly win from him. One of the men tells the croupier the game can start now.

“Would you like something to drink, Sir?” a waitress asks Parker as she passes by.

“Just a glass of Coke, thank you,” Parker replies, provoking even more mockery from his soon-to-be opponents who all enjoy glasses of fine alcohol.

The wealthy men see Parker and his money as easy prey. After all, they are the elite. The young gentleman wearing a fashionable crew cut is Trinity Gate’s poker champion. The overweight man with a mustache was able to start a renowned company thanks to the money he won in this game. And the remaining three men also aren’t amateurs. It’s something like a VIP club.

It’s no wonder they tend to underestimate Parker. But how justified their feelings are?

Parker would smile at the naivety of the men who play with him (or against him, as it seems the VIP players ganged up to bleed him dry as soon as possible), but he has full control over his facial expression. This is not only a result of countless poker games. He was just born with a natural talent for this.

What the men don’t know is that Parker has no chance of losing as he knows which cards do the men hold. He sees clear images in his mind. His sixth sense, as he calls it, has never betrayed him so far. Acquiring this kind of extrasensory perception was a painful, tormenting experience. So Parker doesn’t consider it wrong to use it for his own benefit, even though some may consider it cheating.

He intentionally lost a few rounds to keep the men’s guard down. They already started to snicker at his apparent lack of skills. But that’s what Parker wants. Calm them down, then strike.

The image in his mind is clearer when he closes his eyes, but he keeps them open to brush off any suspicion closing them may cause. The image is still bright as day. The young upstart has only three-of-a-kind - four of spades, four of diamonds, four of hearts. However, the fat man has a flush - five clubs.

Parker has a straight, so he has to fold and wait for the next opportunity.

It comes soon enough. First, he carefully starts to win some rounds when his hand is good enough. Then he steps up the game and in the end, there is only him, the young gentleman and the fat mustache man playing. The men have started to be suspicious about his skills which seem to get better with every round.

He finishes by going all-in when his pile of tokens is already considerably big. He already knows he has much better cards than both his opponents, so he ends up claiming the whole pot for himself. Not minding the shocked expressions of both men, he casually takes the tokens, exchanges them for dollars and walks away.

By then, he already has the attention of the whole casino. All the gamblers stopped playing for a while to witness the local poker champions getting obliterated by a random kid who came here for the first time. Before leaving, Parker generously tips the waitress who gave him the Coke he requested - the girl stares at the ten hundred-dollar bills in her hand in disbelief.

Nobody objects. This weird guy won the money fair and square… at least that’s what they think.

Parker’s sixth sense reveals everything. Which gamblers are armed. Who and what are they texting if they are on their phones - that guy over here with a young woman by his side definitely isn’t at work despite texting this lie to his wife. He’s aware of all hidden security cameras. To some degree, he’s also able to sense the mood and intentions of the people staring at him.

If he ever talked about his supernatural abilities, he would find it hard to explain them to a person confined to their basic five senses. They became a natural extension of himself. He sees things without his eyes, hears without his ears. That way, he can perceive things hidden from other people.

Some people notice the tattoo around his wrist. It’s a chain of five symbols - a circle, a square, a star, a plus sign and three wavy lines. Some of them recognize them as the symbols present on the so-called Zener cards which are used in the research of extrasensory perception. It could give them an idea about the true nature of this guy’s otherworldly luck, but they are all too hesitant to accept there is an actual psychic among them.

Parker finally steps out of the casino and slides the bouncer who let him in another pack of banknotes. Then he disappears God knows where.

Even though he’s gone, the other gamblers still find themselves unable to enjoy their night out as much as before. They have to constantly think about the young man who just invaded their territory, humiliated local champions, won a great sum of money and left like nothing happened.

The ones affected the most are, naturally, the two men who lost their money and dignity to Parker. They worked hard to earn the respect of the community and now, this random stranger made them a laughing matter. Some of their friends have already started to mock them for losing to such a lowlife.

The young businessman and the fat man with a mustache, who are best friends through thick and thin, exchange looks. They know there’s only one way left to regain their reputation. They don’t even start a new game. The duo just pays for their drinks, leaving a generous tip, then leaves the casino.

Parker can finally put a smile on his face as he counts the money he won from these two upstarts. The bigger they are, the harder they fall. It’s not that Parker is a poor man - he already has about a million dollars locked in a strongbox in his trailer. This isn’t the first splendid poker victory he achieved.

However, because of these magnificent victories, he can’t visit the same casino twice. He knows that the renowned gamblers tend to hold grudges against weird guys who just show up and scoop the pot, even if they (at least seemingly) play fair. When it comes to big money, a lot of people turn into sore losers.

Parker walks down the alley which is almost empty during this hour. This is not his first time in Trinity Gate - he grew attached to this place since it offers the best of all three American territories in just one city. When he turns around, he can see heavy industrial buildings, factories and functional high-rise buildings which can be found in most of the major cities in the Central Confederation.

However, if he drove a few kilometers to the northwest, he would end up among vast fields, greenhouses and ecological houses typical for the Commonwealth of Great Moors. And a look to the northeast offers a skyline of futuristic white skyscrapers of the Republic of Northeast.

The city of Trinity Gate was built near the end of the second civil war to serve as a neutral ground for negotiation. Now it consists of three districts, one for each territory, and the “Core” which is completely neutral. A simple map of the city resembles the Google Chrome logo.

Trinity Gate is located at the point where Indiana, Ohio and Kentucky meet. After the United States divided, Indiana joined the Great Moors while the Confederation claimed Kentucky and the Northeast got Ohio. However, that’s all Parker knows since he’s not much into politics.

He already started to make plans for the rest of the night. He will probably drive to the Great Moors district to get something good to eat. Since the Great Moors are mostly agricultural territory, their food has the highest possible quality and is always fresh.

The food here, in the Confederation district, usually tastes like military rations. What can you expect from a heavily industrial, militant area which is like a bomb with a short fuse?

As Parker walks through the park which is basically just an alley with trees and several benches, his sixth sense warns him. Someone is behind him. Two people. One is slimmer, the other one rather heavy. Parker smirks. His two friends from today’s poker night.

He pretends he’s not aware of them and just walks casually.

Later, he finally hears a voice: “Turn around. Slowly.”

He complies and stands face to face with the young businessman with a butch cut. He has a gun in his head, its muzzle aimed at Parker’s head. The fat guy is behind him, expecting what will come next. “The money,” the younger man hisses. “We know you didn’t play fair. Give them back.”

Parker just smiles at him. “Sore losers, huh? How can you prove I was cheating?”

“The money! Now!” the man barks. Parker stays calm, infuriating him even more. The man’s finger is trembling on the trigger and his face turned red. Wow, I guess I really pissed him off, Parker thinks.

“How are you gonna force me with an empty gun?” Parker asks casually.

The suited man cocks the gun. “What are you talking about? It’s loaded and ready to blow your fucking head away. Are you really gonna risk your life for some money?”

“I’d give you the money if you had some actual ammo in that guy, but if you don’t even bother to load that gun, I can only tell you to piss off,” Parker utters without a sign of nervousness in his voice.

“So you still believe the gun is empty,” the man grins. “Are you willing to bet your life on it?”

Parker shrugs. “If it’s necessary.”

The casino gambler just keeps pointing the gun at Parker’s forehead. Even without his sixth sense, Parker would be able to spot the man’s anxiety - trembling hand, droplets of sweat on his forehead, clenched teeth. “Come on, pull the trigger,” Parker taunts him. “I ain’t gonna give you the money. If the gun is loaded, shoot me.”

No response.

“Come on! Shoot me!” Parker raises his voice. “Prove me I’m wrong!”

The man finally gives up and lowers his gun. “Fuck,” he mutters, furious that this weird guy humiliated him once again. Of course, Parker knew the gun is empty. His sixth sense never disappoints.

Then, the men from the casino hear a rattling sound. The younger man’s face turns pale as he notices an iron chain in Parker’s hand, hanging from his wrist. Parker keeps this weapon wrapped around his forearm in case things get tough. Even though the men are already about to turn tail and leave, Parker can’t turn down some good beating when there are good targets.

He steps forward and cracks the chain like a whip. The young man screams in pain as the chain whips him and creates an ugly gash on his arm and back. Then, Parker turns around and strikes again, this time hitting the man’s head. The man collapses on the concrete pavement.

His overweight companion tries to run away, but Parker swishes the chain again. It wraps itself around the man’s leg. He trips and falls to the ground face first. Parker strikes him with the chain two more times - the metal lands on his back, then on his butt. The man wails in pain as Parker finally turns around and leaves.

“That’s what they deserve,” Parker mutters to himself as he wraps the chain around his forearm again. Then, he forgets about the incident and continues thinking about his late dinner in the Great Moors district.

September 22nd, 9:20 AM, Serenity Park, Trinity Gate

Wiccan Salisbury carefully examines the travel trailer parked in one of the nice parks in the Great Moors district, that kind of park with ponds, playgrounds and decorative fountains. The rising sun shines through the treetops above the man and a gentle wind makes them sway back and forth.

The trailer is large, big enough to substitute a house. He raises his eyebrows when he sees the car which belongs to the trailer - a matte black Jaguar convertible, elegant and beautiful. Definitely not a car for a regular person. It had to cost a fortune.

Wiccan knocks at the trailer’s door.

The resident takes an eternity to open and Wiccan starts to lose patience. He knows someone’s in there since muffled sounds can be heard from the inside. He knocks once again. This time, the resident opens the door.

When the door open, Wiccan hears loud music - soft female vocals accompanied by violins which gradually grow into aggressive screaming and heavy guitar riffs. Then he also sees the resident - a tall, scrawny young man wearing a black hoodie. He has an annoyed expression on his face. He takes a drag on the cigarette in his hand and blows the smoke in Wiccan’s direction.

Then he points somewhere in the distance. “Woodstock is this way, old man,” he says, his voice as annoyed as his face. Then he just slams the door shut.

“Just why did I sign up for dealing with another Skellinger?” Wiccan sighs. The young man’s remark leaves him calm - he’s already used to people making fun of his long dreadlocks and youthful clothes he’s wearing. He knocks on the door again and then two more times until the trailer’s resident opens again, this time angry.

“What the fuck do you want?” he spits out.

“Let’s be polite for a moment, okay?” Wiccan replies. “My name is Wiccan Salisbury. And you are Parker Skellinger, I presume.”

“Mhm,” the young man nods. The metal music still screams in the background, making the talk even harder.

“Let’s say I have a job offer for you,” Wiccan continues.

Parker cackles. “Look, old man. I have this car, this trailer and about a million dollars. What makes you think I’m all eager to get a job? If this is all you wanted, you can piss off.”

The older man tries hard not to snap at the condescending expression and tone of voice of the brat in front of him. Parker takes another puff from the cigarette and once again blows it in Wiccan’s face. “It’s not some kind of everyday job offer,” Wiccan says. “We’re looking for special people with special abilities. And, according to my files, you possess an ability someone might consider unnatural.”

This remark changes Parker’s cocky smirk into glare full of anger and disbelief. “Who the fuck are you?” he hisses. Wiccan smirks; he succeeded at disconcerting this man. Wiccan would never recruit this guy voluntarily - his physical condition isn’t ideal and his attitude is even worse. But he’s one of the few possible recruits roaming close to Trinity Gate, so it seems he has no choice.

“I’m just a man who seeks talented people for a special job. I know you’re a nomade - a guy made for adventures. The job I’m offering you would get you a lot of thrill. And you would also find yourself while doing it. No more pointless roaming and living as an outlaw. We would give your life a purpose.”

“Not interested,” Parker retorts.

“In that case, I have another motivation… and you won’t like it much,” Wiccan looks straight into Parker’s eyes which is enough to unsettle the younger man even more.

 Wiccan opens the folder full of papers he’s carrying. “Okay, Parker,” he says. “See these papers? This is evidence of every fraud, offense and crime you committed since you turned fifteen. We know you cheat in casinos to win money. We know you beat people up from time to time. The minor offenses like speeding or breach of the peace are also there to spice things up a little.”

“Prove it,” Parker barks. His face, however, turned pale. Wiccan knows he’s on the right trail.

“Just yesterday,” the man with dreadlocks reads from one of the papers. “You cheated in the Casino Northstar in the Confederation district to win a large sum of money. Then you used a chain to injure two men.”

“It was a self-defense!” Parker objects. “They had a gun!”

“Maybe it could be taken this way… but what about this?” Wiccan takes another sheet of paper. “About a month ago, St. Louis, the Great Moors territory. An armed robbery. Parker, you’re a really naughty boy. You cause trouble wherever you go.”

“How do you know?” Parker blurts and Wiccan smiles in satisfaction when he hears the panic in his voice.

“Well, we have means the FBI can dream about. We know about every move you make, every website you visit, every thing you buy. So let’s make a deal. If you don’t come with me, I would have to hand this folder to the police. And trust me, I can make them follow you wherever you go until they catch you - we have a million ways to track you. You wouldn’t have peace for the rest of your life. But if you agreed to go with me…”

Parker’s face scowls in anger. “Are you blackmailing me?”

Wiccan shrugs. “Call it whatever you want - I need you to come with me and we can both benefit from that. These files say you’re intelligent. Reckless, yeah. An asshole, definitely. But you’re smart. And if that’s true, you’re not going to refuse. Not when I can offer you something much better than years behind the bars.”

The younger man still doesn’t look convinced. “How can I trust you?”

Wiccan comes up with his trump card. “I used to know your older brother.”

Parker’s face grows cold once again. “I don’t have a brother,” he says with such ire in his voice even Wiccan backs off. The older man realizes it probably wasn’t the best idea to mention Gerard Skellinger, the former member of Team Menhir.

The man has to find a way to get Parker on his side again. “So I guess your relationship wasn’t really warm… well, Gerard never spoke about his siblings and he isn’t among us anymore, so I guess you can forget what I said.”

Parker frowns. “Not among us anymore? Does that mean he’s…”

“No, not dead. He just left us and went his own way.”

“Leaving people,” a bitter smirk appears on Parker’s face. “That’s what he knows best. Anyway, back to the topic. It seems that I don’t have many choices other than doing what you say, right? Can’t say I’m overjoyed about it, but it can be fun, I guess. Do I have to go right now? Can I take my car with me?”

“No, not right now,” Wiccan says, relieved that he made Parker comply. “I will tell you the exact time and place where you need to be. And having a car is actually a benefit.” Then, when he notices the arrogant smile returning to Parker’s face, he adds: “If you think you’re smart enough to just drive away as soon as I leave, think again. In the second I would find out you didn’t arrive at the meeting, I would inform all the law enforcement units and the hunt would begin.”

The smile on Parker’s face slightly fades, but it seems the young man wouldn’t attempt it anyway. “Understood,” he says. “So when and where?”

Author’s Note

I wholeheartedly thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and if you did, please leave a comment, send me a message or share and let more people know about this story! You can also consider a small donation at www.paypal.me/lukassladky. Have a great day and stay tuned for the next chapter!

@notquitenovelist

[sarumansorkorphanage]

It’s weird being on here again realy.

I don’t think I actually wanted to leave this plattform at any point.

One moment I just realised I had.

You see- I don’t really see myself as a tumblr person and this might be because I’m awefully biased against all of you guys without even really evaluating you.

I just asumed there were certain characteristics to a tumblr person- which I am sure the majority should have- amongst which you could find a certain level of narcissism (not the clinical form, you know, just higher levels on the personal trait-scale) and psychological issues. Or some really intense form of fandom. Or both.

So yeah- while that may or may not be true, these are the reasons why I didn’t want to be a tumblr person. I just didn’t feel I had any major psychological issues, maybe a certain tendency to fancy attention or something, but we’d all be sub-clinical on that, and my degree of fandom was in my humble opinion not worrysome at all.

So you see- no judgment whatsoever, I could even list a couple of good traits amongst which a high intellect, a certain degree of empathy and creativity (though this might be due to my filter bubble).

Now- rest assured- I did have nihilistic thoughts before and I didn’t have any suicide, self-loathing or self-harming fantasies. Not at all. So I don’t quite understand what I’m doing here, but the fact is my head seems rather troubeled and I need an outlet, so- I just felt I should come to a place where people would see me as a bit weird maybe, but most wouldn’t be either detrimental or judgmental. Even though they might be just mental.

(Yeah the pun just came and I won’t cut it because I feel it’s kinda cute.)

So- maybe it’s time to re-introduce myself. My name is- well, Saruman for you guys, sorry ^^, and I haven’t been on tumblr for about half a year or so- and actually I didn’t really plan on coming back, nor do I pan on staying now.

I am a fan of Tolkien’s work, you know- all that Lord-of-the-Ringish, Hobbity, Silmarillionesque stuff. I did use to write poetry in up to three different languages, some were good, some were bad and some I like or dislike depending on the mood, but I usually didn’t edit too much. Maybe out of a sense of self-importance and a weird grasp on creativity in art- or you can just call me lazy if you will, either will do and I’m sure I have hown all those tendencies at some point or another.

Why did I leave this place where you can get little haertsies for pouring out your sad emotions, your happy emotions or any form of emotion in any text there is, really? I don’t quite know. Honestly I like the concept, it’s utterly shallow, sure and I won’t become a great writer of you al support my lazyness and self-importance (which I actually don’t really want to), but it’s also profoundly human. It’s a little utopia. A little shire, if you want to come back to Hobbitses (and this is official Gollum-plural). This is beautiful.

All those fucked up souls and mental wrecks here, or at least those who pretend to be such get positive feedback in their actions- or even better, moral support. Which they probably can use better, for some of their striving s disturbingly detrimental and not going to help them in any manner.

If you were looking for reasons to leave, sure there would be plenty: This place is shallow and cringy at it’s core, full of pretentious little artists amongst whom I have counted myself and I can proudly say- I still am a pretentious little artsist from time to time. People here honestly think brainy is the new sexy and take a Tony Stark as an example. Yeah he plays a brainy arrogant prick, but he mostly is rich, that’s the sex appeal. Same for Loki, the Hiddleston guy.

And I know. I come just back here on this plattform, ranting a bit becaus eit feels good on short notice and actually I don’t contribute to harmony etc. right now.

Actually I might have said a few things which have seriously offended one or another person- if that is- anyone has read this bullshit text.

So why’d I come back? I’m not back in that sense. It’s a note in my journal, that’s what it is. And this is not an actual journal, it’s a metaphor for me leaving something here and probably never reading it again.

Am I a bitter person?

Well sometimes I am, yes, so have I observed. Though I do not think of myself as such. I used to be a positiv child, that is my belief and- what child is not positive at some point in its life? Most children have every reason to be positive about... things.

To the point:

Yesterday I looked at myself and realised- let me use another Tolkien metaphor here even though I am aware I have extended the privilege quite enough: I am not only not the young bright Arragorn I imagined myself becoming as a kid, but I am rather turning into a Gollum creature tacked back in the misty mountains cave off my room, with the one ring of Netflix and losing even the taste of good food. I haven’t eaten an apple in a long time! Though I had an avocado yesterday and a really good salad before that, so I think this is where the comparison might stop.

You know I did use to do martial arts- not to worry it was only for my own content- and I did get a rather appealingly shaped body, I wasn’t strong or ripped or anything gorgeous like them fitness guys bloating around like coqs (I’m fairly sure this is the French spelling, I can’t seemt tom remember the English one) on an animal farm. But I was in rather fine physical shape. And my body was... probably appealing. To some. Not the great majority, I wouldn’t go as far, but some.

And now I don’t du martial arts, I eat a lot less well than I used to- miracle- this isn’t my mom’s stove anymore so I cook when I had time and the grace to make an effort. And so my muscles are fairly thin, I lost about half my strength and it only shows a little bit, but I’m convinced in training I would soon come to realise my limits have shifted.

And that’s a bad thought.

And honestly i have two easy ways to feeling better: I could get out and do something for myself or I could get to work in here and - oh look, it’s raining, suddenly it’s more appealing to stay and studdy for university instead- but I get locked up in front of... books and series... and movies... so I don’t do shit in the end.

And at the same moment I feel this reticance... why do you care? why should I care? Couple thousand years ago and I’d have been living about half my life, so what’s the deal? And yeah, I’m 20 experiencing the pressure of puberty, feeling like I can look through the whole system including the ridiculous part that I play myself. And that’s the point.

I am hyper aware of my actions and their consequences, I am aware of other people’s actions, I am aware of a big chunk of modern society and I could now write you an essay about how to achiev in the system I live in. But I’m too lazy to care and I don’t feel like it.

So yeah- I am angry at myself. Probably. According to myself I am, so I must be right? And I know I don’t need to be. Same as...

Actually that’s a good point, I’m in puberty, I ddon’t like it, I write because I feel like I suck and I know I don’t or at least I don’t need to cause I could just walk out here and perform, but I can’t because... brains be brains, right?

And I don’t like people expecting me to do anything. And I don’t like competition either. I don’t like competing about grades, jobs, money, social status or female encounters. Which the last one I luckily don’t have to anymore, I just have to keep being myself, which I find a slightly more odd form of cometition because my competition is my self.

You know all those boys talking “Tell me about women?”. Ya, well tell me about boys. Tell me about myself. Seriously, I like when people try to get a grasp of me I used to like the part of myself, where you can’t stick me in a box, cause it’s like putting water in a basket.

“I shall remain freeee!” - And never seize my freedom because puberty forces me to take a harsh looka the manner in which I seize my oh so well accomplished freedom. Uhhh hate my brilliant brain (it’s just above average, not brilliant, my IQ is about 120, or was last I checked).

So this pittyful document of my puberty shall remain here until some company tries to get a grasp at me. Good luck trying guys ^^

No I seriously usually am a nice guy, I just don’t get a grip on myself lately, but even now I perform according to task. Or almost.

Should I check my spelling, because I just couldn’t have cared less while writing? Ahhh meh.

[the-sweetest-dragon]

Character Sheet

This is a character that is old but has been reworked.  She’s close to my heart and I know the fandom doesn’t really like original character stories, but I’ve decided I don’t care.  I want to tell this story so I will.

A huge thank you to @incorrectbatfamiliaquotes for helping flesh out a good portion of my characters.  I think you may have fixed my writers block again because I’m really hyped to start this story over.  So, hope you enjoy what I’ve added and changed about my darling Kaia.

______________________________________________________

Full Name: Kaia Elaine Hale

Meaning of Name: Hawaiian for the sea

Ethnicity: Hawaiian

Birthday: August 13, 1994

Age: 25

Zodiac Sign:  Leo

Basic Personality:  Intellectual, hates mess, wants to be a lawyer, is an awful driver, has anxiety, can’t wait to graduate law school so her real life can begin.  Spent a good portion of her teenage years mute because it was easier to not speak at all than to get beat for saying something wrong.  Hates her family and left when she was eighteen, refuses to speak to them.  

Deeper Personality: Anxiety:  After years of abuse, she has anxiety attacks when people raise their voice. She Is very good at compartmentalizing her childhood trauma and hates talking about herself.  Has refused to go to therapy several times but takes medication that helps keep her calm.    

Inflexible:  Kaia is set in her ways and will not budge for anyone or anything.  Once you’re in her life, there are very few ways to get out of it.  

Lawyer aspiration: Her father isn’t a good man, what so ever.  Kaia knows he does illegal things on the side and is slowly gathering evidence for a case that will finally put him in jail where he belongs.  

Best Friends: Timothy Drake and Mirabella Kostas.  

Mirabella is the daughter of Kaia’s mother’s friend and they had a weird relationship until Kaia turned seventeen.  Mirabella was the only person who bothered to learn ASL to speak to Kaia (her first sign to her was at a dinner party, asking for more cake) and their friendship blossomed after that.

Tim’s father and Kaia’s father were trying to marry them off because neither were wanted and it would get them out of their parents' hair.  Kaia hated that their fathers pushed it so much, especially since Tim was already in love with Stephanie Brown.  They eventually became good friends after Kaia left her family and moved to Gotham.  

Family:  Makoa and Alani (father and mother), and her two sisters Lani and Nalani.  Makoa made his money selling diamonds and other precious gems, as well as illegal mutant power enhancement drugs.  Alani was the daughter of a wealthy businessman who basically sold her to Makoa to get himself out of debt. Lani and Nalani are older than Kaia by three years (twins).  Kaia is hated throughout her entire family because she is not a boy and therefore will not inherit her father’s company.  The company will go to her nephew, Alexander, when he comes of age.  Her sisters are bitches and got married as soon as they could and started popping out children like freaking rabbits.  Her father didn’t know what to do with Kaia, so he threw her into as many extracurriculars as he could.  He would also beat her for speaking out of turn or incorrectly, causing Kaia to be mute for many years.  

Love Life:  refuses to date, identifies as bisexual, and used to have a small crush on Mirabella.  

Political Viewpoint: very liberal, believes that what she does with her body is no ones business but her own, wants to advocate for better treatment for indigenous people of both her home and continental United States.

Favorite Color: pale blue, like the sky on a clear day.  

Basic Description:  Kaia is a very intimidating woman.  She’s incredibly tall and muscular from years of training.  Her mass of dark curls are usually held in a tight bun or styled to perfection, will rarely see her not looking well put together.  Kaia has deeply tanned skin all year ‘round and gorgeous dark eyes that are framed by long, dark lashes.  She has several scars from her childhood abuse, including a large burn scar on her hand when her father forced her to touch a hot oven.  Kaia has a single tattoo that Mirabella talked her into when she turned nineteen; the tattoo is of a small sea turtle that’s balanced on her hip bone in black and white.  She wears neutral colors most of the time and keeps her makeup minimal.  

Favorite song: drugs by EDEN

Favorite Outfit: a soft blue sweater that Mirabella made for her paired with khakis and heeled boots, has a fairly preppy dress sense.  

Hobbies: reading, working out, cleaning, playing the piano, studying

Fatal Flaw: Doesn’t trust anyone until she knows them completely.  Growing up in an abusive home gave her severe trust issues, so she’s always on edge when meeting new people.  It’s something she’s trying really hard to overcome, but things aren’t always as easy as they seem. 

Short Term Goals: Pass her bar exams and become a lawyer 

Long Term Goals: Bring down her father’s drug ring legally, work on herself so she can feel like a person again.  Finally be able to attend therapy regularly.  

Pets: two dogs, Juniper and Pua

Juniper: a Golden Retriever and German Shepard mix with big brown eyes.  She was a birthday gift from Tim and Stephanie for Kaia’s twenty-first birthday.  Juniper still acts like a puppy; she’s very energetic and loves to play with any and everyone.  Gets along really well with Pua, and will often be spotted cuddling with him in the same bed.  

Pua: a pitbull mutt that Kaia found abandoned by the road when she first moved to Gotham.  Pua has heterochromia, with one blue eye and one brown eye.  He’s stocky and athletic, with a mostly brown coat.  A little skittish around new people but otherwise a very loving dog.  He loves to cuddle and run with Kaia.  

Habits: Kaia pulls on her hair quite often when she feels nervous.  It’s something that her father and her trainers could never stop her from doing.  

Fears: Kaia has a fear of being abandoned.  She doesn’t like being alone, which is why she keeps the dogs close to her at all times.  Kaia is scared of closed places and spiders.  She likes to pretend that those things don’t scare her, but they do.

Favorite Movie: She’s All That because it’s escapism in its best form and Freddie Prince Jr. is a real snack.  

Life Motto: Only look back to see how far you’ve come.  

Prized Possession: A pair of pearl earrings that Tim gave her on her sixteenth birthday.  She had found the pearls on the beach one day when they were forced to hang out and he had them made especially for her.  Kaia never leaves the house without them.  

Religion: Kaia is agnostic but occasionally goes to church with Mirabella.  

Favorite Food: Pulled pork tacos with pineapple slaw.

Favorite Snack: Kaia is a sucker for Milk Duds and will eat them until her stomach aches.  

Role Model: Patsy T. Mink, the first woman of color and Asian American to be elected into Congress.  Authored Title IX, which banned gender discrimination in education programs as well as convinced two-thirds of the Democratic party to continue supporting the Civil Rights movement.