#(actively picturing those big eyes and thick glasses looking up at him while he eats Johnny out)

[zappedbyzabka]

[angloie]

Charms.

(1/?)

> Percy likes to deceive. Lie, manipulate, more lies; it was a part of his job, after all. Annabeth has been deceived. Lied to. Manipulated. She's an woman of many secrets- secrets she'd rather not let anyone know.

> Assassin! Percy x CEO! Annabeth.

> Warnings: Mostly angst + fluff, character death and some violence. Nothing too explicit. Mentions of blood/mild injuries as well as alcohol. (characters are aged up!)

pt. 2 || pt. 3 || pt. 4 || pt. 5

Percy's thumb rule was never do anything he didn't want.

To live a happy and healthy life, that was completely normal; especially for such a laid back guy like him.

Choosing this... rather wild career was something he wanted to do, willingly. Life was short, so why not make the most of it? It was getting awfully bleak with the normal civilian life. After all, no one would believe the nice young man who helped the old man carry the groceries to his car would be someone who killed for a living. A smile so bright that it could give the sun a run for its money and warm sea green eyes could hide so much more than just innocence.

The ceiling to floor windows of his penthouse showed a breathtaking view of the New York skyline, sun moving behind the tall buildings and moon replacing the orange hue. Being an assassin had its perks- despite endangering his life on multiple occasions. The pay was just out of this world. All that cash just to kill off some sleazy politician, or that one corrupt buisness man? Sign him up. Zero hesitation.

Percy frowned at the dried blood on his once pure white gloves. He was quick to peel them off. He shuddered at the unsightly view of a small stain of blood on his onyx-colored suit.

He would just buy a new one later. Small things like that didn't matter. Sure, that might've been a gift from one of his clients, but it wasn't anything he couldn't replace.

Hanging his coat on the rack beside the wide entrance, he sighed with clear tiredness. One night of forced politeness and smiles took a toll on him- Also due to the fact that he had just done his job as an assassin. It wasn't what you could call easy.

His muscles were aching and sore in all the worst places, every move throbbing with full pain. The shallow slash on his lower abdomen had soaked his shirt in a dark crimson red, most likely going to leave a bad stain. He would have to clean that later.

The penthouse was big and rather spacious. White Walls and abstract paintings lined them, reflecting off the almost pristine marble floors. It took a while for Percy to get settled in, it being a huge place and all that. But he soon made it feel like home with the help of old picture frames that held memories and the Nemo stuffed animals resting on the leather couch.

“WOOF!”

And Mrs. O'leary.

Mrs.O’leary- a huge, slobbering dog with thick black fur- bounded towards him in a frenzied greeting. She hopped up on her hind legs to lick his face, tail wagging at a unmatched speed. She barked again, this time more quieter.

“Yeah, yeah. It's nice to see you too.” Percy laughed as he tried to pull away. Once he went to the kitchen to grab a bone-shaped treat. “Who’s a good girl?” He cooed, tossing the snack in the air. Mrs.O’leary jumped up to snatch it before barking and padding away. Her tail still wagged with elation.

When Percy first moved here, it was quite nerve-racking. He'd heard that this place was an especially good spot for people like him- meaning people who did some illegal activity. Well, that was what he assumed. Percy was 99% sure that his neighbor just in the penthouse below him, (Leo was it?) had to be involved in some sketchy stuff. That creepy smile of his with a mysterious staining his shirt never meant any good. Or maybe when his other neighbor, had a odd looking duffel bag slung across his shoulder. Oddly human shaped, maybe. With a horrible smell of something rotting. Percy recalled introducing himself a Nico DiAngelo. A pretty reserved and quiet guy, usually having a frown of his face. Well, other than that time when he had his boyfriend over, a sunshiney guy with sun-kissed hair. He never got the chance to catch his name.

Wrapping a white cloth around his wound, Percy's met with a sense of familiarity. Fixing his own injuries by himself. It would bee nice to have some help once in a while, but that would mean exposing him. He's definitely not ready to risk that.

Other than his boss and a couple of really close friends, no one knows about this. Percy nearly slipped up once- when a old companion from high school came over to visit, and his small arsenal of weapons were revealed. The little compartment hidden behind a painting. Not another word wasmsaid about it. Percy made up some half-assed excuse about auditioning for a movie so they were fakes.

It didn't take much of a expert, but the were far from fakes.

His phone rang from beside Percy, making him jolt in surprise. The contact name made him smile just the tiniest bit.

"Hey, mom," Percy began. "Why'd you call?"

"Can't your mom check up on you once in a while? How are you?" Sally beamed, cheerful voice on speaker mode.

He walked over to the bathroom where he stood in the full length mirror. A hint of blood seeped through the white bandage; now full wrapped. "Good. How's Paul and Estelle doing?" He asked.

"They're doing great! Me and your step dad went out with Estelle yesterday to see the movies." Sally smiled. "Estelle is growing into such a energetic ball of energy." She joked. "Just like you."

"Is that so?" Percy laughed, splashing his face with water. It felt cool on his skin, causing tiny pricks of coldness to pop up all over.

For a while, him and Sally conversed. She told him about her day (mostly gushing about Paul and Estelle) while Percy smiled and listened. He did his best to hide the fact that he'd been fixing up his wounds in silence. He cursed silently in pain when he touched an sensitive spot on the slash.

"Percy? Are you alright?" Sally asked in concern.

"Yeah! I just... hit my elbow. Its nothing. " He hastily replied.

"Okay," Sally exclaimed in relief. "By the way, when are you going to visit your old woman? Estelle misses you, you know."

"Yeah, well tell her I miss her too." A sense of gloom over took the conversation. "Look, I'm busy now but..." Percy looked over to the mirror again. "I'll call you later. Maybe I can visit you guys over there soon." He exhaled.

"We're looking forward to it! Isn't that right,             Estelle?" Sally gave the phone to the little girl who was jumping with excitement.

"Come over soon Perce!" She garbled. It sounded like she was eating something halfway.

"I will. Talk to you later, 'Kay?"

"'Kay!"

A wave of guilt overwashed Percy as soon as he ended the call. It was killing him inside, to not be honest with them about his real job. They just thought he was a simple marine biologist who got one hell of a promotion. Yeah, he wished. That seemed easier than killing for a living. He was going to tell them sooner or later. He just had to. Not today- not anytime soon, that is.

Jolting himself out of his thoughts, Percy's phone rang. He was quick to answer it. Was it Sally calling again? Percy put down the metal spoon he was holding, letting it rest in the pot of soup bubbling on the flat stove. 

“Hey, Percy!�� The horribly familiar voice rang from the other side of the line. Percy grimaced.

“What is it?” He groaned.

“Is that any way to talk to your boss?” He tsked. “But I have news for you!”

“Do tell,” Percy muttered and went back to his soup. 

“I have a mission.” Apollo grinned widely. “You up for it?”

“Again? Didn't I just do one yesterday?” Percy rolled his eyes. He was tired; completely tired. Usually the missions weren't this close together- sometimes they could be even months apart.

“Yeah, but this one won't happen for a week or so. And it ain't just the typical mission.”

“Yeah? And what's that?”

“Its a info operation. Meaning-”

“I know what that means!” Percy interjected. “Just tell me the details already. I’m hungry.”

“Jeez, okay mr. grump. Annabeth Chase. You know her?” Apollo said, scoffing at Percy's tone.

“You mean the owner of that one architecture company? What about her?” He asked.

“She’s connected with Thalia Grace and Luke Castellan.” Appolo explained. “Apparently people have been talking about their new heist that they're planning. By what I've heard, it's going to be huge.” 

Those three names- Thalia Grace, Luke Castellan, Annabeth Chase. Annabeth especially, was the most well known in the regular world. Her being the stoic founder of Athchase as well as being a crazy rich and famous person, that's a no brainer. Luke and Thalia, on the other hand, their heists were well known anywhere. Annabeth didn't have a criminal record of any sorts. That's a big reason she can keep up her reputation. It's not like the woman did anything wrong, its just that... the fact that she is connected with the two is enough to ensure suspicion. Growing rumors of her planning some of their crimes were spreading fast. Percy's heard of things like that, her being the mastermind of killing and stealing.

“Alright," He nodded. "Im interested. Go on."

“New York. That's where the three plan to meet up. Get information, maybe use your charms into getting her to trust you."

"N-new york..!?" Percy was left shocked at that.

"I've booked a flight there. 5 in the morning sharp tomorrow. I reccomend you arrive on time." Apollo chuckled.

"Yeah, whatever."

"And Percy?" He called out.

"Hm?"

"You have my full permission to kill Annabeth when you're done." Apollo darkly said, hanging up without another word. Percy rolled his eyes for the tenth time on the call.

Well, all right.

Next destination: New York.

"So, New York, huh." Annabeth swirled some of her cocktail in the glass, circling her wrist in a rotation. The blue liquid swirled together in a repetitive motion. Sapphire Martini tasted rather bitter on her tounge, but decent nonetheless. She enjoyed the slight orange twist.

"Why here of all places?" She asked.

"Its a golden opportunity, dear Annie. The Olympians only gather once in a blue moon, so we're going to make the most out of this!" Thalia sipped from her own glass, some regular red wine. She'd never had such a taste for 'Those fancy rich drinks'. Whatever that meant.

The Olympians, as Thalia said before, were a group of 12 of some of the wealthiest and prestigious people from across the world. Only a few select people could be a part- it was exclusive as to anybody who was just normal as a couple million rich. New York would be holding a auction quite soon on a famous opera house; and surprise, they would be there.

"Don't call me that." Annabeth winced at the name. "And who exactly is we?"

"Don't go all acting like you didn't agree, alright? Plus, you can gain a thing or two from all this." She grinned.

"I have a company to run, Thals, You know very well that I dropped that type of business years ago." Annabeth shook her head. "This is seriously risky."

"But you love that. Don't you?" Thalia pressed, standing up.

She truly did. The thrill, the rush of energy you couldn't get anywhere else. Thats what had driven her to join Thalia and Luke in the first place. That feeling alone made her eyes sparkle with desire.

"Yeah." Annabeth places her drinkdown back on the glass table. "I do."

Okay I'm back with some more hot garbage!!! here's my latest thing-- a assassin au. I need to do a ship other than percabeth tho 😔😔

[imtryingmyfuckingbe]

And If This Is It

Third chapter in a short series.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Mentions: Jess, Sam, Charlie, Cas, Gabriel, Jo, Jules (OC)

Trigger warnings: Excessive alcohol consumption; puking

I am the sole author and reserve the rights to my work. However, I am not the owner of Supernatural as a franchise, or the characters including, but not limited to: Dean, Sam, Castiel, Gabriel, Jo, Jess, or Charlie.

CHAPTER THREE:

“Shots?!” Jules shouts over the deafening music.

He passes a tiny glass of clear alcohol to Y/N and Charlie. At this point, neither know if it’s tequila, gin, or vodka. At this point, neither truly care.

Carter’s, the hole-in-the-wall dive tucked between a pawn shop and convenience store, housed the trio every Wednesday night. When unable to convene outside of work any other time of the week, they at least have their sticky booth and cheap booze to fall back upon. If Y/N had half the mind to care, she could bet the shady owner had an unsavory side business that allowed for such decently priced alcohol. But she doesn’t have half the mind. The sharp air intoxicates her even before the first drink, drawing her attention elsewhere. Plus, Jules always arrives first to claim their usual seats, a round of drinks at the ready. Tonight, he focuses on shots.

They clink their glasses together, slam them on the grimy counter, and tip them back. Charlie cheers, her flushed cheeks pushed back in a sloppy, wide grin. Her laughter bellows into Y/N’s chest, forcing her to join in. The tribulations of the past seven days wash away with each new shot. Her mind only wanders as far as Jules across the table and Charlie next to her. Nothing mattered right now, not unrequited love or shitty jobs.

“So! So! Then I said, I said! I don’t care what those bitches think. I’m— I’m a good server, ya know? And I told James— “

“—Jason,” Jules supplies.

“—Yeah, that one. I told Jason to stick it!” Charlie slurs, recounting her meeting with their boss.

Y/N cocks her head at Charlie, who white knuckles the table to stay steady. “Did you really?” She speaks slowly, the words catching on her heavy tongue.

“No. But I thought it. So it counts.”

Jules and Y/N share a look. “Sure it does.”

Out of the three of them, Jules holds his liquor the best. He drinks anyone under the table, and still gets up for work without a grueling hangover. Y/N took Thursdays out of her availability because she doesn’t have his stamina. It took only two shifts filled with headaches and poor service for her to realize she cannot power through the dehydration and pain. Wednesday nights take it out of her, and the following morning includes a date with her toilet and a bottle of Pedialyte. Trying to keep up with Jules, which she foolishly does, is a signed, sealed, delivered death sentence.

She happily accepts it, for it means quality time with her friends.

“Listen, missy. You listen here! You don’t get to talk about— about thinking things and not saying them!” Charlie accuses. Y/N holds up a hand in protest. “No! I don’ wanna h-hear it.”

In just a few words, the thoughtless cocoon Y/N made shelter in crashes to the ground, bringing up debris and Dean’s face. His freckles. His lips. The things she wishes she could say— I love you, I want you, I need you�� taunt her, dancing across her mind and scuffing up the floors. “Yeah? Well I don’t wanna talk about it!” She all but shouts.

Charlie huffs. “Fine.”

Jules says nothing, simply peering at his two best friends with mild concern in his glossed over eyes. Y/N avoids his gaze, instead choosing to watch the desolate street through the frosty glass. Charlie waves her hand to the waiter to call for another round.

With new shots in front of the respective drinkers, the tense silence dissipates quickly, easy conversation about what each other missed taking its place. Jules relays the details of his third date with Alice, a girl he served once. She left her number and on a whim he decided to text her. The thirty percent tip she left helped her case, too. The two get along great, from what he says. They share similar interests, including early morning trips to the gym and pretty much any physical activity. At the thought, Y/N shudders. She reserves her mornings for her bed and coffee.

As Jules carries on about the lovely Alice, Y/N finds herself thinking down a stark path. It travels away from Carter’s worn booths and blaring music, finding solace in scratching concrete and big hands. Some days, she truly wishes she could call Him her boyfriend. Some days, she only wishes to be near Him. Right now, it’s the latter. The too-loud conversations around her, the thick air, the heavy warmth in her belly; it makes breathing a chore.

Charlie grabs her wrist, pulling her over-worked thumb from her teeth. The crevice between her nail and skin bleeds. Out of her head now, she realizes her friends stare at her, conversation ceased. Jules’ eyes bore into hers, and she can feel Charlie staring at the side of her head.

She doesn’t have to ask what crosses their minds. Their faces paint light worry and their questions clearly. Y/N sighs, head dipping to focus on the empty glass before her. Neither of her friends say anything, allowing her to trudge through her hazy thoughts.

“I…” she starts, but shakes her head. Needing a something to center her, she throws back her head and swallows another shot. It burns, but it reminds her she is alive and well. Well enough, at least.

Charlie only knows what an inebriated Y/N shared once, and she assumes Charlie happily passed on the message. Even still, the words halt in her throat. Charlie interlocks their fingers, giving a squeeze. It’s okay, Y/N knows she wants to say. “I need some air.”

Not awaiting a response, she drops Charlie’s hand and alights from the booth. Concentrating on walking, Y/N works her way through the crowd to the door. The cooling air of the night caresses her cheeks, relieving some of the heat from her skin. The car-lined road before her, adorned by dim streetlights and neon store signs, appears in double. Cigarette smoke wafts to her nose.

She turns towards the scent. Sober Y/N would never smoke. The taste lingers on her tongue days after, plaguing anything she drinks or eats. However, Drunk Y/N, riddled with anxiety and one too many shots, craves it.

A woman clad in little clothing leans against the worn brick, cigarette balanced between her fore- and middle finger. Y/N stumbles the few feet to her, her body moving before her thoughts. The lady looks up. Her tired eyes trail over Y/N’s body, taking in the sight, ending at her face. Y/N tries to imagine how she looks.

“Can I bum a smoke?”

Wordless, the woman passes Y/N her pack of menthol and a lighter. Nodding in thanks, she lights the cigarette and draws a deep breath in. Sweet relief. She sighs contentedly, handing the pack and lighter back. In silence, Y/N joins the stranger in leaning against the wall. Drunken camaraderie over a bad habit makes the world feel smaller; friendlier.

Here she stands, a mess. And here some straggler stands, someone she’s never met, probably going through her own shit. People are small, in the grand scheme of things. The big picture. Everything feels silly, like a cosmic prank, wherein God will jump from the sky and yell, “Hahahah! Happiness is not a by product of existence, you simple minded fucks. I made you to suffer.”

She wouldn’t be surprised, not anymore. Some days, her heavy bones and even heavier head weigh her down so much, all she can do is suffer. Suffer through schooling; a dead end job; a wistful love; a bleak future. Perhaps God created her as suffering; not a person who could, but a person who is.

A long drag from the cigarette clears her mind. She reminds herself that her sidewalk existential philosophy is only wise by proxy of this night’s poison.

Flicking the cigarette, she nods her head in thanks. With a clearer head, the double vision subsides. Still, she sways as she walks back to the door of the bar. Bracing herself, she pushes it open. Music, this time a familiar song she can’t place, wraps its comforting fingers around her heart. This is where she is meant to be: sandwiched between the tacky wall and Charlie, sat across from Jules.

Charlie stands as Y/N comes into view, allowing her to take her seat once more. The conversation continues seamlessly, as if  Y/N never left. Jules and Charlie keep the side glances to minimum, instead focusing on another round— this time paired with glasses of water— and what Jules’ should do next with Alice. Deciding to solely focus on her friends before her, Y/N utilizes her remaining energy on keeping up with the conversation.

“I mean… she seems to like you a lot, dude. Who the hell… else would get up at five to go on hikes?” Y/N slurs, raising her voice.

“A crazy, person! She’s crazy.” Charlie whispers with a shake of her head.

Y/N laughs, downing another shot. “Yeah, well, either way, she likes it, ya’know? She likes it!”

They dissolve into a fit of body-rocking, soul-shaking laughter. As it peters out, the energy follows suit. Y/N hits a wall, her shoulders sagging with a sigh. “I’m— I’m gotta go, guys. My eyes are gonna fall out.”

“Wait! Just one more shot. C’mon, Y/N/N! One for the road,” implores Jules.

Ever the bad influence, Y/N agrees. In the back of her head, she hears her sober-self admonish her. She pushes it away while Jules waves his pointer finger for another round. Grace, the waitress, already has three ready. Used to their antics as their usual server, she also drops the bill.

Clink, slam, gulp.

Y/N slaps a twenty on the bill, knowing it covers her portion of drinks. Charlie scoots out of the booth again, staying standing to wrap Y/N in a bone-crushing hug. The scent of vodka and Daisy fills Y/N’s nose, covering every piece of her in Charlie. Jules envelopes her next. Her cheek rests against his chest, and he sets his chin on her head. They hold each other for a moment before pulling back.

Y/N leaves her friends to settle the rest of the bill. Escaping into the night, she embraces the cool air. However much she finds solace in Carter’s, the stuffy heat paired with the little room to move constricts her. Even on the now empty street, her chest refuses to loosen. The returned double vision surely doesn’t help.

“Walk,” she mumbles, commanding herself to just fucking go.

Normally, she would call a ride service right about now; or she’d stick around with Jules and Charlie to ride with them. But right now she needs the freedom of the seedy side streets and open sky above her. Four doors and a short roof would only further agitate her.

So, for the sake of her sanity, she makes her way down the street. Having walked these streets many times, Y/N’s feet carry her, rather than she commanding them. As she works her way towards the main road, the lights become brighter and cleaner; trash slowly dwindles in the gutters until they’re as clean as they can get in this part of the city.

At the intersection of Boulder and Hamilton, she stops. Going left would lead her home, a destination twenty minutes away. Going right would take her to Dean. Her body decides before her mind. Five minutes and a few turns, she stands on Dean’s stoop.

Her heavy fist raps against the wood while she leans her forehead against the cool service. Eyes closed, Y/N focuses on slowing her breathing. The edges of a panic attack creep into her mind. Why am I here? Why am I here? Why am I—

The door opens, taking from Y/N her support. Without it, she falls forward, preparing to meet the unfriendly catching of the floor. Instead, warm, bare arms wrap around her waist. “Y/N?” Dean asks in his deep, gruff tone.

God, I love your voice. The thought crosses her mind before she can stop it.

“Oh, do you, now?” Dean teases, righting her on her feet but keeping his hands on her shoulders.

Fuck.

“Shuddap,” she scolds.

“What are you doing here, Y/N/N?” He moves a hand from her shoulder to grasp her chin, pointing her face to look at him.

She leans into it. “Drunk.”

Dean chuckles, a warm sound that pushes any anxiety out of her mind. He has that way about him. “I can see that. Here, come inside so I can close the door.” She does as he asks, still leaning into his touch. He leads her to his couch, guiding her gently down onto the cushion. Resting on his knees in between her legs, he examines her face again.

She tries to look him in the eyes, she truly tries, but their overwhelming jade and the smell of his shampoo and his hands and that little grin and— and— and. The list goes on forever. In the dim room, lit by the outside lights and the paused TV, she wants to fall into him. Her fingers itch to grab his stupid stubbled cheeks and bring his stupid plump lips to her own. Her heart threatens to jump straight from her chest and into his hands. Her skin prickles where his forefinger and thumb hold her chin.

“Traitors,” she mumbles.

“Hm?”

Y/N shakes her head, causing Dean to release her chin. Dammit. “Nothing. I’m just— I’m so drunk, dude.”

He laughs again, sending a wave of peace over her body. “Yes, I know. Let’s get some water in you.”

Water sounds like a great idea, just the mention causes Y/N’s mouth to dry, readying for the coolness to coat her throat and fill her stomach. While Dean pours her a glass, she better settles against the sofa, shifting until her back rests against the arm and her legs splay out before her. The cold of the leather raises goosebumps, but it grounds her.

Dean returns with a stainless steel tumbler, placing it on the cushion by her hip. He lifts her legs and rests them upon his thighs as he too settles into the couch. Arm rested on the top of the couch and eyes caressing her flushed cheeks, he awaits for her to speak.

Every thought racing through her mind pleads to blurt out “I love you!” in some form or another. Taking a long, refreshing sip, she swallows the water and her heart. The hand gently kneading her calf provides almost enough courage to cast aside her inhibitions, but instead she listens to the voice in the back of her head. Why ruin something great? Why risk it?

Pussy, her warring side jabs.

Shaking her head, she removes her gaze from his and unto the television. “Die Hard?”

He waits a beat before he speaks, “Yes. How are you feeling?”

“Like there’s two John… John McClanes on the TV, which means two Hans Gru—bers, and I… I dunno if I can watch that.”

Glorious, golden, all-compassing laughter. “Well, I’m sure the McClanes will be fine; twice the firepower.”

Y/N can’t stop herself from returning to gazing at Dean. The lights from the kitchen silhouette his face, but she sees it, nonetheless. Knows it like its her own, for she sure has stared at him long enough. His seemingly perpetual little grin pushes his cheeks up the slightest bit. He looks so young.

With little thought or permission, she reaches a hand out to brush against his cheek. The barely present beard tickles her palm. Dean’s eyes flutter shut, and he nuzzles further into her hand. If only she could stay like this, legs across Dean’s, hand on his cheek, eyes closed.

“Dean…” she whispers, mostly for herself. Her heart will never get used to sitting so close to him, a beacon on her worst of days and a partner on her best.

“Hm?” he asks, still leaning into her touch.

It takes everything from her, her willpower, her bones, her chest, her lungs. She can’t stop herself for much longer, she knows. And, the thing is, her traitorous body doesn’t protest. Nothing in her says to stop; everything in her begs— no, screams at— her to grab him and hold him tight. To never let go.

As she leans forward, her left hand reaching for his other cheek, the tumbler clatters to the floor with an unforgiving clang. They both startle back, Y/N drawing her legs from his lap and Dean finally opening his eyes. The withering stare she casts at the stupid bottle should shatter it. Instead, it stays whole and mocking. She reaches down to right it, her knuckles white as she harshly slams it onto the floor.

The lights seem to bright, now. The throbbing in her head makes its presence better known, pulsing the picture of John McClane leaning over a sniper rifle. Bile rises in her throat.

“Fuck,” she barely gets out before bolting from her seat and running for the bathroom. Way to ruin the moment, you monkey.

Y/N grabs the edge of the toilet with one hand, gathering her hair into a mock ponytail with the other. At the sight of the bowl, her stomach instantly lurches. With the little she had to eat, mostly burning alcohol makes a return, accompanied by some nachos and fries.

A set of hands replace her’s in her hair, allowing her to better grasp the toilet. Dean settles behind her, bracing her sides with his thighs and whispering unintelligible comforting words in her ear. With his free hand he rubs her back, up and down her shoulder blades to her lower back.

No longer retching, she wipes her mouth toilet paper. Her body still shakes, skin clammy and hot. She crosses her arms over the seat, resting her forehead against her forearms. Dean continues to massage circles into her skin. “I’m sorry,” she mutters, to the bowl and to Dean.

He releases her hair, instead choosing to pull her from the toilet and into his chest. Together, limbs wrapped endlessly, Dean leans against the wall and she leans against Dean. “Nothing to be sorry for, Y/N/N. C’mon, you’ve seen me completely plastered.”

She tips her head to the side, resting it against his shoulder. “It’s gross. Not cute. At all.”

His chuckle rumbles against her back. “Nah, you’re always cute.” It’s barely a whisper, if she weren’t next to his mouth she’s sure she wouldn’t have heard it.

They sit in silence, breathing against each other. Y/N revels in the coolness of the ground and his arms around her waist.

“Why’d you drink so much, Y/N/N?”

Her sighs heaves her shoulders. “I dunno. Why do you drink, Dean?”

“Sometimes to forget things.” He keeps his voice level, but Y/N knows him well enough to see he worries for her. The implications of his statement do not go unnoticed.  

She shakes her head. “I just have a lot going on. Plus, it’s Wednesday. You know that’s my night with Jules and Charlie. We drink. It’s what we do.”

“Okay. Just checking. Let’s get you to bed, kid.”

[fruit-teeth]

Gifted

(All right so...this is new. I wrote a story about Sniper’s biological mother from the comics. You’re probably like “hey Mara, why did you write this?” And honestly? I don’t know!! Your guess is as good as mine, it was a story that had been living rent free in my brain for a while and the only way I can deal when that happens is to write it out. I’m posting this even though it might not get many notes, but that’s all right. I wrote something, that’s what matters. Anyway, enjoy, even if it’s sad.)

A ‘gifted child’. That was what everyone told her she was from the moment she learned to read.

She grew up raised by her genius uncle, a man of unparalleled skill when it came to writing. She did not remember her parents, but she had seen pictures of her mother: a beautiful, warm woman with a big smile and dark hair as long and thick as the grass that grew around the lake nearby.

Lar-Nah knew she would never be her mother.

But why did that matter? Everyone told her she was smart, and she knew it, too. She began reading at the age of three, and at five years old, the math she had begun learning at school quickly became too basic for her. She excelled past many people in her grade, and by ten years old, she’d been placed in several advanced classes already. Her uncle paraded her around his peers, telling them how intelligent she was and how proud he was of her. On the surface, she seemed to enjoy the attention. Internally, however, Lar-Nah was incredibly anxious.

The few times she did get poor grades, her uncle would shame her, instilling a fear of failure into his niece at an early age. She soon became obsessed with pleasing him and with pleasing her teachers, rather than reaching achievement for her own enjoyment. But that was all right, she decided. Once she got to a good college (and she was certain she would), she could live independently and never worry about pleasing anyone again.

She did not account for what would happen in her last year of high school.

Lar-Nah looked to the chalkboard one morning and saw something written there that she had not seen before.

“There’s a writing assignment due in two days?” She looked to her teacher for clarification, feeling a flash of panic. “That wasn’t in the calendar,”

The teacher just nodded from where he sat behind his desk, his eyes fixated on the lesson plan for the day. “I know, it’s a mandated writing assignment. The school just required it for all the writing classes,” he looked back up at Lar-Nah. “I’m sure it’s nothing you can’t handle,”

As he passed out the instruction papers for the assignment, Lar-Nah’s heart sank when she realized just how long this was going to take. Not only that, but she’d meticulously planned out her schedule for the rest of the week — her other classes had a great deal of work due on the same day as this assignment, she realized. Her hands shook as she made the adjustments to her schedule, and she realized with horror that she did not have time to complete everything like she thought she would.

Upon returning home, Lar-Nah headed straight to her uncle’s study and exclaimed, “I have so much work to do! I won’t have time to do all of it! I’m so sorry, something is going to have a zero!”

Her uncle, hunched over his latest piece of writing, grunted back at her, “You are being dramatic.”

“I’m not!” Lar-Nah knelt beside his chair, grabbing his hand. “I need help...can I show you my schedule? There’s so much to do, I don’t know—“

Her uncle stood up, looming over her, his eyes burning straight into her soul. “You’re wasting time!” He barked at her. “Use every moment to work if you have so much, then!”

Lar-Nah’s voice faltered a bit. “E-Every moment?”

“Yes,” he sighed, deep and low. “You will not disappoint me, will you? You will not only complete every bit of work, but you will get the best possible grades on each assignment, won’t you?”

Lar-Nah moved back, standing up slowly. She nodded after a moment. “Yes, Uncle Locke,”

“Good,” he went back to his typewriter, not looking at her. “You are smart, and you are gifted. Gifted people like you can overcome this,”

“...yes,” she murmured, pulling back and heading upstairs to get to work.

The rest of her day was just work. She managed to eat and take a shower, but all the moments in between those activities were spent doing her schoolwork. Lar-Nah did not have many friends anyway, but if any of them came to the door to try and get her attention, she would push them away. She had to focus.

She finished 5 assignments by the time the sun had set. She had six more to go before the dreaded writing assignment, which was now less than 48 hours away from needing to be done. But she decided to go to sleep, despite all the work, as she knew sleeping would give her the energy she needed to keep working.

When she woke up the next morning and went to school, however, her science teacher had an announcement to make.

“My apologies for springing this on you,” he began. “But tomorrow, we have a test,”

Lar-Nah felt like she was going to die on the spot.

“Don’t worry,” the teacher clarified. “It’s a very low-stakes test, but I would advise you study,”

The test was on the same day as the writing assignment, now, and Lar-Nah already had other subjects to do work for. She had never been in this situation before, teachers usually did not assign so much on the same day.

Lar-Nah decided to ask her science teacher about it once class ended. “Um, I hate to ask, but...can the test be moved to a different day?”

Her teacher quirked an eyebrow. “Why?”

“It’s just...I have a lot of work to do,” she explained, scratching the back of her head. “The writing classes have an assignment due tomorrow, too,”

The teacher huffed. “Now, Miss Lar-Nah, I know there’s a writing assignment due. But can you imagine if I arranged every schedule of mine based on how busy the students are? Why, that would be pure chaos!” He laughed, although Lar-Nah could not understand why this was funny. He went on. “Besides, you’re a very gifted student. This is nothing you can’t handle,”

“...yes, sir,” she nodded, feeling her heart pound from anxiety. Still, she gathered her books and headed to her next class, just like she always did.

The afternoon that followed was pure chaos. Lar-Nah barely ate, and she poured all of her energy into finishing the assignments as quickly and as efficiently as possible. By evening, she had only the writing assignment and the studying for the test left, though her hands were shaking and her body was screaming for rest.

“Uncle Locke?” She stood at the top of the stairs, looking down to where he was seated in the living room. “Uncle Locke, when is dinner?”

He looked up at her, watching her expression. “Are you done with your work yet?”

Lar-Nah shifted from foot to foot. “Well...no...”

He sighed. “Have some water and some bread, and then get back to work. That will put much pressure on you, but it will make you want to work harder,”

Lar-Nah felt tears welling in her eyes. “I’m so tired...” she murmured, her fists clenching. “Please, I need...i need to eat or something, I—“

“Bread and water is food!” Her uncle barked again. “And stop being so dramatic! Wipe your eyes and eat some bread, then get back to work.”

Lar-Nah swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing the tears back the best she could. “Yes,”

Once she’d eaten a slice of bread and downed a glass of water, she went straight back to work. Within the next few hours, she hunched over her typewriter and wrote the rest of the writing assignment, following the instructions the best she could.

By the time she was finished with that, it was well into the night and far past her bedtime. She did not know if her uncle was still awake, but she knew that he would want her to keep going, to finish everything. She opened up her science book to study for her exam, and that was the last thing she remembered.

The next thing Lar-Nah knew, her alarm’s shrill cry jolted her awake. She sat up quickly, and then groaned in pain, feeling the stiffness in her neck, back and shoulders, not to mention there was an uncomfortable stickiness on her cheek and chin...

She looked down, realizing that she’d fallen asleep on her science book, still in her daytime clothes. It then dawned on her that she hadn’t studied for the test— she’d fallen asleep instead.

As Lar-Nah tried to clean up the best she could for school, she internally warred with herself over her failure to study. The teacher had said it was a low stakes test, so it didn’t matter what grade she got, right? But at the same time, she had never failed a test before...what if this was the first one she failed? The thought made her feel sick.

Still, she felt a bit of relief as she handed in the writing assignment at school that morning, thankful to have that out of the way. As she turned her back to return to her seat, though, her writing teacher got her attention again.

“Lar-Nah?” He gestured for her to come closer. “Where are your citations?”

Lar-Nah paused, feeling herself go pale. “...citations?” When he nodded, she took a shaky breath in. “The instructions didn’t say we had to cite anything,”

Her teacher held up the instruction sheet again. “It’s right there, see?” He pointed to the very small paragraph towards the bottom that listed the instructions for citing sources. “Did you not read those?”

When Lar-Nah stood like a deer in headlights, staring at the sheet of paper, her teacher let out a long sigh. “I see...go take a seat, Lar-Nah,”

Lar-Nah slowly headed down to her desk, sitting down. She’d gotten something wrong— she’d gotten something wrong and now her teacher was mad. Surely, she was going to fail, and her uncle would find out. All hell would soon break loose, she knew that much.

The science test was a blur. Lar-Nah wrote in whatever answers made sense to her, but her heart pounded the whole time. Once it was over, she was certain she had failed, and to avoid any disappointment from her science teacher, she sprinted out into the hallways, desperate to just get through the day and then go home.

But home would never be the same. Once Lar-Nah got to her uncle’s study, she burst into tears and fell to the floor.

Startled, her uncle stood up and pulled her to her feet. ‘Good lord, child! What’s become of you!? Pull yourself together!”

Lar-Nah sobbed, covering her face. “I missed the citations on the writing assignment and I failed my science test!”

He pulled away from her a bit. “What?”

“I did it all wrong!” Lar-Nah wept, tears rolling down her face like rain. “My teachers are furious with me! But its not my fault, I had so much work!”

“So much work!?” Her uncle repeated, gritting his teeth. “You don’t know the meaning of true work, you silly girl!” He sighed, pacing around, his hands clenched into fists. “I knew it— I knew this would all come crumbling!”

Lar-Nah sniffled, taking a step back. “But...w-what was I supposed to do? Stay up all night and never sleep!?”

“Your problem is you don’t work efficiently!” Her uncle insisted. “You don’t...” he sighed again, turning back on his heel. “Pah! What am I saying? You are a woman! Women are far too dramatic to get on a level with men such as myself!”

When he said that, something broke in Lar-Nah. Something snapped— little sleep, limited food, and constant stress all bubbled to the surface, and she couldn’t stand it anymore. As her uncle had his back turned, she grabbed the heavy, stone ash tray off the shelf and slammed him on the back of the head with it.

He collapsed, falling face first into the type writer and then sliding to the floor with a ‘thump’. Lar-Nah hovered over his lifeless body, before dropping the ash tray and heading upstairs to take a shower.

It wasn’t until she returned from her shower and heard the police outside the door that she realized her uncle had died. A neighbor had seen the interaction from outside the window, and had subsequently called the police when she saw Lar-Nah strike her uncle with the ash tray. Lar-Nah was then arrested and placed on trial, though after a psychiatric examination, she was determined to be unfit for a trial and was instead placed into a mental institution. She was seventeen years old at the time.

Lar-Nah remained at the institution for roughly four years, the same amount of time she would have spent at a college. By the end of the four years, she hardly cared about anything anymore: her emotions had completely numbed. She could not remember the last time she had truly smiled or laughed, and once she left the institution, she met the man who would end up becoming her husband. She married him, although she wasn’t quite sure why. He had money...that was about it.

Lar-Nah became a passenger of her own life. She stopped trying, she stopped searching for true happiness and instead focused on whatever made her feel good in the moment. That was all that mattered to her. Her uncle, the writing assignment, school, grades...it all felt like some distant nightmare. Sometimes she wondered if she had never truly been born, but rather materialized to just to get married.

There came a moment, though, when she was six months pregnant and laying in bed alone, listening to the leaky roof above her, that her mind took her somewhere else. Behind her eyes, she could see herself standing on the shore of the lake, amongst the tall grass, and beside her stood a figure. It was her mother— with her beautiful face and long flowing hair, the pinnacle of perfection...Lar-Nah reached for her, but just like that, she was gone, and Lar-Nah was alone again, alone in the vast void of her own soul, a place she would ultimately end up in when all was said and done.

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 20

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​,  @innerpaperexpertcloud​

Every Saturday morning Millie has him up at the crack of dawn; a habit she’d developed after their first weekend back in Australia, when she pestered him awake, insisting he watch the sunrise with her. Six months later he can still remember the look of awe and wonder on her face; those blue eyes impossibly wide, her mouth hanging open in shock, hands clasped tightly against her chest. It became their ‘thing’. Sitting out on the back patio and watching as the sun came up, having breakfast and then heading down to the beach. If the conditions were right and the winds not too strong and the waves not too challenging, he’d take her surfing; she’d been a natural from the start, confident, expressing no fear or hesitation. She even had her own board: a custom job that he’d let her pick out and choose the colors and designs she wanted on it.  If things weren’t cooperating, they’d take Mac for a walk along the beach and throw things in the water for him to retrieve. Millie would collect rocks, shells and all the beach glass she could possibly find; adding everything to the already expansive collection she kept in shoe boxes under her bed.  Or they’d take a hike through the woods that bordered their property, and she’d use his phone to take pictures of any wildlife and ‘cool looking stuff’ they’d stumble upon.

It’s their time together. Before all her siblings are awake and the chaos of the day begins. Just shy of six years old and despite her penchant for profanity and fighting, she’s insanely intelligent and well spoken; introspective and wise, oddly intuitive for someone so young.  More like her mother than anyone realizes. And he cherishes their alone time. She’s not his first born; no one could ever replace Austin. But she’s the first in his new life; a living reminder of the second chance that he’s given.  A beautiful, amazing little soul that had been created during quite possibly the craziest and most difficult time of his life; in the midst of all the loss and the destruction that Dhaka had brought with it. An accident maybe, not but a mistake. Their bond is profound, stronger than the others. He’d been with her from the go after all, when she was still being carried inside of her mother’s body. When she was a baby, he hadn’t gotten back into the job yet. There’d been no leaving in the middle of the night, no being absent for days and often weeks.  And he’d been so grateful to be given another shot at being a father that he’d devoted every waking moment to her.

After the sunrise she helps him make breakfast; standing on one of the kitchen chairs she pushes right up against the stove. The same thing she has him make every Saturday: pancakes topped with fresh fruit and syrup. Proud of herself when she gets the responsibility of mixing the batter and ladling it onto the griddle. Talking his ear off the entire time the food cooks; the dreams she’d had during the night,, everything she’d learned in school that week, all the different activities she and her friends had engaged in during gym and recess. All bright eyed and cheerful, a stark comparison to his more sullen and quiet morning mood. But he humors her. Like always. Offering up nods or small comments at the appropriate times, sympathetic scowls or shakes of the head when she’d complain about something she found wildly unfair or particularly disturbing.   When all the food is prepared and they’re ready to head outside to eat, she throws her arms around his neck and squeezes as tight as she can.  And when she says “I love you daddy” in that little voice of hers, everything seems perfect and right in the world.

Breakfast is finished and he’s on his second coffee of the morning when she speaks again.  Her thick, unruly hair tumbling down the sides of her face and to the middle of her back as she sits across from him; feet up on the seat and her Hello Kitty pajama top pulled over skinned and bruised knees.  Those blue eyes dark and serious, her brow furrowed.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah?”

“Is it true you almost died?”

Tyler watches her over the top of his mug, lips pressed against the rim.  She’s already perfected the poker face, not even the slightest hint of emotion. And she suddenly seems so much older and mature than her actual age.  

“The other night when we saw Auntie Nik and Uncle Kyle,” she continues.  “Mommy said you almost died. Is that true?”

Fuck, he silently curses.  It had been bad enough dealing with the fallout of Ovi telling her about his ‘real job’; that the reason he went away so often was because he was ‘helping get good people away from bad people’.  The nightmares had lasted for two months; she’d wake up screaming in terror, often wetting her bed, sometimes even throwing up.  But now this? His own brush with death was something he’d hoped to not have to touch on until she was much older. If ever.

“It is,” he confesses. “I did almost die.”

“The bad guys hurt you?”

He nods.

“How? How did they hurt you?”

“You don’t need to know those things. Maybe when you’re older I’ll tell you. But you’re too young to hear all of that.”

“But it was really bad,” she states.

“Yeah. It was really bad.”

Her expression remains neutral, eyes fixed on her fingers as they fidget with a loose piece of thread on the hem of her night shirt.  “Mommy was there too?”

“Mommy was there,” he confirms. “She helped me. So I wouldn’t die.”

“So she’s a hero?”

“I think so. She’s my hero, at least.”

Millie smiles at that. Then quickly turns serious again; those deep lines in her forehead returning, eyes darkening once more.  “If you died, I wouldn’t be here. And neither would TJ or Tanner or Declan or Addie.”

“You would still be here. You were going to be here whether I died or not. You were already in mommy’s tummy.”

“Did you know? That I was in there.”

Tyler shakes his head. “I didn’t know. Neither did mommy.”

“How come? How come you didn’t know?”

“The doctor hadn’t told us yet,” it seems like the easiest and most logical explanation for a child to grasp. “We didn’t find out until a little while later that we were having you.”

“So if you died, mommy would have been all alone when she found out about me? She would have had to have me all by herself? With no daddy in the room?”

He manages a nod, finding himself fighting back his own wave of emotion. It’s something he doesn’t think about often; if he’d died and Esme would have been left to handle everything on her own. How she would have felt finding out that she was carrying the baby of a dead man. With nothing more than those five days in Dhaka to remember him by.

“That’s sad,” Millie’s voice is a near whisper, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Poor mommy.”

He doesn’t know what to say. Or if there’s anything he can say. No wise or helpful words of comfort that can heal that particular wound.  Especially when flooded with his own emotions: sadness, regret, guilt. That he’d ever put Esme in that situation in the first place.

Millie rebounds quickly; brushing the tears off her cheeks with the backs of her hands and tucking her hair behind her ears. “Were you happy?” she asks. “When you found out that I was in mommy’s tummy?”

“Yeah...” he takes a swig of coffee. “...I was happy. Surprised. But happy.”

“A good surprise?”

He smiles. “A very good surprise.”

“Because you were sad before, right? Because Austin died. And he was you first baby. I’m the second.”

“You’re my first too. You’re my first with your mom. That still counts. And yeah, I was happy because I was getting a second chance to be a dad. Your mommy gave me that chance. So did you. Did you know that I used to talk to you all the time? When you were in mommy’s tummy.”

Her eyes and her voice brighten. “You did?”

Tyler nods. “I used to put my hand on mommy’s stomach and you’d always kick it. I used to tell you all kinds of stuff. About all the thing we were going to get to do together. About how awesome it was going to be take you to beach and teach you how to surf. About how much I loved you and couldn’t wait to meet you.”

“Mommy said that you got to meet me first. When I was born.”

“I did. I was the very first person that doctor gave you to.”

“Did you cry?”

“I did,” he admits. “More than you did, I think. You were kind of quiet, actually. You were just looking around at everyone and everything with those big blue eyes.”

“What did I look like?”

“You were really small. Not as small as Addie though. You were three pounds heavier than her. And you had tons of hair. A little darker than it is now.”

“Was I cute?”

“The cutest baby ever.”

“Did I look like you or mommy?”

“Would I say you were the cutest baby ever if you looked like your mom? Come on now.”

“Daddy!” she scolds. “That’s mean. Mommy is very pretty.”

“She is. You’re the cutest baby ever and she’s the prettiest mommy ever. But you looked like me. You looked like me then and you look like me now.”

“That’s okay I guess,” she gives a rather forlorn sigh. “I mean, you’re okay to look at, I suppose.”

Tyler smirks. “Now who’s mean?”

“I learn from the best,” she declares, then reaches for the plastic cup of chocolate milk that sits on the table. “If you and mommy didn’t know each other and didn’t have any kids and you met her somewhere, would you still fall in love with her?”

“Absolutely,” he replies with no hesitation.

“Would you still marry her?”

“I’d marry your mom a million times over.  Think she’d marry me? If she didn’t know me yet and just met me?”

“I think so.  I mean, she obviously loves you, right?”

“Think so?”

“I know so. I mean, she puts up with your shit.”

Tyler laughs at that. “Yeah,” he agrees. “She does.”

“But I think you’re doing okay, daddy. I think you’re brave and you’re strong and you need to be nicer to yourself.  You need to say nice things to yourself instead of bad things. When you get up in the morning, you should look in the mirror and tell yourself that you’re awesome and no one is going to make you angry or sad or dull your sparkle. That’s what I do, you know,” she pushes her hand through her hair, moving it off her forehead and away from her face. “Every day when I get up, I tell myself, ‘Amelia, it’s going to be a great day’. I use my real name when I talk to myself. Just ‘cause.”

Tyler grins. “You talk to yourself a lot?”

“When I want to have an intelligent conversation,” she responds, and he nearly chokes on a mouthful of coffee. “I mean, have you met the kids in my class? Or my brothers? I have to talk to myself. There’s no other option. And I tell myself, ‘Amelia, no one is going to dull your sparkle!’”

“No one could EVER dull your sparkle, Millie. No one. You’re a lot like your mom, you know. More than people realize.”  

Esme is all personality as well. For years she’d had to hide it behind a tough, no nonsense exterior; her time in the Corps, the disastrous marriage to Mark, her years on the job spent lying and conning people. She’d never been able to be herself, for one reason or the other. But the true Esme had always been lingering just under the surface; vibrant and carefree, a bit of a wild child, one that loves life and everyone in it and tries to never waste time on regret and ‘what ifs’.   Moving back to Australia had brought it all out of her. It had been like meeting her all over again for the first time; she was Esme, but she wasn’t. Even now there are shades of the Dhaka Esme lingering under the surface, but that Esme is no longer in control.  The new one has taken over. And seeing those different sides to her...seeing her real personality come out...had made him fall even more in love with her. Which he had thought wasn’t even remotely possible.

“If you don’t think you can tell yourself stuff like that, I can do it for you,” his daughter offers. “I can tell you that you’re awesome and that you’re brave and strong and that there’s no better daddy in the whole, wide world. Not even in the whole universe.”

Tyler never thought an almost six-year-old could bring him to his knees, but if he’d been standing, she would have done just that. The words take his breath away; so innocent and pure. So honest.  That IS how she sees him. To her, he’s the strongest, bravest man that exists. She doesn’t know just how broken and damaged he actually is, nor does she have any recollection of the birthdays he’s missed or the times he’d left in the middle of the night without even saying goodbye. And if she does, she’s forgiven him and holds no grudges.

“Don’t cry, daddy,” she implores, and she’s climbing into his lap now and taking his face in her hands. “Don’t be sad. Be happy. I’m here.”

“You have no idea how happy that does make me. That you ARE here.”

Her eyes sparkly mischievously. “Because I’m your favorite?”

“I don’t have a favorite. I love all of you.”

She rubs her palms against his beard, giggling at how it feels against her skin. “It’s okay, daddy. You can tell me. I can keep a secret.”

Grinning, he combs a hand through her hair, moving it away from her face and pushing it off her shoulders.  “You’re my favorite,” he concedes, and presses a kiss to her forehead.

She gives a brilliant smile; one that wrinkles the corners of her eyes and crinkles the top of her nose. Then wraps her arms around his neck and settles her head on his shoulder. “I knew it.”

****

“I really do want a puppy,” Millie announces three hours later, from where she’s perched upon his shoulders, hands clasped together and forearms folded, resting on top of his head.  

They’d spent nearly two hours in the water; alternating between swimming and surfing, then had joined the rest of their family for a second breakfast. And while Esme and Declan went to the neighbors and Kyle took the twins for a ‘guys day, Millie had insisted of spending the day with him. Even if meant doing nothing more than going into town and running errands: picking up baby formula and prescriptions, checking items off a small grocery list, and browsing through stores. Since their talk that morning she’d been clingy; more so than usual, not wanting to let him out of her sight. And he enjoys it; the way she’s so attached to him. Even the way she can talk him into doing just about anything for her. Possessing the innate ability to get him out of his comfort zone without him even realizing he’s doing it.

“What kind of puppy?” Tyler asks, shopping bags on one hand, free arm across her legs to keep her in place.

“I dunno. A cute one. A fluffy one. Really fluffy. Like a little bear. But not as mean and big when it grows up.”

“We already have Mac,” he reminds her.

“Mac needs a friend.”

“He has you and your brothers and your sister.”

“A furry friend. Like him.”

“He does, does he?”

Millie nods. “Maybe for my birthday?”

“You never know.”

He and Esme had already made the decision; picking out –and paying for- an Australian shepherd that could picked up the morning of the big day. A friendly –albeit extremely hyper- little thing with enormous blue eyes and a playful disposition. The breeder had asked for a name so the puppy could get used to it and recognize it in the home, and without hesitation he’d said ‘Saju’. It seemed fitting; that man had been strong and loyal to the bitter end.  

“I’m going to be six, you know,” Millie says.

“I know. I was there when you were born, remember?”

“Did mommy cry? When I was born?”

“What is your obsession with people crying when you were born?”

“Mommy and I watched The Baby Story on Netflix. Everyone on that show cries when their baby is born. Did mommy?”

“Mommy cries at sad commercials. Of course she cried when you were born.”

“Was she sad?”

“Why would she be sad? She was happy. And relieved. Because you were healthy and you made it safe and sound. It was a lot of hard work, you know. Keeping you inside of her as long as she could. Couple times we didn’t think you’d make it that far. That you’d arrive a lot sooner.”

“Like Addie?”

Tyler nods.

“Addie’s super tiny! But she’s tough. And when she squeezes my finger, she squeezes really hard! When she’s older, I’m going to teach her to fight. So no boys pick on her.”

“How about you not teach her to fight and you just beat up whoever picks on her.”

“Like a bodyguard?”

“Exactly.”

“I can do that. Keep the boys away from her. Because boys suck!”

Tyler smirks. “I’m a boy. I don’t suck.”

“That’s different. You’re daddy. You’re a boy, but you’re not.”

“What happened to that Ryan kid?”

“We broke up,” she sighs. “I was sad at first, but mommy said there’s lot of other fish in the pond and I should keep fishing until I find the right one. Even if I have to fish until I’m a lot older. And she said I should never lower my standards.”

“She’s a pretty smart lady that mommy of yours.”

“She is. You’re lucky daddy. That she loves you. ‘Cause she’s crazy cute and crazy smart and lots of boys want someone who is crazy cute and crazy smart.”

“Yeah? What boys? I want names so I can beat them up.”

“Don’t be jealous just ‘cause boys like her. Appreciate it. They like her, but she likes you.”

“You know, you’re awful smart for just about six.”

“I know,” she giggles. “Cute like daddy, smart like mommy.”

“That’s exactly it.”

He stops at the truck to put the bags in the back and they continue on. Taking her to the pet store, where she ‘ooos and awws’ over the wall to wall tanks of various sizes and colors of fish, giggles at the antics of the birds and the hamsters, and gets to pet the kittens and a hedgehog the workers bring out for her to see. But she’s most intrigued by a large tarantula and the snakes. The kid that doesn’t panic when the Huntsmen spiders get into the house or someone finds a snake curled up and hiding in the toe of one of their shoes. She’s calm and composed while everyone else –aside from him- if losing their minds and Esme is threatening to burn the place down.

They go for ice cream next; in a candy shop very similar to the one they used to frequent in Telluride.  Millie never talks about Colorado or about their old home; almost as if those times never even existed and she’d been in Australia from day one. Her developing accent is stronger than the other kids’ and every day he hears her voice changing more and more; filling him with a sense of pride that he can’t quite explain.  

He sees the way people react to them together; the smiles and the passing comments they get, especially from women. It’s the visual, he supposes. Someone his height and his size catering to a little girl in pig tails and a flamingo patterned sundress.

“Why do girls like big muscles?” Millie asks, as they sit at table on the outdoor patio; kneeling in her seat in order to reach her bowl of ice cream.

“I don’t know,” Tyler replies. “Who likes big muscles?”

“Lots of girls. Mommy does. She likes YOUR big muscles.”

“Mommy knows a good thing when sees it, I guess.”

“I see the way girls look at your muscles. How they look at YOU. I hate it. It’s gross. You’re my dad. I don’t want them thirsty bitches looking at you.”

He frowns. “Amelia...”

“I know...I know...bad language...sorry.  But it’s true. I don’t want girls looking at my dad like that. You’re already married. To mommy.”

“Yeah, and I’m going to stay married to mommy. Doesn’t mean other girls can't look. Just means they can’t touch.”

“’Cause mommy will throat punch them.”

Tyler nods. “Exactly.”

“And don’t want Salena looking at you like that either. I don’t appreciate her touching you. Touching your arm. That made me mad.”

“You need to relax.”

“Don’t tell me to relax.”

He can’t help but laugh. “You sounded exactly like your mother just then.”

“She shouldn’t have touched you,” Millie continues her rant. “Only mommy should. Because you’re daddy and she’s mommy and you should only touch each other.”

“That’s a very good point. You don’t like her? Salena?”

“I dunno,” Millie shrugs. “I guess she’s okay. It just made me mad. When she touched you.”

“It’s no big deal. Mommy said it was okay.”

“I don’t care. It was wrong and you can’t convince me otherwise. Do you want other guys touching mommy?”

Tyler scowls. “Do they?”

“That’s not the question. Do you? Want other guys touching her?”

“There better not be other guys touching her.”

“Mommy would never let them touch her. Only you’re allowed to touch her.”

“Have other guys tried? Have you seen them try?”

“Daddy, you’re missing the whole point,” she sighs in exasperation. “Do you, or don’t you? Sheesh.”

“I’ll more than throat punch any guy that touches your mother.”

“Well then no girl should touch you either. It’s only fair.”

“You know, you are way too smart for your own good.”

“It’s common sense!” Millie reasons.  “I’m going to tell her when I see her. That she’s not allowed to touch you ever again. Or else.”

“How about you stop being such a bad ass and mind your business,” Tyler suggests.

“You’re my dad. You ARE my business.”

“Why don’t you like her?” he asks once more. “Other than the whole touching me thing.”

“It’s not that I don’t like her...I just...” she sighs and allows the words to trail off.

Tyler watches her at he eats his own ice cream; patiently waiting for her to continue. Recognizing that intense, deep in thought expression on her face. It’s one he’s seen many times in the mirror. Esme had called it ‘frowny eyebrows’.

“I don’t trust her,” Millie finally says.

“Why?”

“I don’t know, she shrugs, and licks ice cream off the end of her spoon. “I just don’t. Do you?”

“I’m trying to,” he admits.

“Maybe you don’t trust her for a reason. Maybe you don’t know what it is either.”

“Or I’m just paranoid.”

“No. That’s not it. Mommy says you have really good...” her eyebrows pinch together once more as she struggles to remember the word.

“Instincts?” Tyler offers.

“Yeah! That’s it. Instincts. That’s what mommy said. Those are good things to have, yeah?”

“Most of the time.”

“So maybe they said not to trust her, and you need to listen to them.”

He chuckles. “I don’t know what kind of ‘grow up juice’ they’re giving you at school, but I think you need to lay off it. There’s no way you’re only five.”

“Excuse you, I’m almost six.”

“Sorry. Almost six. You sure you’re not more like sixty?”

“Just six. But six means I’m getting bigger.  That I’m growing up.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“I can’t stay little forever, daddy. No matter how much you want me to. One day I’m going to get married and you’re going to have to give me away.”

Tyler frowns. “Are you intentionally trying to depress me or...?”

“I’m just saying. It’s sad. That mommy’s daddy didn’t get to do that when she married you.”

“He died a long time before I ever met your mom. She was just a teenager.”

“But even though he’s dead, he’s still my grandpa, yeah?”

Tyler nods.

“And your dad is my grandpa too. But I don’t get to see him. Even though he’s still alive. Mommy said he’s sick. Will I catch it if I go see him?”

“It’s not that kind of sick. You can’t catch it.”

She pouts. “I don’t remember him.”

“You were just a baby the last time I took you there. Did you want to see him?”

“Yeah...I guess...I mean, he’s my grandpa. Will he remember me?”

“Probably not. It’s been a long time since he last saw you.”

“When we moved away when I was a baby. Maybe you could take me there. To see him. So he can see what I look like now.”

“If you want to go and see him, I’ll take you. But...”

She arches an eyebrow, spoon in her mouth as she waits for him to continue.

“...he doesn’t remember who I am, either. Some days he does, some days he doesn’t. It might be a good day for him, might be a bad day.”

“Because he’s sick? Is his brain sick.”

“Yup. That’s exactly it”

“Which means we can’t even bring him popsicles and chicken noodle soup. Those always make me feel better when I’m sick.”

“He might like them, but they don’t help.”

“Hmmm...”  her eyes focus on the snack in front of her, spoon swirling around in the now melted remnants of ice cream; bottom lip pulled between her teeth. “...but it might cheer him up. To see me.”

“It could,” Tyler agrees.

“And maybe he can come to my birthday party.”

“What birthday party?” He inquires, and she gives him a sly smile, spoon poised against her lips.

“Amelia.”

“Daddy,” she responds, using the exact same tone.

“What birthday party?”

“Mommy said I had to talk to you about it. And then you could talk to her.”

“About...”

“Okay....so....” she scoops the last of the melted ice cream into her mouth and then ducks under the table, resurfacing beside him and scrambling into his lap. “...I thought it would be really fun if the whole class could come over.”

“To our house?”

She nods enthusiastically.

“That’s a lot of kids.”  And a lot of parents that will likely stick around. Each of them complete strangers. In the one place he holds most sacred and where he feels the most at ease. And he can feel the anxiety building at the mere thought of it.

“We have lots of room,” she reasons. “And a big beach and lots of water. None of my other friends have any of that. It would be really fun. A beach party.”

“And you’re sure that’s what you want to do? You don’t want to go to the amusement park or to go the koala sanctuary or...?”

“I like home the best. It’s the most fun. Mommy said to talk you about I.”

“She did, did she?”

Millie nods. “I know you don’t like lots of people around, daddy. It’s because of the bad guys, right?”

“You don’t worry about that stuff, okay?” He offers her the last spoonful of his ice cream and she happily accepts it. “Those things aren’t for little people to worry about.”

“But you’re my daddy,” she reasons. “So I worry about you.”

“I know. And I appreciate it and I love you for it. But you’re five...”

“Almost six!” she interjects.

“...and you need to worry about kid stuff. Not about that crap. And you really want to have you friends over for your birthday?”

“I do.”

“I’ll talk to your mom and we’ll make it happen. I’ll deal with it my own shit.”

Millie giggles. “You said no bad language today, daddy.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. Fuck.”

“Daddy!” she erupts into giggles. “That even worse language!”

“You going to rat on me to your mom?”

“I’d never rat on you. Unless some other girl touches you. Then I will tell mommy for sure.”

“You’re touching me right now,” he points out.

“That’s different. I’m allowed.”

“Says who?”

“You’re my dad. You helped make me.  I still don’t understand how though. How’d you help? How’d you get me in mommy’s tummy?”

“I just did. You don’t need to know how.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so. Ready to go?”

“Ready!” she chirps, and then wriggles her way around to his back; wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his torso.

“You’re choking me,” he gasps and gags dramatically

“Sorry,” Millie laughs, and he waits until she once more gets herself up onto his shoulder, hands tightly gripping his hair as he stands up. “Don’t drop me!” she pleads. “You’re a giant and I’ve got a long way to fall!”

“Your hard head will protect you,” he assures her.

“I don’t have a hard head. That’s mean, daddy. Let’s go to the dollar store!” she declares, as he tosses the empty bowls and dirty spoons into the trash.

“No way. I take you in there, I’m stuck there for hours.”

“I need craft paper. And glitter.”

“For what?”

“Birthday invitations. I want to make my own. You can help.”

“That’s more your mother’s thing.”

“Mommy does enough. You can help.”

“Millie...”

“Daddy...” she giggles.

“How do you always manage to talk me into these things?”

“Because you love me and I’m your favorite.”

“Fifteen minutes in the store. In and out.”

“Twenty if the line is long,” Millie debates.

“I’m only agreeing to twenty if you use your allowance and buy me a Gatorade.

She laughs and rests her chin on the top of his head. “Deal.”

[aggresivelyfriendly]

~Who Names The Colors~

Chapter 15-Persephone

This story contains themes and situations that may be objectionable to some readers, including a woman over 40 having rampant, fulfilling sex with a man of 22, a cute kid, and Is a Harry Styles AU. If these bother you, you don’t have to read, but Ho may win you over anyways!

I owe so much to the following Hoes for ho- @nocontrolforlouis, @dirtystyles, and @bleedinglove4h!!

And I love my anons, PA, and those who have just started messaging me!! I also love @the-well-rested-one! Because she loved me and has huge stones! Ha!

Jo woke up ravenous, and early.

 When Ethan was young she had discovered that when she woke up early, between five and six, those hours could be hers and she would not feel guilty for having them. She would make a brew, and sometimes sit quietly, enjoy rare stillness, read the news until it became too depressing, or prepare Ethan's lunch and tidy before her whirlwind came back from his sleepy, dreamy wanderings.

The habit remained all through his growing years, though the need for silence was replaced by a hope to be seen, appreciated, for all the little things she did. And now, she was back to the beginning with Zoe. Once she had clawed out of the sleep deprivation cave, she found her early morning routine reasserting itself. It was really the only time to herself.

Curiously, she never painted. That was a night time activity for Jo. Perhaps that was why the trenches of motherhood were not full of painting; she had to make a choice between giving up sleep in the am or pm.

She found when she did not sleep well that it was worse. Jo would be up extremely early if her rest was disturbed by bad dreams, hers or Zoe's, or worry, or sadness.

Jo was up before dawn this morning, and she felt like painting. Perhaps because the world was still dark. And she had slept very little. But that had everything to do with her bedmate.

Harry was sprawled out over her bed that had always seemed too big for one person, but was perfect for the two of them. They made good use of the space after she had met Audrey at the back and sent her out the front. Harry had barely waited for the babysitter to clear the garden wall before he was attaching himself to her neck and walking her through the house to her bedroom.

He hadn't let up for most of the night. Jo's thighs smarted when she stood and she could feel finger bruises when she smoothed up some plaid pants to her hips. He'd held her hard when she was sure she couldn't stand another orgasm. Turns out she could, but when she went to finish him in her mouth she felt a small abrasion on his glans. Harry was going to need a break. Too much friction.

Turns out, he was a tummy sleeper, she knocked away the comparison to Ethan and looked at her lover. That title felt right. He certainly loved her right. And it wasn't so heavy on the feelings she was trying to ignore after their excellent date and streaming conversation. If they shared one more conspiratorial smile over a shared interest or love she was gonna have to consider other shades of the appellation. This morning she refused.

But her golden valley was calling her away from the curl obscured face and sheet wrapped lower torso of the Adonis in her bed.

Jo reapplied the gold, shading it over the gray she had smudged in the background of the piece she was working on just a few days ago. The gold wasn't so perfect now, it was shadowed. She liked it, felt more realistic. The brush end rolled smoothly over her lips while she thought about the golden footsteps. Now it looked like her lone female was running through sand, where she had smudged the golden footprints away. She'd seen pictures of dark sand beaches. There were yellows sands, right? Golden and sand was glass unformed, so she could give some shimmer.

Her teeth bit lightly over the wood stick while she planned and thought about what colors to mix; she needed more gold paint, again. What would it look like over the sandy grey path? She'd need a lighter base yellow, and some white with the gold to get it the way her mind's eye did.

Jo's stomach growled loudly, and she realized the sun was up, but no one else was. When was the last time she ate? A flash of Harry spooning crema catalana into her mouth made her tummy sound again, and her mouth water. Her toes curled a little into the carpet shag.

Breakfast. She'd make eggy bread. Jo thought everybody liked that. Well, Zoe did and she was the hard one to please. Jo would eat anything at this point, and she imagined Harry would wake up ravenous.

He seemed to have. But not for food when he found her in the kitchen in his sheer shirt and pants. Harry wrapped her up from behind and the hug might have been filial, except for the presence of his hard dick against her ass and his open mouth on her jaw.

"What're you doing?" His voice creaked like an old man's bones.

"Making you breakfast." Jo found she didn't even want to stop herself from pressing back into him, from placing her pelvis within the bowl of his.

"In my shirt?" Jo felt his hands on the back of her thighs and then he pulled his hips back just enough to fill his hands with her ass. She could feel, practically see, the overflow of her flesh between his fingers.

"It was that or naked." She teased. Jo had little idea where her dress had wound up or how it had fared last night.

"Ughhhh! Zoe?" The ring of his voice was an alarm.

Jo pointed at her handy monitor. Zoe was still in the bed he had helped fashion for her.

"Good." Was all he said before he caught a hand and turned her with more grace than a waltz but the heat of a salsa, and grabbed her by the back of her thighs to carry her into the studio.

The door thudded like a untuned piano, but it was still music to her ears before she remembered one thing. "Harry, you have a sore."

"I know, I don't care." He said into her neck where the few hairs of his stubble were trying their best to irritate the skin.

"Well, I do. If we go again, you'll not heal for far too long."

Harry pulled back then and stared at her, "What's that mean ,then?" His smile was hopeful, and one sided, the left dimple was popped, but she knew just what would bring out its twin.

She placed her mouth against his and said, "It means, much as another go right now would be lovely, I think the whole week's worth of sex is worth more. Because I'm grown up, and can delay gratification. Can you?" She licked his open mouth, caught his tongue and one canine.

"You want me to delay your gratification?" He chicken necked to look at her, "I can do that." And he dropped to his knees me pulled her pants with his gravity as he slid her to a stop over his mouth. "Great angle to get my mouth and hands in you."

That idea was thrilling, and the reality was amazing! He was right about the angle, it seemed to take away any of the awkwardness of sliding his fingers inside of her while getting his mouth around her center. It felt so good, she was near her edge quickly. Harry just didn't let her cascade over it. Jo was sure he had ever intention to edge her, but the smell of burning egg and bread did his job for him.

"Harry!" He stopped abruptly at her tone and she slid off him, she heard the squelch of his fingers when she uncoupled them.

Jo was moving fast and Harry looked around bewildered and nervous, like they had been discovered by an inquisitive three year old.

She was pulling the ruined food from the stove and trying to scrape off the caked on parts. "There goes another spatula." Jo held up the twisted implement for his inspection and found herself laughing despite her irritation at herself when he started humming 'another one bites the dust'. He took the pan out of her hand and danced her around to the song he was now singing in his surprisingly good Freddie Mercury imitation. He spun her out and back to him in a grapple like hug.

"Sorry, baby. I didn't mean to distract you." She pulled back and narrowed her eyes at him. "Well, I did, but... anyway, Do you have another pan and spatula." Jo lay back against his chest and breathed in the warm morning scent of him. She wasn't sure exactly what he smelled like, maybe sleep-stained sheets, a linger of sex, a tang of her, his old cologne, toothpaste, and an under layer of paint. It was the best smell in the world. She pressed her nose to the depression in his chest and inhaled then pressed a moist kiss to his heart.

Harry dropped his head onto the top of hers and choked out, "Jo." She'd just looked up at his plaintive tone and the moment felt like a 20 pound child who won't be put down. But before she could find out the reason for the ponderous look she heard her name, well, "Mama," which was one of them, and saw Zoe sitting in her bed scrubbing her eye on the monitor.

"Hold that thought!" Jo bussed his mouth and went for her daughter.

She knocked on the door, and rolled her eyes at herself, that was an Ethan born habit from his 12th year when she started finding lone socks in states of rigor mortis beneath his bed.  "Morning freckles!" She singsonged and Zoe extended her arms. Jo went to her and started to hoist her up when Zoe protested.

"Lay with me, mummy." And Jo knew her stomach was still empty and Harry's too and Zoe's always, but she also was acutely aware that children grow up.  So she lay in the bed and read "Flyaway Katie." With Zoe's name inserted and her little head in the crook of Jo's chest. After Zoe complained she smelled of course.

"Are you hungry baby?" Jo asked the wispy hair at Zoe's crown and wondered when it would start growing in for real. Her kids had thin wispy business until they didn't, then it came in. Ethan's like thick strands of chestnut. Zoe's baby curls hung down her back and were the kind that would be gone forever once they were trimmed off.

"Mmmhmmm!" Zoe nuzzled. Jo gave a moment's nerves about explaining Harry's presence, but decided she would address it if Zoe seemed to think it strange.

The scene the two Smith girls found in the kitchen stopped the bigger one's breath. Harry had found some jeans, she still had on his shirt, but he'd also found the spare pan and spatula and finished breakfast. He had plated for all three.

"Morning Zoe!" He danced to her and extended his arms.

"Arry!" Zoe ducked her head and rather than the big hug Jo could see he expected, she was coy.

"What's this then? Where's my mermaid?" He didn't try to take her or force her, he just waited, and Zoe bloomed under his patience.

"Your mermaid is on your arm, Harry!" Zoe took her chin off Jo's collarbone and pointed at his tattoo, "I'm not a mermaid, I'm a girl."

And Jo loved the way that word sounded in her voice. She almost swapped the l and r or swallowed them together, it was one of the few Zoe-isms from the list Jo was aware enough to keep this time that she still used. Jo looked up from the heart eyes she had focused on Zoe and saw Harry biting off a laugh.

Zoe didn't like to be laughed at, she got her feelings hurt if she hadn't told you a joke. How'd he know that? He looked at Jo with huge eyes the shade of a ripe pear.  She loved the look of his iris swimming in the green mirth. They shared a look she'd longed for and didn't know it - a conspiratorial adult glance over the perfection of Zoe. Jo caught herself before she dove off that cliff.

"Are you hungry, baby? Harry made," she looked at the table and her eyes boggled. "Harry made waffles and eggs?" A lot of them.

"C'mere Miss." He took Zoe off her mum's arm. "Are you sure you're not a mermaid? I heard that they feel light as a feather on land," and he picked her up higher, over his head and hoisted her there and then down and made a heavy sound. "Oof, not a feather. Not a mermaid."

Zoe laughed, "Cuz I'm a unicorn."

Jo laughed, while she watched them together. "You most certainly are."

"Explains the heaviness too, I read unicorns feel extra heavy in human form, it's the hidden extra legs," Harry flipped her sideways and looked at her legs. "I don't know where you have them stashed, but I can feel them. Oi!" He sat her in her chair while she giggled and moved out of Jo's way while she moved near him.

Harry clutched her waist and rubbed along her back and Jo glared and side stepped him.

He grinned and quirked a brow and shoulder in an endearing way. Her need to slap and then kiss him was such a strange couple. But, he always brought it out in her, like when you see a pair of mismatched people together and can't figure them out until you talk to them and realize how well they fit.

When she turned around he handed her a plate. "Teas at your place."

She looked over to where she usually sat, and there was her mug, with liquid almost the right shade. Just kiss, she didn't want to slap him anymore. "Thanks, Harry."

He nodded and graced her with dimples. Jo glanced to see Zoe happily ripping apart the waffle and stuffing a piece in her mouth. "Where did you find my waffle iron? Forgot I had one." It was a wedding present. Jo stuck a lot of those away.

"Deep in a cupboard. Sounded good, and I have a trick." He licked his finger and Jo squirmed a little at his eyes on hers while he sucked the batter off. They had some unfinished business she guessed would remain there, and she'd wiggle all day on the orange under her bum, and she wasn't sure what he could do with that sore on his dick.

"What's that?" She ate a bit of eggs. Really good eggs, and not just because she didn't make them.

"Try them." He gestured with the silicone spatula he had to pop out  the waffle.

Jo sliced in and looked for the toppings - none were on the table. So she ate it and found it to be already mapley and sweet, crisp like caramelized and not bone dry like her waffles usually turned out. Hmmm. She ate two more bites before she even remembered to ask.

Harry was putting the new waffle on a plastic plate that said, "Zoe."

"Are we out of clean plates?" When did she last run the dishwasher?

"Yeah. Dishwasher is running. How's the waffle?"

"Good." Everything was good. "Flavorful and moist."

"Good." He sat at her elbow and pressed his forearm against her before he grinned and took a bite.

What time was it? When was nap time?  She looked and found it not for a while.

"How do you make them, what's the trick?" She nudged his hand with the back of hers and he quickly held it and took a bite of his waffle like nothing was amiss.

"It's not revolutionary. I put the syrup in the batter with vanilla and cinnamon and milk. Put butter on both sides of the iron." He said when he finished chewing.

"Ah, so they are sinful." She did that stupid mental calculation she had been taught entirely too young of the calories and moved onto the eggs.

Harry squeezed her hand and brought another bite to her mouth. She took it off his fork after a glance at Zoe.

He checked the little girl was distracted too, "It'll just go to your ass, and I will not be complaining." He said into the shell of her ear.

Jo shivered and checked the clock again. She cleared her throat and moved her arm to swim to safer waters.

"What do you have on today?" She drank her tea and pushed her plate away but caught the pleased smile on Harry's face when she used her fingers to eat another bite, even if she knew she shouldn't.

"Nothing, I have no plans - you?" His hand found her thigh beneath the table and she felt the pads of each of his fingers on the inside of her knee, he squeezed once and then moved them slowly back and forth.

"Um..." she drank another gulp, "I need to organize the studio, it's still chaos, and go over my syllabi intros, maybe pack up my supplies. The house is kinda messy, I like to clean before semester begins, first few weeks are crazy, ya know." She kept talking.

"Jo, relax." He nudged his chin at Zoe, "She's not the fuzz." But he took his hand off her, and she missed it.

"Yeah," was all she said. But she could tell Ethan. That she didn't say. But Jo was already thinking up plans to get around that. Harry babysat her so she could focus on school things. That sounded likely.

When Zoe started whining, Jo got up and cleared her and her place. Jo went upstairs and didn't think about that neither of them spoke about him leaving.

And he didn't. When she came down, he'd cleared breakfast, and cleaned the counters. He didn't leave water everywhere.

"Let's go to the park, Unicorn Zoe," and he bundled her up in her unicorn onesie and disappeared.

The quiet was productive but strangely disturbing and Jo was glad when Harry carried a sleeping Zoe in. He lay her on the ottoman, and pulled Jo behind him to her bedroom, she hadn't made it in to clear the bed, but that was useless, because he pulled off her yoga pants and jumper and pulled her back over his face.

He was groaning and needy after she came in his mouth.

"God, you always taste so good. Like a peach!" He brought a hand to his swollen dick.

"No, it'll get worse." She admonished and watching him grown and squirm. She took pity on him and reached into her bedside where she had a new purchase. Jo slicked them both up good with the lube and faced him on her side. "Don't move, it'll put you out of commission. I've got you." And she put him in.

It took a long time, and his hands and mouth moved rampantly because he obeyed and kept his hips quiet. It was about an hour before the flexes she employed along with the pressure of her pelvic walls up and in and down, was able to draw the sobbing need and spunk from him.

He stayed there with her, just staring and every time he started a sentence, he shook his head before he spoke. Jo wasn't sure why, but she let him.

She let him stay too, until late Sunday when she knew he had to do something to get ready for courses to start.

"You have to go!" She smiled as she pushed him out the door when they had cooked and cleaned together. "Get out of my space, Harry!"

"Not because you told me to! Cuz your don't really want me to. But, because I have to. I'll see you tomorrow?" He kissed her after he checked Zoe was watching her show intently.

"Nope, get out!" And she pushed him and thought how nice it would be to get her space back without the instrusion of his pleasant shape.

Almost as soon as he left she missed him. All through bath and bedtime. Not that he would do any of her chores, but she missed his company and smell.

Jo didn't text him, her phone found it's way to her hand over and over, but she kept herself from being desperate. It was a thrill when she woke up to a 'miss you' that Monday morning.

The 'See you soon.' made her even more excited.

[chaossmagic]

Prompt: WILLIAM SEEING OLIVER'S SCARS FOR THE FIRST TIMEEEEE.

Trying To Be Brave

William hadn’t left his room in four days.

Each time Oliver had tried to coax him out, offering food and hot beverages and full control of the Netflix queue, he’d been met with silence on the other side of the door. He wondered whether William was feigning sleep, or engrossed in the comic books he kept in his backpack, or perhaps lying on his bed staring at the four walls and wishing he were anywhere but where he was.

It had been three weeks since Samantha died. Since he’d had to look his ten-year-old in the eye and tell him his mother hadn’t survived the final attack on Lian Yu, since he’d bought an apartment with an extra bedroom and had William’s things shipped from his old house to Star City because Oliver was the only family he had left now.

Guilt and worry gnawing at his stomach, Oliver had spent more time thinking about William than he had focusing on the day-to-day duties of being Mayor. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Adrian Chase aiming a gun to his own head. He went over those hours over and over again, racing through the wreckage to find his friends; Dinah, a deep cut on her head that had matted her long hair with blood; Rene, concussed and suffering from two fractured ribs; Curtis, having sprained an ankle while trying to run from the explosions; Felicity, minor burns on her hands and arms, the ends of her hair singed, a nasty bruise on her stomach from a fall onto jagged rocks.

Diggle, unconscious and not breathing, a neck wound that left a trail of blood and Oliver’s desperate attempts to perform CPR in the middle of the burning forest when his best friend’s heart stopped.

And he always circled back to William, the frightened boy whose entire world had been turned upside down all because his father was Oliver Queen.

There had been one thread of hope, however; on day three of William not leaving his room, Oliver had left a glass of orange juice for him outside the door. When he returned later that evening after a meeting, it was empty.

Done with the tasks required for the day, Oliver decided to head home and check on William, and see if he was perhaps up to talking or eating. On the way, he stopped by a small bakery that he and Felicity had often frequented, due to their cinnamon buns being, in Felicity’s words, “the best damn baked goods in the entire tri-state area”. He picked up a couple of the said buns, still warm from the oven, in the hope that something sweet and wonderful-smelling might cheer his son up, at least for a little while.

“William?” he called out as he stepped in the door. “I’m home!”

Nothing. Loosening his tie with one hand, he put the warm buns on the kitchen countertop and quickly checked his phone for any new messages - there were none - before switching on the coffee maker. It was a habit he’d picked up since they’d returned from Lian Yu and Felicity was coming over more and more often, and they’d act like shy teenagers on their first date as they held hands and shared tentative kisses, re-discovering what it was they’d lost between them over a year ago. It was wonderful, and exciting, and felt new even though they’d been in love with one another now for almost four years.

It wasn’t something Oliver thought would ever get old.

With the coffee maker revving up, his discarded his jacket and tie and headed for the bathroom, intending to take a shower before Felicity inevitably showed up. Before he did, he knocked on William’s door.

“William, there’s some cinnamon buns in the kitchen if you want them,” he called. “Just help yourself, okay?”

Again, no answer came, but he heard the creak of bedsprings and some shuffling from inside the room. He thought he heard a book being snapped shut and the rustle of pages, or perhaps he wanted to hear them because he needed to know the poor boy was at least moving around and doing something, even if he didn’t want to be in his company right now.

It was hard knowing how to help when they were both so new to the father-son arrangement. And with William’s mother gone…

Shaking his head to remove those kinds of thoughts from his mind, he went to the bathroom, undressed, and jumped in the shower, letting the almost-scalding water soothe him and take away some of his worries for a short time. The grime of the day washed down the drain and he took himself away from thoughts of City Hall and instead focused on the plans for that night’s patrols, which he, Felicity, and a bed-bound Diggle had decided on earlier. Dinah and Rene wanted to train before heading out, so Oliver would arrive at the bunker earlier to meet them, Felicity, Curtis, and Thea following later.

He must have stayed under the water longer than he’d realized, as it had turned from almost too hot to just warm, his skin lobster pink, bringing out the angry lines of the scars that littered his body. The newer injuries stung slightly under the spray, his muscles still a little achy and stretched tight.

Shutting off the water, he climbed out and reached for a towel, wrapping himself in it and padding across to his bedroom. He didn’t need to go out again until much later; wearing starched, pressed suits all day made him feel claustrophobic, the fabric of his formal shirts compressing his chest, like he was wearing a noose around his neck. Being able to step out of the constricting costume of a Mayor and into something he actually felt comfortable in always improved his mood and helped to take some of the edge off the thoughts that plagued his mind.

He still heard no noise or sounds of activity from William’s room, so he headed straight for the closet and started to change. Perhaps, he thought as he reached for a pair of soft pants, he should just let him work through his grief privately for now. Oliver didn’t want to push him into something he didn’t feel ready for, and if William was isolating himself from him, he didn’t want to provoke an adverse reaction by forcing him to communicate. From past experience, he knew that hunkering down against any attempt at intervention was usually the response to feeling pressured to share; he’d done it himself countless times, a protection mechanism against the pain and fear and anger and hurt that he knew would come pouring out if someone gave him the opportunity to talk.

It was only as he went to grab a shirt that he heard the squeak of wooden floorboards and a sharp intake of breath coming from behind him, a noise of surprise and horror that made his stomach twist…and then drop.

William was standing in the doorway, barefoot, his hair in disarray, one cheek creased with pillow marks where he had been lying on it. He gripped the doorframe tentatively, as if worried he might not be allowed to touch it, and was staring straight at Oliver’s chest with huge eyes, his face pale and greyish.

“What are those?” he gasped, pointing at the scars that marked his father’s body. “Why are they so big? How did you get them?”

Oliver was at a loss for words. How to even begin to explain the jagged lines and misshapen marks of knife wounds, bullet holes, arrowhead piercings, and burns he’d accumulated over the years? How to explain to someone who was still a kid what human beings were capable of doing to one another?

Then, a tiny squeak, almost a whisper, left his son’s lips.

“Did he give them to you?”

He. William meant Adrian Chase.

Oliver didn’t see the point in lying. Twisting his shirt in his hands, he braced himself. “Some of them, yes.”

Memories shoved themselves up to the surface of his mind; being held in chains for days, no food or water, lashes brought down on his bare skin and Chase laughing, grinning, his otherwise handsome face twisted with rage and hatred.

The blowtorch searing his chest where the Bratva tattoo was, his nostrils filling with the smell of his own burning flesh. Semi-consciousness from the pain.

More of Chase’s laughter, his taunting.

Showing him pictures of his friends, his family. Felicity’s glasses.

William’s picture from his elementary school.

A brutal kick to the ribs.

A small hand rested on his elbow. “Dad?”

He came out of the memory and realized he was shaking, his knuckles white where they gripped the item of clothing in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. He thought he could taste blood at the back of his throat. “I’m sorry, William.”

Sniffing, William gripped his arm tightly, pressing his face into his skin. He could feel the tears that dripped down his son’s face, wetting him anew.

“I never wanted anything like this to happen to you,” Oliver said. “You do believe that, right?”

Without looking up, William nodded. Then, he let go of his arm, moving his hands to the scars on Oliver’s chest, touching them tentatively. He stopped for a moment on the pink line under his ribs, then the gash on his lower stomach. He opened his palm and placed it flat on the burn where the Bratva mark once was.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, his voice thick with tears. “It looks like it hurts.”

Oliver shook his head. “Not so much anymore, but when it first happened…” he lowered his voice conspiratorially, “it hurt like hell.”

William giggled wetly. “Mom said I’m not supposed to say those words.”

“Well, you shouldn’t,” Oliver agreed. “But since it’s just us, I think we can make an exception.” He managed a small smile. “Only in the house though, okay? I don’t want to get a letter from your new teacher telling me you’re repeating bad language at school.”

….which is why it might be a good idea not to let Rene do any extensive childminding, he made a mental note for himself.

“Okay,” William said.

Oliver crouched down in front of him, taking his son’s small, white face in his hands, just as he had when he’d pulled him from Adrian on the boat. That time, he had been checking for physical injuries. Now, he was taking care of emotional ones.

“My scars….I know they’re scary, but you don’t have to be scared. I haven’t told you a lot about what I do, about the things I’ve done, but I will, because you deserve to know. But for now, you’ve had a lot of things happen to you and not a lot of time to process it, and if you feel like you need to talk, or want some space, or….you want to tell someone about your Mom, please, talk to me.”

Oliver swallowed thickly around a lump that had suddenly risen in his throat. He stroked William’s cheek instinctively with his thumb, wiping away the residual tears there.

“Do you understand?” he asked.

“Mmhmm,” William nodded quietly, blinking rapidly. Several more tears spilled over onto his cheeks, and Oliver wiped them away, like a father would.

Like the father that he was.

After a moment, Oliver stood up, stretching. “Okay. I’m gonna finish getting dressed, and then we can get something to eat. There’s some pastries in the kitchen if you want.”

“I know,” William replied, and a faint light came back into his eyes. “I can smell them.”

Oliver smiled, clapping him gently on the shoulder.  “Help yourself, kiddo. I’ll be right behind you.”

William turned to leave, and Oliver finished pulling on his shirt. Before he reached the doorway, however, he turned back around.

“You’re brave, aren’t you? My Mom said you were.”

Brave. What was bravery, anyway?

“I try to be,” was what Oliver said in reply.

[scholarquestresourcemanagement]

< The previous page (page 3)

The disadvantage of not packing for myself is that I have no idea what she packed for me to read… I guess not really a disadvantage, it’s kind of a surprise. Sorta fun… lets see.

Put my paw into the bag, pull out a random book or scroll… aaaaand….

...Author name looks Canid… ugh, okay maybe it is a disadvantage.

Try again, hmm.

“Those who brought us here.”

The book isn’t a thick one, bound in a reddish brown leather. Smells… old, comforting. It lacks an author's name, just a title and an image of a talon. Engraved with heat, into the leather front.

It’s fairly pleasant.

It smells good, the talon on the cover feels pleasant to run my paws over. It’s not too long, and possibly written by an Avian… which, considering that I’m traveling with one, it could be useful to have some insight into their thoughts.

The subject… “those who brought us here”... information on them is often rather… unreliable. Mostly based on myth, especially on the earlier days of this world…

There’s a rock digging into my butt, that will not do.

Not the ideal reading location, I guess the fresh air is somewhat pleasant… but I’d much rather be at home… urgh.

Anyway, with that out the way…

“Those who brought us here. A telling of the first age, a story of how things became to be.”

Well that’s the first page… literally all that’s on it. The writing’s fairly big, but still most of the page is blank.

“There is nothing. With a splash, there is something.

A great canine, taller than any mountain. As vast as any sea. Sets down into the nothing. It’s body turning nothing into something.”

...Oh great, I’ve heard this before. Personally I have many doubts that the world is a giant dog.

“That nothing, becoming something. Becomes an ocean of nothing, of which the canine can swim though. Which they do, it’s head staying above the nothing. Looking out into nothing, in the total darkness of nothing.

It moves with purpose, guided. For it is not alone, on top its head a council of those who brought it here.

A crowd of beasts, both big and small gather between its ears.

For they who brought it here, have a purpose for doing so. Though that purpose known only to them.

They meet to discuss their mission, and one thing is certain between those who brought it here.

It is dark.

They look out, across the great snout. Darkness meets their gaze, as they look out across the void.

The can barely see themselves, or each other. Which will not do.

Groups of those who brought it here, set out. In search of light, their bodies fading off into the void.

With no light, without a sun there is no method of counting time’s passage. Those who stay behind, do so for an unknown number of days, or months, or years.

The search yielding no result.

Then like it was always there, those who brought it here brought something else. Bright, warm sunlight broke out across the canine’s back, blinding those who stayed behind.

A mountain spike, higher then -”

Thud

He’s sat down beside me, feathers brushing up against my face… ugh, why.

“What’cha reading there?”

I push his feathers out of my face, he apologises while rearranging himself. I swear one went in my mouth.

There’s a talon in my face... He apologises again, apparently he had knocked my glasses off. His talon presses them back onto my snout.

“Sooo then, what is it ya reading?”

He repeats his question. Even with his feathers removed from my face, he is too close.

“...Nothing, since you interrupted.”

“Aww, c'mon don’t be like that.”

“...A children's story book.”

“...A children’s book? Aren’t you meant to be some kinda scholar type?”

“Your point?”

“Shouldn’t ya be reading something a bit more advanced.”

“Shouldn’t you be setting up somewhere for yourself to sleep?”

“I’m done.”

I look over, my servants finishing setting up my tent. Though that appears to be the only one.

“I don’t see your tent.”

“Don’t need one! Weathers calm, perfect night to sleep under the stars.”

“...Do you even know what a star is?”

“I’ve seen pictures!”

He seems very proud of that fact…

I’d never thought I’d admit it, but I actually kind of miss stars. The night sky is awfully boring without them.

It’s kind of a shame, if it’s the only sky you’ve ever known.

“You still haven’t told me what it’s about.”

“...It’s a story about the first age.”

“How boring.”

“I’d rather be reading it right now, than having this conversation.”

“Rude.”

“So is interrupting.”

“You’ve hurt my feelings.”

He’s smirking like an idiot. This is all awfully amusing to him… urgh, I think I would have rather had a Canid then him honestly.

My servant’s practically done with the tent, and somehow I don’t think I’m going to be finishing this tonight…

“I’m going to bed.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Its waaaaay too early, come on.” He scoots himself away from me, sitting in front rather than beside. “Don’t be like that, I’ll leave you alone to read.”

He’s kind of ruined my reading flow… but it is too bright out to sleep… urgh.

“I have my own things to do after all, blades to sharpen. Armour to oil, it’s a lot of work you know. This line of work.”

For someone who’s apparently leaving me alone to read, he’s continuing to do a lot of talking. It’s probably an avian thing. Birds make a ton of noise, it makes sense that their more anthropomorphic counterparts are talkative…

“A lot less interesting than you’d think too! People think it’s all adventure and violence but really it’s a whole bunch of walking about! Like this job, I’m just following you around. It’s not exciting at all, easy money sure… but really not interesting.”

He’s just, yapping now… urgh.

“Even with such an easy job, there’s a lot that has to go into it. I still have to maintain all my gear, still have to carry it all. It’s not light you know.”

For an Avian, he’s awfully beardy… I didn’t know they could even have beards. I guess it’s less of a beard though? As its kinda coming from around his eyes.

“I am going to ache for days after this trip you know, I guess at least it keeps me in shape. Never going to get fat, lugging all this shit around.”

He’s really just going to keep talking...

And I’m apparently just going to sit here and listen to it.

“I have no idea how you manage it, as a scholar you’re probably nowhere near as active as I am. Yet you’ve kept yourself in shape, do you work out?”

“No.”

“How aren’t you fat, sitting around all day reading?”

“...I just don’t eat that much...”

I prefered it when I didn’t have to be involved in this conversation… urgh.

“Not much of a food person then, I guess that works.”

I think I’m going back to my original plan. It is at least getting a little on the dark side.

“I’m going to bed.”

“No, no I’m sorry. I’ve been talking your ears off haven’t I. I’ll be quiet! No more talking from now on I promise.”

“Why are you so insistent on me staying around.”

“Who wouldn’t want to be around such a pretty thing such as yourself?”

Urgh, back to that… great.

I guess I do want to finish the story…

Where was I…

“A mountain spike, higher than the tallest of towers. Reaching higher than the birds can fly

A grand temple, perched atop.

Its greatest heights obscured by a blinding orb of light.”

...He’s started whistling… really.

I glare at him, and he stops. A dumb smirk clear on his beak. I’m pretty sure he’s trying to annoy me now.

I close the book, and remove my glasses. Putting them away in my pack.

“Ookay okay, I promise I’ll stop. Quite from now on.”

“I’m going to sleep.”

“Don’t be such a grouch, I’m only messing with ya.”

“You’re being a nuisance.”

“I’ll stop, I’ll stop.”

“I’m going to bed.”

“You’re no fun.”

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K-12 Words

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1.1

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1.2

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2.1

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2.2

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3.1

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3.2

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4.1

pattern cave hope mile group travel blush killed seed bottom hide important let ticket timid pounds restart silent cranky keep real bright quite curved repeat trip without dart consonant mountains quiet apologize roar grip groan bolt food injury century exhausted cabin atmosphere floor it’s scold transportation delighted giant hill something build fog method rough left everyone obey deserve speak therefore soon french switch until pushed state knob hobby between surround collect fire I’ll arrive road happened certain top order astronomy inches club catch farm nibble color yourself received connect told gaze check wear English half ten fly gave box finally wait correct oh quickly person became shown minutes strong verb stars front feel fact street decided contain course surface produce building ocean class note nothing rest carefully scientists inside wheels stay green known island week less machine base ago stood

4.2

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5.1

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5.2

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6.1

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6.2

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7.1

capture remark western outcome risk current bold compare resident ambition arrest furthermore desire confuse accurate disclose considerable contribute calculate baggage literacy noble era benefit orchard shabby content precious manufacture dusk afford assist demonstrate instant concentrate sturdy severe blend vacant weary carefree host limb pointless prepare inspire shallow chamber vast ease attentive source frantic lack recent distress basic permit threat analyze distract meadow mistrust jagged prefer sole envy hail reduce arena tour annual apparent recognize captivity burrow proceed develop humble resist peculiar response communicate circular variety frequent reveal essential disaster plead mature appropriate attractive request congratulate address destructive fragile modest attempt tradition ancestor focus flexible conclude venture impact generosity routine tragic crafty furious blossom concern ascend awkward master queasy release portion plentiful alert heroic extraordinary frontier descend invisible coax entrance capable peer terror mock outstanding valiant typical competition hardship entertain eager limp survive tidy antonym duplicate abolish approach approve glory magnificent meek prompt revive watchful wreckage audible consume glide origin prevent punctuate representative scorn stout woe arch authentic clarify declare grant grave opponent valid yearn admirable automatic devotion distant dreary exhaust kindle predict separation stunt

7.2

evade debate dedicate budge available miniature petrify pasture banquet pedestrian solitary decline reassure nonchalant exhibit realistic exert abuse dictate minor monarch concept character strategy soar beverage tropical withdraw challenge kin navigate purchase reliable mischief solo combine vivid aroma spurt illuminate narrator retain excavate avalanche preserve suspend accomplish exasperate obsolete occasion myth reign sparse gorge intense revert antagonist talon aggressive alternate retire cautiously blizzard require endanger luxurious senseless portable sever compensate companion visual immense slither guardian compassion escalate detect protagonist oasis altitude assume seldom courteous absurd edible identical pardon approximate taunt achievement homonym hearty convert wilderness industrious sluggish thrifty deprive independent bland confident anxious astound numerous resemble route access jubilation saunter hazy impressive document moral crave gigantic bungle prefix summit overthrow perish visible translate comply intercept feeble exult compose negative suffocate frigid synonym appeal dominate deplete abundant economy desperate diligent commend boycott jovial onset burden fixture objective siege barrier conceive formal inquire penalize picturesque predator privilege slumber advantage ambition defiant fearsome imply merit negotiate purify revoke wretched absorb amateur channel elegant grace inspect lame tiresome tranquil boast eloquent glisten ideal infectious invest locate ripple sufficient uproar

8.1

apprehensive dialogue prejudice marvel eligible accommodate arrogant distinct knack deposit liberate cumulative consequence strive salvage chronological unique vow concise influence lure poverty priority legislation significant conserve verdict leisure erupt beacon stationary generate provoke efficient campaign paraphrase swarm adhere eerie mere mimic deteriorate literal preliminary solar soothe expanse ignite verge recount apparel terrain ample quest composure majority collide prominent duration pursue innovation omniscient resolute unruly optimist restrain agony convenient constant prosper elaborate genre retrieve exploit continuous dissolve dwell persecute abandon meager elude rural retaliate primitive remote blunder propel vital designate cultivate loathe consent drastic fuse maximum negotiate barren transform conspicuous possess allegiance beneficial former factor deluge vibrant intimidate idiom dense awe rigorous manipulate transport discretion hostile clarity arid parody boisterous capacity massive prosecute declare stifle remorse refuge predicament treacherous inevitable ingenious plummet adapt monotonous accumulate reinforce extract reluctant vacate hazardous inept diminish domestic linger context excel cancel distribute document fragile myth reject scuffle solitary temporary veteran assault convert dispute impressive justify misleading numerous productive shrewd strategy villain bluff cautious consist despise haven miniature monarch obstacle postpone straggle vivid aggressive associate deceive emigrate flexible glamour hazy luxurious mishap overwhelm span blemish blunt capable conclude detect fatigue festive hospitality nomad supreme

8.2

exclude civic compact painstaking supplement habitat leeway minute hoax contaminate likeness migration commentary extinct tangible originate urban unanimous subordinate collaborate obstacle esteem encounter futile cordial trait improvises superior exaggerate anticipate cope evolve eclipse dissent anguish subsequent sanctuary formulates makeshift controversy diversity terminate precise equivalent pamper prior potential obnoxious radiant predatory presume permanent pending simultaneously tamper supervise perceived vicious patronize trickle stodgy rant oration preview species poised perturb vista wince yearn persist shirk status tragedy trivial snare vindictive wrath recede peevish rupture unscathed random toxic void orthodox subtle resume sequel upright wary overwhelm perjury uncertainty prowess utmost throb pluck pique vengeance pelt urgent substantial robust sullen retort ponder whim saga sham reprimand vocation assimilate dub defect accord embark desist dialect chastise banter inaugurate ovation barter muse blasé stamina atrocity deter principal liberal epoch preposterous advocate audacious dispatch incense deplore institute deceptive component subside spontaneous bonanza ultimate wrangle clarify hindrance irascible plausible profound infinite accomplish apparent capacity civilian conceal duplicate keen provoke spurt undoing vast withdraw barrier calculate compose considerable deputy industrious jolt loot rejoice reliable senseless shrivel alternate demolish energetic enforce feat hearty mature observant primary resign strive verdict brisk cherish considerate displace downfall estimate humiliate identical improper poll soothe vicinity abolish appeal brittle condemn descend dictator expand famine portable prey thrifty visual

9.1

stance vie instill exceptional avail strident formidable rebuke enhance benign perspective tedious aloof encroach memoir mien desolate inventive prodigy staple stint fallacy grope vilify recur assail tirade antics recourse clad jurisdiction caption pseudonym reception humane ornate sage ungainly overt sedative amiss convey connoisseur rational enigma fortify servile fastidious contagious elite disgruntled eccentric pioneer abet luminous era sleek serene proficient rue articulate awry pungent wage deploy anarchy culminate inventory commemorate muster adept durable foreboding lucrative modify authority transition confiscate pivotal analogy avid flair ferret decree voracious imperative grapple deface augment shackle legendary trepidation discern glut cache endeavor attribute phenomenon balmy bizarre gullible loll rankle decipher sublime rubble renounce porous turbulent heritage hover pithy allot minimize agile renown fend revenue versa gaunt haven dire doctrine intricate conservative exotic facilitate bountiful cite panorama swelter foster indifferent millennium gingerly conscientious intervene mercenary citadel obviously rely supportive sympathy weakling atmosphere decay gradual impact noticeable recede stability variation approximately astronomical calculation criterion diameter evaluate orbit sphere agricultural decline disorder identify probable thrive expected widespread bulletin contribution diversity enlist intercept operation recruit survival abruptly ally collide confident conflict protective taunt adaptation dormant forage frigid hibernate insulate export glisten influence landscape native plantation restore urge blare connection errand exchange

9.2

feasible teem pang vice tycoon succumb capacious onslaught excerpt eventful forfeit crusade tract haggard susceptible exemplify ardent crucial excruciating embargo disdain apprehend surpass sporadic flustered languish conventional disposition theme plunder ignore project complaint title dramatic delivery litter experimental clinic arrogance preparation remind atomic occasional conscious deny maturity closure stressed translator animate observation physical further gently registration suppress combination amazing constructive allied poetry passion ecstasy mystery cheerful contribution spirit failed gummy commerce prove disagreement raid consume embarrass preference migrant devour encouragement quote mythology destined destination illuminating struggle accent ungrateful giggle approval confidence expose scientist operation superstitious emergency manners absolutely swallow readily mutual bound crisp orient stress sort stare comfort verbal heel challenging advertisement envious sex scar astonish basis accuracy enviable alliance specific chef embarrassed counter tolerable sympathetic gradually vanish informative amaze royal furry insist jealousy simplify quiver collaborate dedicated flexible function mimic obstacle technique archaeologist fragment historian intact preserve reconstruct remnant commence deed exaggeration heroic impress pose saunter wring astound concealed inquisitive interpret perplexed precise reconsider suspicious anticipation defy entitled neutral outspoken reserved sought equal absorb affect circulate conserve cycle necessity seep barren expression meaningful plume focused genius perspective prospect stunned superb transition assume guarantee nominate

10.1

install reticent corroborate regretfully strength murder concise cunning intention holy satire query confused progression disillusion background mundane abrupt multiple enormously introduce emulate harmful pragmatic pity rebut liberate enthusiastic elucidate camaraderie disparage nature creep profitability impression racist sobriety occupy autonomy currently amiable reiterate reproduce cripple modest offer atom provincial augment ungratefully expansion yield rashly allude immigration silence epitome exacerbate somber avid dispute vindicate collaborate manufacturer embellish superficial propaganda incompetent objective diminish statistics endure ambivalent perpetuate illuminate phenomenon exasperate originality restrict anxiety anthropology circumstances aesthetic manufacturing conventional dubious vulnerable reality precedent entity success term critical repair underscore stepmother republican hesitantly classic wary contents prediction immediate invoke notorious implicit excluding input skeptical foster element punish frank humanity profound dessert orthodox substance disappear encourage neighborhood elder superfluous naive ascertain complacent resilient deafening military tend prudent glare acceptance skillfully induce monster beam gullible conciliate vessel petty cantankerous disclose archaeology anecdote disdain electronics substantiate subjective tourism advisable joyful incredible provocative psychological ruins discipline condone indifferent misfortune judgmental industrialize tasty assume astute mission mar protective definitely escape oppress shocked virtual zealous endorse qualification hostile eccentric abstract disparate geographical scrutinize generalization tolerate activity claim dogmatic influential obsolete extol implausible subsequent resource chronic benevolent improve confidential ambiguous seriously dearth perplex hatred throughout dine contemporary evoke essentially economic flagrant obscure alleviate eloquent dreaadful clumsy sympathy victim condemn vigor condescend spontaneous quell reprehensible substantially sleeve equivocal ironic decry errand articulate progressive eradicate refreshments elicit aspiration recently exemplary bribery theoretical disingenuous partisan revere particle nostalgia self-aggrandizement debunk tyranny rhetoric hierarchy warning whimsical venerate commend assert miserable awful vibe constrain undermine explicit differentiate compliment scrupulous contempt erroneous ideal refute imply cynical rash presume insight revival vary delay renounce indignant offensive temperate circumstantial export peep logo advertise suppress distort chunk convoluted denounce overwhelming fertility rigorous acquire arrogant university antagonize profitable indulgent strategic breathing idiosyncrasy profession frugal discern accommodation adversary incredulous disturbance digress social belie roam smug continual pertinent voluntarily elite subtle blame sincerity lick horror censure involvement candid infer futile impetuous exploit bewilder sustain diligent sincere protect sealed musical empathy callous parenthetical insure acorn sarcasm seize sacrificially allege emphatic irrelevant progress diplomatic stunned improvise deride reconcile meticulous deject scientifically incontrovertible pressure justify gloomy depict supplant endurance analogous diary bolster slip contemplate pesticide glow religious advocate negligent creator lament fundamental embrace throne inherent inferior valuable thrive trivial pretense reserved capricious refresh refusal flight boost explanation coherent prevalent tenacious official royalty assassin rub poach delete

10.2

warrant circumscribed somewhat explosive optimistic mandate previously detract opinion intuitive feasible intimate persistent humble simplicity tempt deliberate painful unethical fundamentals discrepancy remorse pessimistic possibility conclusion acknowledge impregnate soberly creation paralyze suitability oblige tranquil medal arbitrate pacify illusory susceptible vibrate vengeance infection democratic stressful grave speculative sample identification stifle obligation revenge organization namely mediocre practical scream weaken consensus affectionate deficient treacherous console isolation ingenious memory melodrama despair awestruck composition regret recommendation celebrity decision devoid opaque ornamentation longevity participate dread restore interrogate aid accordingly mislead embarrassment optimism domestic apt funds virtue geography fundamentally thoroughly press despite horrible chilling rental esteemed disappointment innovative contemplation assign popularize haunt deafen serene percent estrangement suffer extravagant throng estimate comment priesthood mass dreadfully promote periphery animated saying relate clarity triple derivative succeed distortion register suicide improvement discreet inquisition probable curative incident praise convenience baffle covet dreadful genuinely weary undisturbed disgruntled humility renown nonchalant monopoly comedy vague decisive inconsequential announcement fabricated nevertheless vigilant scarce neglectful hushed attainment tedious explode snatch pslm agency sentimental tension adhere meanwhile sacred avert conformity likewise challenger accessible responsibility peril contact event roast fallible catastrophic competitor violate resolute deceive exaggeration discredit intolerable approve paste dimly novelist demeanor norm politician satisfaction obvious vehicle reservation defer involve restoration crush audible assistant backpack attain inanimate commemorate confrontation emigration parasite disperse quantitative laughter policy vulgar occasionally repay effective eulogy starvation empty therapeutic overall immortal encompass inappropriate opportune engagement illustrate turmoil observatory classification expression reminiscence comedian invention depress remedy protagonist gesture texture diplomatic election prolong conducive emotional invigorate curiosity expressive %

K-12 Words was originally published on PinkWrite

[bangtan-spells]

Yoongi Scenario: I’ll Give You The Sun.

Request: I wanted to request a "proposal", where Yoongi asks y/n to marry him. Thank you girls + I'll put both my requests in one ask! My first request is a late night trip with yoongi (like he calls you in the middle of the night for a car trip and takes reader to the sea [and there he propose to her])

Genre: Romance.

You woke up a bit startled, not expecting Yoongi’s lips just above your right ear making you tingle and confused at the same time.

-What is it babe?-

He kissed your ear making you have goosebumps. -Wake up-

You opened your eyes completely and sat. -But what is it? Yoongi it’s like… the middle of the night- you said not even knowing what time it was.

-Come on, get up and get dressed- he smiled when he turned on the lights and then you noticed he was fully dressed, jeans, a black t-shirt that exposed his collarbones if he leaned forward and a denim jacket. 

You were on a little vacation retreat in Jeju Island, it was your second day on the island and you had big plans for the rest of week, several activities typical of Jeju and of course lots of sleep, both of you needed that. So it took you by surprise that Yoongi was so eager to go out in the middle of the night. But then it made you remember that you used to do it a lot when you started dating, late night trips around the city. A smile came to your face and you got up from the bed, your boyfriend was such a low-key romantic. 

-Give me a second then-

You wondered what you should wear for this night late night extravaganza Yoongi had in mind. You giggle at the thought, he’d frown and grumble if you told him that. You went for a a little summer dress, you were in an island after all, so you had brought mostly shorts and dresses, but you wanted to be comfortable so you threw on the pretty black dress with purple and pink flowers print, the sleeves were long but they got wider from your elbow to your wrist making the simple dress have a trendy cut, you saw the rather low v-neck and decided that you had to also throw on a jacket just in case the night was chilly.

-Where are we going Yoongi?- you asked when you walked out of the bathroom. You had rushed on the light makeup and your hair since part of the emotion of the late night trips was the rush and the unexpected, but you still wanted to look nice.

-It’s a surprise- he said not giving anything away.

You pouted. -I just want to know if I’m good-

Yoongi came closer to you, and this time his smile didn’t fit on his face, it was contagious as you found yourself smiling back. -What?-

-You are beautiful Y/N- he leaned down and pecked your lips. -Let’s go-

You went together hand by hand, the hotel was well illuminated this late, but it was lone aside from some occasional personnel you encountered as you walked your way out of the building, it was a chilly night as you had suspected, you walked through the gardens and the pools the hotel had just before you found the exit to the beach. 

-Yoongi, what is this? where are we going?-

He smiled more and squeezed your hand as you started to walk in the sand, it slipped through your sandals and it was all over his shoes.

-You’ll see Y/N, just follow me-

You laughed. -I’m following you babe, but this…-

-Are you nervous?- he teased and you pushed his shoulder making him laugh louder.

-Wait a moment- you said leaning down to take off your sandals. - Yoongi!- you nagged when he snapped a picture of you as you were taking them off. He laughed and you shook your head knowing it couldn’t be helped -You too babe- you said as he complied and took off his shoes. -It’s so weird you came here with those and not your beloved sandals-

-I forgot, I wasn’t thinking about my footwear for tonight-

You sharpened your gaze with a coy smile. -And what were you thinking then?-

Yoongi smiled like a fool and squeezed your hand again, was he nervous? -Come Y/N-

The sand was cold and it was very smooth to the touch, so it was like a having a little massage as you walked through the scattered umbrellas that were closed for the night and the dozens lounge chairs in which you had come earlier to doze off. The hotel was beautiful at day time, but at this hour it had another feeling, more so with your heart pumping fast at the expectation of what Yoongi had in mind.

You walked some more, leaving behind the umbrellas and chairs, following a little path that conducted to other hotel’s beaches but not quite leaving the hotel grounds, the lights were dim but then you saw a spot ahead that was well illuminated with torches. You stared at Yoongi with the question in your eyes and he just shrugged like he wasn’t aware that a few meters from you there was a little perfectly done oasis.

A big thick blanket was stretched on the sand, two torches framed the entrance to it, there were cushions and pillows arranged to look like comfy nests in which you were immediately tempted to sit on, there were softer smaller blankets, all of it in reds, oranges, browns and white. You awed at the flowers around the blanket, orchids in purple, white and pink, and as you walked you also saw a champagne cooler with a bottle sticking from it, various trays with fruits and bite food with a convenient clear cover so they couldn’t be spoiled with the sand.

-Yoongi what is this?- you asked not believing your eyes.

-A little something I prepared- he answered nonchatanly but smiling in content, he was happy with your reaction. 

You looked at the place again, it was absolutely beautiful, but it was the dozens of glowing lanterns distributed around the oasis that made the place feel magical. You didn’t know what to say, you didn’t know what you were celebrating today as this wasn’t your anniversary or your birthday, all you knew was this was one of the most romantic and beautiful things Yoongi had ever done, and that you had ever seen.

-Are you trying to make me fall in love with you?- you giggled still out of breath, going with him to the blanket, sitting close together.

-Hadn’t I done that already?- he answered in the same tone. -This is just a little something for you- you laughed, going closer to his face to kiss him. 

-You have- you whispered, he took advantage of the closeness and kissed you again.

He popped open the champagne bottle making you laugh when he got himself sprinkled with it, he served two glasses with it giving one to you.

-To you, to me, to us, because I want to keep making you laugh and smile- he said and your heart was swelled with love, you kept wondering what brought him to do something like this, but you also wanted to just enjoy this moment, because it felt magical and unique, with him by your side and the stars above.

-To you, to me, to us, because I want to keep making you happy-

You cheered and drank the champagne as you eat a some strawberries, laughing at each other, Yoongi taking pictures of the lanterns around that made you feel like you were in the middle of a glowing ocean, taking pictures of you because everything was just background, for him you were the brightest star of tonight, and of all his nights to come. You spoke and kissed, you took silly pictures and laughed as you saw some of the outcome, you laid there close together, hand in hand watching the stars as you felt both your hearts in synchrony.

You didn’t even know what time it was, you guessed it could be past 3 or 4 you weren’t sure, but Yoongi stood up, asking you again to follow him. You wanted to ask where but you also knew he wouldn’t tell so you just followed him, this time to another path, leaving behind the oasis and the sea of lanterns.

Yoongi led you through more gardens and a golf field, there were parts where you couldn’t see anything so you held onto his hand tighter, trusting that he would lead you to the right way back to the light. When you were reaching your destination you heard people talking and also a strange airy loud noise, when you got there you couldn’t help your gasp.

A hot hair balloon was being set up in front of you and by the looks of it, it was only minutes before it would take off to the sky.

-Yoongi, you…-

-I want you to experience this Y/N, when I was here years ago for a photoshoot I thought that… that I’d be cool to bring my girl here-

-Cool?- you repeated in awe. -Yoongi this is amazing, oh god, this was the surprise? Well another surprise, oh my god- you put your hand over your mouth and he chuckled.

-Do you like it?-

You giggled excitedly and shook your head. -I love this Yoongi, I was going to tell you we should do this while we were here but you oh god…- you hugged him and kissed his chin and then his lips. -I love it, I love you-

-I love you too- he whispered back. -I want you to see the view from up high-

You hopped in when everything was set up, the balloon could host way more people than just the two of you but this was a private ride, just the conductor and the two of you. When the balloon started to take off vertigo ran through your body and you held his hand once again. 

-Easy babe, we are good- he said kissing your temple. You gained altitude and the view got more beautiful, you were at the edge of breaking dawn, a few more minutes and you would be able to see the sunrise.

If before you had enjoyed the ocean and the sand, right now you were marveled at the mountains and at the sky, the different shades of purples, blues and each second more yellows that covered the sky making a delight for the eyes, and if you looked down you could see the landscape of mountains, and all the green nature had to offer.

-This is absolutely stunning Yoongi-

-It is- he agreed looking at you. -Pose for a picture-

-More?-

He snorted. -This is just the beginning-

You laughed and posed as he took more shots of you in the balloon and then of course a few selcas together. 

You kept on enjoying the ride quietly, but you felt how Yoongi wasn’t calm anymore, he was licking his lips nonstop and he was fumbling with his fingers, a sign that he was nervous.

-Is everything ok babe?-

He nodded, looking at the sky that was yellower, clearer. The sun rising to illuminate it all. -I want to tell you a few things-

-What is it?- you asked turning entirely to him.

-I try to be careful with my words…- he started. -Although there are times I hurt you with them or rather for the lack of them, you are always the talker- he smiled. -You reach for me and make my words come out, and I, damn Y/N, I felt like only music could do that to me and then you came and I… It’s like this sunrise, it’s like this high, it takes my breath away and then push me forward, you do that to me-

You swallowed feeling your heart thundering after hearing those words, because hearing that coming from him meant the world.

-Whatever may happen, even if we are different tomorrow, even if for some reason we drift apart from each other… I…- he took a pause to gather his words, like reflecting on his own words and finding the possibility of you being apart as something intolerable, you felt the same, just thinking about it made your heart hurt and your eyes to water. -I don’t want this moment to be forgotten, I don’t want you to forget this Min Yoongi who is looking at you right now or me to forget the you that is in front of me-

-Yoongi I…-

-Let me finish Y/N, you’re always so impatient- he nagged but it wasn’t like he was annoyed, it was him acknowledging your impatience and making it an attribute, something that formed part of you and good or bad he loved it.

At that moment Yoongi let go of your hands, looking at the sky one more time, you followed his every move, wondering what could happen next, thinking about that possibility at the back of your mind actually happening. Yoongi stared at you again before going down on one knee. Your right hand went over your mouth, gasping, feeling like the breathtaking view around you wasn’t important anymore, in front of you was the love of your life on one knee, opening a little black box that had a ring in it. You saw him gulping, breathing deeply as you felt your eyes full with tears, you wanted to kiss him, to hug him, to love him.

-Y/N, before you I had never thought I would be feeling what I am feeling today, it means that you are the one for me as I expect to be the one for you from this day onwards- he did a pause looking at your eyes, and than at all of you, like taking you all in before saying the next words. -Y/N, love of my life, will you marry me?-

-Yes- you nodded letting your tears fall freely. -Yes I will-

Yoongi put the ring on your finger, both your hands trembling with nerves and excitement, he stood up and you curled your arms around his neck as his did the same around your waist, your lips coming together in the sweetest of kisses, you were going to spend the rest of your life together.

-I love you Yoongi, love of my life, all of this, what you did for me today, what you do for me everyday, I have no words, I love you, forever-

He smiled and kissed you again and again, high up in the sky with the sun shining next to you and a whole world coming ahead. But the light you felt within your hearts came from the other, real and ablaze, it had changed your lives and it would keep doing it, and with him by your side you couldn’t wait.

[jackfollmanwriter-blog]

The Yearbook

All Luke left in our old apartment for me was a single banker’s box of what he considered to be “my possessions.” One of those white cardboard boxes with the handles built into the side, the box truly signified that I had been fired from my seven-year relationship.

The move was cruel and calculated, but it was factual. A Texas vagabond who never left owned enough possessions to where she couldn’t pack up and move to another town at the drop of a hat, the few things which were truly mine sat cased in that box.

I tipped the contents of the box out onto the floor to take stock of my arsenal. A hairbrush, a stick of Secret with only 25% remaining, a frayed toothbrush, a half-filled pint of cheap vodka and a few changes of clothes (unwashed) fell out onto the stiff carpet. Stuck in the bottom of the box were my only non-essential possessions that Luke returned to me - my high school yearbooks.

I laughed out loud when I saw the yearbooks lying there next to a pair of stained socks. The yearbooks were the only possessions of mine recovered from my mom’s house after she died, mailed to me by my aunt Helen along with a note which scolded me for my lack of sobriety at my mom’s funeral.

Nothing else to do on a Winter’s Sunday afternoon and a pinch of sad nostalgia coursing through my veins, I sat down on the floor and started combing through the yearbooks. I never could have imagined my early adult life would get so sad that I would yearn for the days of acne, broken braces, 7:50 a.m. bells and my fickle group of friends from East Lubbock High School, but that’s where I was. Sad. Sad. Sad.

The yearbook at the bottom of the pile was not mine. Bound with leather, full-color and featuring a golden emboss of a stately-looking manor on the front, I figured it had to be from Luke’s private school in Dallas - Worthington Academy.

A few turns of thick pages confirmed my thoughts and sent me flipping through endless headshots of well-put-together teens bound for success or at least inherited money and inane messages written in permanent marker.

I stopped on the Class of 2000 which produced Luke Hanratty, a thin bastard from third-generation money with jet black hair that always perfectly fell to the side, dark eyes and years of suppressed rage he hid behind passive indifference. I found his portrait and stared into the face that I loved for almost seven years and felt those same emotions I had before he sent me a text saying it was over. I still loved the guy, even if I hated him.

I found the messages scribbled next to the portraits more interesting than Luke’s senior portrait. It was like an ancient Facebook - portraits of people’s best looks next to their names and their activities, but the best part was the photos which had comments written on them in black ink.

Luke had a lot of thoughts about his classmates and none of them were nice.

FAG...FAT...HORSE FACE.... BITCH....ASSHOLE….

I couldn’t believe I had attached myself for so long to a man so vile. Luke was known for having a caustic sense of humor, but this was over the top. He almost never went home to visit his parents in Dallas. Maybe it was because he hated everyone he grew up with, or vice-versa.

I skimmed through most of the insults, but one particularly caught my eye. A black-haired girl with a pale face and dark makeup named Kirsten Butler drew extra hate from Luke’s pen.

SLUT was written above her head, but that was just the start of it. Her entire profile was covered with a dark X, her name was crossed out - I could only actually read it because the ink had faded, and her eyes were dotted with red marker.

I at first assumed Kirsten was just one of Luke’s high school exs that we never really talked about, but I also recognized that name and that picture of the dark-haired girl half-smiling with the dimpled cheeks. I hit up Google on my phone for Kirsten Butler from Worthington Academy.

The results sucked the breath out of me and confirmed that I was vaguely familiar with Kirsten.

Kirsten Butler went missing from her dorm at Texas Christian University just a few weeks into her first Fall semester in October of 2000 and was never seen or heard from again. No body, no rumors of popping up in another country with a different name, no clothes found on a desolate country road out in West Texas. Nothing.

Kirsten’s case was before the days of social media where she would have become a national celebrity, but she was a brief regional celebrity around Texas and I was vaguely familiar with her case from back when it happened. I had no idea that she went to school with Luke though, let alone was in his class and a most-hated figure of his.  

Google produced a little on Kirsten’s case. I found some old Dallas newspaper articles, a missing person’s report, even a few posts on Reddit in a section for Unsolved Mysteries, but not much information.

The yearbook ended up unearthing more clues than the Internet. I noticed a message from Kirsten scrawled in the back pages of the book in the signatures section.

Luke - Creative Writing rocked with you in it. Let me know if you want to swing over to Fort Worth sometime next year if you get bored sticking around in the big D at SMU. 214-555-3116. Kirsten.

I called the number. No one answered. I thought nothing of it.

*

I received a call from a 214 area code I didn’t recognize when I was walking out of a depressing job interview.

“Hello.”

“Who is this?” An elderly woman’s voice crackled through the phone sounding confused and accusatory at the same time.

“Um. Who is this? You called me.”

“You called Kirsten’s pager.”

It took me a few seconds to register what a “pager” was, but I eventually journeyed back to the call I made to Kirsten’s number in Luke’s yearbook.

“Ooooooooh. Yeah, I’m sorry. I found that number in a yearbook and called it. Uh…”

I really didn’t know what to say. I never thought my random sleuthing would produce anything and I didn’t really have anything that I wanted to accomplish.

“Well, I’m Kirsten’s mother, Susan. No one has called that pager in seventeen years. You understand how I could be a little tuned up? Whose yearbook was that in?”

My first thought was to protect Luke. Then I thought about the breakup. The other woman. The horrible things he said to me in fights.

“Luke Hanratty.”

The other end of the line was silent for a good five seconds.

Susan’s confrontational abrasion melted away into the sweetness of a Southern grandma, sweet as molasses.

“Now sweet thing, do you think you could bring that yearbook to me up in North Dallas?”

“Can I just mail it to you or drop it off?”

“I can fix you dinner and explain you why it has to be this way if you can do that. There are some things you probably need to know I can only explain in person.”

*

Susan lived in a little house in a part of Dallas that will probably be cool in five years, but is just shitty now. I had to avoid 10 landmines of dog feces as I walked up to the faded and rotted pink front door. I knocked on the door softly as to not disturb a hornet’s nest which bustled above the door frame.

The yips and clawlings of what sounded like a dozen lap dogs erupted as soon as I knocked.

“Heavens,” I heard Susan growl from the other side of the door.

The door opened and five different dogs all only a little larger than your average squirrel darted at my feet. I tried to act like it didn’t bother me, probably failed.

Susan looked better than I thought she would. Thin, but healthy with a head of long blonde hair (dyed, but dyed well) and a classy outfit of black leggings, a black and gray cardigan over a plain white shirt and hipster glasses. She was far from the obese, elderly pile of ash I expected to find.

I handed Susan the yearbook, but she made no move for it.

“No, no, no. I made short ribs and peach pie for two, not one.”

Susan gave me a warm smile. The kind I yearned for from a parental figure my entire life. I relented and followed her into her home and held my breath, fighting against the burn of pet urine mixing with the scent of baking food.

*

Susan cooked the kind of food I always wished a parental figure would cook for me - gourmet, but down home, hearty and filling. I felt over-indulged about three bites in, but couldn’t stop eating.

“I’ve been waiting for someone to dial that pager for seventeen years,” Susan turned the conversation to the real reason I was there after about 10 minutes of small talk while I was in mid-bite.

I had forgotten why I was even there for a second.

“We got that pager for Kirsten as a compromise. She wanted a cell phone, but we didn’t want to give her everything we wanted, so we met in the middle with that thing. I liked that it helped us keep tabs on her when she headed over to Texas Christian, but Dave wasn’t sure.”

Susan nodded her head sideways at a headshot of smiling middle-aged man in a Sears photoshoot who I assumed was Dave. His mug was pinned up on the wall next to a toaster.

“Dave passed just a couple years after Kirsten went missing. Pancreatic cancer. Awful. I think he was poisoned by the awfulness of what happened to our only daughter. We spent all the money we had on his no good pancreas and the pursuit of any clue we could with Kirsten. Had to eventually downgrade to this jalopy, move out of the community we raised Kirsten in, but, the good news is, we got our first god forsaken clue, for free, fifteen years after I had given up, right?”

I didn’t know how to react.

“It’s okay. I’m as happy about it, as I can be,” Susan went on. “And I’ll give you a break. I had you come here because things aren’t as simple as you might think they would be.”

“Okay…”

I couldn’t help but be pensive, and not just because one of Susan’s dogs was licking my ankle.

“We believe someone was actively working against us in the Dallas Police Department. Anything we ever, I mean ever, turned in as evidence always seemed to go missing. Any question we had, we never got an answer to. They blamed everything on Dave putting the investigation into his own hands early on, saying he crossed a lot of boundaries that negated evidence, but it was bull. Dave only made a few calls. Checked out Kirsten’s dorm room, talked to her roommate, because the police weren’t. Kirsten’s roommate called us up one day asking if the cops were ever going to talk to her because it had been weeks and they hadn’t even contacted her.”

“Wow.”

“But supposedly, Dave inviting Kirsten’s roommate over here for salad one night was enough to poison the whole investigation. So...that’s why I don’t want you to just turn over that yearbook to someone. I also want you to know that...this is hard to say...but...you might want to be careful with how you handle this as well. We had some early potential leads from a couple kids at Texas Christian who may have saw something, knew something, but they quickly fell off into the ether, and we never found out why. So...I don’t know what in the world it is, but just know that dialing that number, may have changed your life.”

“Okay, well, thank you, I guess.”

“I’m sorry. It is what it is. I want to ask you if you are comfortable answering some questions though?”

“I guess I might as well.”

“You said the yearbook you found belonged to Luke Hanratty?”

“Yeah.”

“And what is your relation to him if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Ex-boyfriend.”

“Oh, sorry if I opened a wound.”

“It’s okay. It was already still open. It’s only been a few weeks.”

“Well, I hate to say it, but he might be Jake Doe. You see, we know there was a boy in Kirsten’s life around that time, but we have never had a slight inkling as to who he might be. They did everything in heavy secrecy, because she was technically still with her high school boyfriend, Brady, even though he went to A and M. They were trying to do the long distance thing, but her friends at TCU said they think she was hanging around with another boy. He would block his number before he paged her. She would call him from the phones in common areas around the campus. Maybe it was your Luke?”

At this point, I didn’t know what else I could do for Susan. I wanted to help her, but I didn’t want to spend anymore of my life doing anything that had anything to do with Luke Hanratty. I was ready to move on.

“I can give you the yearbook,” I said.

“I looked up Luke online before you came too and it looks like his parents own Hanratty and Hanratty, the big law firm downtown. They’ve worked defending the police in big cases. They might be blocking evidence through their connections knowing their son might have something to do with it.”

That made sense based on the soulless, yuppie, workaholic, only care about what people think image I got from Luke’s parents every time I met them. Luke told me once they would murder a baby if they thought it might help them get a big new case.

“Can I see it?”

Susan finally asked for the whole entire reason I was even there. I blushed when she quickly flipped to Kirsten’s picture and read the horrible things scrawled in there. I played with the last of the food on my plate.

“Well this is certainly interesting,” Susan whispered across the table.

I looked across the table and started to see tears form in Susan’s eyes behind her thick glasses.

“It’s just…

Susan had to stop and let out a few sobs.

“It’s just...I know Kirsten wasn’t a bad girl. She didn’t do these kinds of things. She was a good girl. She didn’t deserve this.”

As bad as I felt for Susan, the situation was just too much and too awkward for me. I wanted to get out. I figured I had helped her as much as I possibly could and I had my own problems. I was beginning to think my boyfriend of more than five years may have killed someone. No matter how good that peach pie in the oven smelled (and it smelled really, really good), I wasn’t going to stick around for it.

I thanked Susan for her time. Told her she could keep the yearbook and excused myself before dessert. I took the 20 minute drive to my home on my friend’s couch with the plan to not do a single thing more and hope everything just blew over and took care of itself. It was basically a smaller version of my overall life plan.

*

A few days passed with nothing. I held some brief relief that the whole thing would be over.

Then the calls from Luke started.

I ignored the first few. Let him leave vague voicemails about how I needed to call him back about something “serious.” This was his usual MO for when we were about to break up. He would start a horrible fight or do something really bad and then try to pull the romantic comedy move of doing something over the top romantic, or would buy me some piece of jewelry and the wounds scabbed over enough to drag our doomed relationship onward. Not this time.

The calls from Luke kept coming and coming and coming and I kept ignoring and ignoring and ignoring, but I knew he was going to do something drastic, I just didn’t know what. An oozing sense of dread seeped into me and stuck me on my friend’s couch for days where I was crashing, unable to move anywhere but between the couch, bathroom and refrigerator.

Luke made that drastic move in the middle of the night during one of my trips to the bathroom. I heard his voice whispering from outside the open window as I washed my hands in the near dark.

“Hey, Kayla.”

I screamed as loud as I ever have in my entire life. I looked out the half-opened window and saw the shadow of Luke standing in the bushes outside my friend’s ground-floor apartment. He looked at me through the cover of a dark hoodie, with his shaggy hair jutting out the front.

“Sorry, I knocked on the door, but no one answered and you won’t answer your phone,” Luke whispered.

“So you fucking go Norman Bates and look at me through the bathroom window? Get out of here!” I screamed back.

“No, you don’t understand. You did something you shouldn’t have done, now these people are after me.”

“No. You did something you shouldn’t have done!”

I slammed the window shut.

“If I see you again, I’m calling the cops,” I yelled at the closed window.

The texts started to come in from Luke as soon as I got back to the couch. I deleted them without reading them and eventually blocked Luke’s number after about the tenth call and text.

I covered myself in a blanket on the couch and planned on staying right there until the day I died.

*

I started to ease back into life as the days past without communication attempts from Luke. I got back up off the couch and started my job hunt again, went on walks to the park, went shopping for food with the little money I had a couple of times and even went for a couple aimless drives around town to clear my head after my friend said she had to move out in two weeks because she was going to move in with her boyfriend.

One of those blank-minded drives took me out to the edge of the city, to the parts of town where the urban sprawl started to melt into the hints of rural America. Little patches of woods and lonely gas stations dotted the roads.

Officially lost, I pulled over so I could load up directions to get back home on my phone. I slowed down next to a little patch of woods between run-down houses on a dark road.

A knock came at my window before I could get my phone out. I screamed even louder than I did when Luke confronted me in the bathroom.

I looked up at the aged face of a woman that I knew, but couldn’t quite put my finger on why I knew her.

“Can I talk to you really quick?” The woman asked, her voice also vaguely familiar.

I stared at the woman for a few seconds and it started to register. It was Luke’s mom, Nancy. She had aged a lot since the last time I had seen her.

I rolled the window down about two inches.

“What do you want?” I asked.

Another long look revealed exhausted eyes in Nancy’s skull and a coat of sweat.

“Have you seen Luke?” Nancy asked.

“No. I’ve been avoiding him, and I think you’re pretty disgusting, personally,” I spat back.

“What are you talking about?”

“I found out about Kirsten. The missing girl from TCU. It seems pretty clear Luke was involved, and you helped cover it up.”

“What?” Nancy shot back, sounding offended. “You have no idea,” she then muttered under her breath.

Nancy returned the long, hard look I was giving her.

“You probably don’t realize this, but you’re in serious danger. I need to know what you did, and who you talked to.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Just listen,” Nancy cut me off. “I’m guessing you talked to Susan for some reason.”

“Yeah, um.”

“That was a bad idea,” Nancy cut me off. “You have no idea what you did.”

A pair of headlights drove up behind us and stopped to the right of Nancy’s car which was parked behind mine.

Nancy looked over to the headlights. The last drops of life flushed out of her face.

A bang sound rang out in the night and Nancy’s SUV started to sink to the right.

“Shit,” Nancy seethed underneath her breath.

Nancy turned to me with her eyes wide.

“Let me in the car,” Nancy said.

“Why would I let you in my car?” I asked.

I was interrupted by the sound of a car door closing behind us, over by Nancy’s SUV.

Nancy started wrenching on the door handle. The door wouldn’t open. I already locked it.

“Please,” Nancy pleaded with a depth of desperation I had never heard come out of a human being.

I heard heavy footsteps come up towards the back of my car from behind.

“Pleeeeeease,” Nancy whined out.

I flicked the unlock button.

“Go to the back door,” I said.

Nancy jumped over to the backseat door behind me and slipped in the car. I hit the doors lock as soon as she opened the door.

“Go. Go. Go,” Nancy yelled as soon as she was in the backseat.

I floored it. My Ford Focus jetted off. The force snapped my neck back.

I didn’t let up off the gas until we were well away from the scene.

“What was that?” I screamed.

“What did you do?”

“I found Luke’s old yearbook, saw that he had written slut and all this horrible stuff on Kirsten’s yearbook picture and then found her phone number written in the back of the thing. I called the number, an old lady called me back and said I needed to bring the yearbook to her. I did.”

“I can’t believe you made it out of that place alive,” Nancy said with a laugh.

A pair of headlights entered my rear-view mirror.

“I think they’re following us,” I said, frantic. “Is that her?”

Nancy looked back, then back at me.

“Just keep driving.”

“Why is she...

I hadn’t been paying attention to the road, distracted by Nancy and the headlights. I stopped talking because the curve of a road was just feet in front of my car. I slammed on the brakes, but it was too late. We careened into a ditch and smashed into the hard ground.

The world went into slow motion for a few moments. I saw my cell phone fly by my face. I heard the sound of glass breaking. I felt something hard smack against the back of my head. Then the lights went out.

*

The coppery taste of blood stung my tongue when I woke up. I gagged and coughed before I opened my eyes and threw my body forward to hit the ground, but couldn’t. I was suspended by something which tethered me from behind.

I opened my eyes and saw nothing but a blank, white wall in front of me. I had never been so terrified in my life to see just a blank image. I screamed out without even knowing exactly what I was screaming about yet. My body had a thick, dull ache, my core tingled with sharp pain when I screamed.

“HELP!” I screamed. “Please, please, please, please,” I punctuated my bellar with pathetic pleads.

“At least you’re up,” a voice whispered from behind me.

I jumped from the sound of a voice, but calmed, once it registered in my brain as belonging to Luke.

I tried to wiggle in my seat and turn around, but couldn’t. The lashes of rope tied tight around my wrists and feet wouldn’t let me. I was stuck staring at the blank wall.

“Don’t fight. Save your energy. There is no use trying that yet, and you’re probably really hurt,” Luke said.

I stopped and took in a few huge breaths.

“What is this?” I asked with sobs building in my jaw.

“She locked us somewhere in her house, I think. She had me blindfolded when I got brought in here. Someone must be helping her, because someone carried me in here and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t have that kind of strength,” Luke explained.

“What is the deal?”

“This woman has always thought I was responsible for the disappearance of her daughter, and she is right, but not for the right reasons. I helped her daughter disappear her freshman year at TCU, but only so she could get away from her, and her sadistic husband. We were semi-dating and she told me all about the awful abuse she suffered and she worried because it was getting worse as she got older, more physically mature. The truth was the cops knew they could never prove anything against her parents and they believed me and my parents when we told them about why and how she ran away, so they didn’t care.”

“What does she want with me?” I screamed back.

“My parents were able to keep it so she never knew who I was, but now thanks to my wonderful ex-girlfriend, I’m tied up in this psycho’s basement while she probably prepares a Hansel and Gretel marinade for us. Congratulations.”

Guilt burned in my stomach. Or maybe it was just the overall pain from the wreck?

“But why did you write slut, and all those horrible thing on Kirsten’s photo?”

“Oh Jesus Christ. That was Daniel. Daniel tried to date her in high school, but she wasn’t having it and he vandalized the shit out of my yearbook one drunken night. He wrote horrible things on like a quarter of the school’s photos. You know him. He’s a ten times even bigger caustic dick than me.”

I believed Luke. I had met his friend Daniel around 10 times and he had greeted me with a passive aggressive semi-insult about my hair or outfit pretty much every time. He was one of those guys that thought every day was one of those Comedy Central roasts.

“Well, what do we do now?”

My question was answered by a creaky door opening from behind us and what sounded like above us.

“Too late,” I heard Luke mutter under his breath.

The lights went out. The room went into complete darkness. I shivered. The sound of footsteps descending wooden stairs squeaked out from behind.

“Please…”the word quietly leaked out of my lips.

My soft pleading was answered by the sounds of gut-wrenching screams from Luke which started just a handful of feet behind me. The steps went back up the stairs and I heard a door close again.

I let out a deep breath. I listened to Luke’s screams fade away. I held my eyes closed tight even though the room was still pitch black. I think I hoped that if I closed them long and hard enough that it would all go away.

Wishful thinking. I opened my eyes and still stared at the darkness.

I started to cry. I wiped the moisture which trickled out of my nose from the top of my lip and tried to suck it back up into my nasal cavity with a hard snort.

“Don’t cry,” a voice whispered from behind.

I jumped up in my chair. Probably got the whole thing a couple of feet off the ground I was so startled.

The chair hit the solid ground hard on the way down and I felt both of the back legs fracture to where my seat was now wobbly. I leaned back against them to test them. They hadn’t snapped yet, but I felt I could make that happen if I worked at them hard enough now.

“You remind me of her,” Susan whispered from behind me.

The lights came on. I squinted tight against the burn for a few seconds. I slowly opened my eyes and saw that a large mirror had been stuck up against the blank wall in front of me.

I looked back at myself with a dark wig stuck on my sandy blonde hair, a pale shade makeup and purple lip liner caked on my face a late-90s outfit of loose jeans and a jean jacket wrapped around my shoulders. I was pretty sure I recognized the jacket from Kirsten’s yearbook picture. The white makeup looked familiar. I looked like a Kirsten impersonator.

Susan stepped into the field of vision provided by the mirror. She walked up behind me and put her hands softly on my shoulders, looking like a hair stylist who is about to ask “how does it look?” After a haircut.

“I couldn’t help but think it once you walked into my house. I can see why Luke had such an attraction to both of you,” Susan said, locking eyes with me in the mirror.

I looked off Susan’s eyes and leaned back in the chair, felt those back wooden legs flex just a little bit. It would only take one hard lean to snap them and make an attempt at a bolt.

“He may have taken her from me, but he can’t take you,” Susan whispered into my ear.

I put all of my weight against the back legs of the chair. The wooden pegs gave out and threw me hard against the floor. I grabbed hold of Susan’s coarse hair on my way down and dragged her down with me.

I ripped my tied hands off of the back of the chair and pulled Susan’s frail neck into my chest with a strength I had never felt come out of me. I squeezed Susan’s neck as hard as I could until I could feel the bones in her neck flex just like the pegs of the chair had below me.

“You’re going to let me go right now,” I whispered into Susan’s ear. “You deserved whatever happened to you. Luke told me what you were doing to Kirsten. You’re not a victim.”

“That’s not true,” Susan gasped out.

“Cut these ropes off of me,” I screamed into Susan’s ear.

“You gotta let me move my arms,” Susan yelped out from the vice grip of my squeeze.

I let Susan’s arms get clear just enough to move, but to where she could only make a small range of motions. I felt her pull something hard from her pocket. I looked down and saw a thick pair of scissors.

“Cut me loose,” I screamed into her ear.

“You think I’m bad...you don’t even know about him,” Susan muttered under her breath.

“What”? I fired back.

Susan didn’t answer. She just silently sniped the rope that tied my wrists together.

I recoiled from Susan and stood in front of her. I snatched the scissors away from her and went to work on the rope around my ankles.

“What are you talking about?” I asked as I ripped away the rope around my ankles.

“You’ll find out,” Susan muttered.

I pushed Susan away from me. I didn’t have time for whatever she was trying to do.

I saw a flight of wooden stairs at the other end of the room. I ran at them as fast as I could, leaving Susan crumpled on the cement floor behind me.

I pushed the door at the top of the stairs open and burst into what looked like a barn. The thick smell of hay and musty animal feces overwhelmed me once I stepped out of the basement I had been held in.

I didn’t have time to analyze where I was anymore. I just ran straight forward until I found another door and opened it up.

The hot sting of a summer day said hi when I opened the door. I looked around and saw a rural backyard lined with dense forests of trees which formed a U around a pale yellow farmhouse. It was a beautiful, quaint setting for the most-horrifying event of my life.

Little did I know at the moment, that dash through the backyard would only be the beginning of the horrors I was going to experience. I was only a few strides into my run across the grass when I heard a frantic clicking sound ring into my ear and felt myself get flung high up into the air.

I hung in the air for a few seconds feeling weightless. I looked down and saw a crude crater in the ground where I just was. An ugly scar on the otherwise beautiful grass. I tried to form an idea around what had happened, but couldn’t before I fell hard back to the earth.

I felt footsteps approach me from the direction of the house as my ears rang. I looked up at the sky until my view was overtaken by the face of an elderly man who I vaguely recognized for a few seconds before I went out.

It was Susan’s husband, Kirsten’s dad, Dave, his face horribly weathered since that photo which rested in Susan’s living room that I saw when I made that fateful visit. He smiled at me before everything went dark.

*

My entire body seared with hot pain when I woke up. I felt like a piece of meat in a frying pan.. The pain was so intense I could barely breath.

I knew the feeling of a hospital bed from when I had my appendix taken out as a kid. I was all too familiar with that thudding pain which develops in your lower back when you lay down in a stiff bed for too long.

“Ugh,” I groaned.

I looked around the lonely hospital room thinking about how much whatever happened was going to cost me. Well, cost may be the least of my concerns. Nancy walked into the room before I could even buzz a nurse for some pain medication. She sat down in a chair at the foot of my bed and looked at me with a stone face.

Nancy filled in the missing pieces from the incident. She had been left at the scene of our wreck, but I had been taken away by Susan. I was taken to a farmhouse Susan and her husband owned outside of the city where I was held with Luke. The story Susan told me about her husband being dead was fabricated. He was alive and well and was a doomsday prepper out in the sticks with a yard filled with homemade landmines, one of which I was unlucky enough to step on.

Stepping on the mine was actually a stroke of luck though. The neighbors were always on red alert for one of Dave’s land mines going off so they called the cops the second they heard one explode and ran over seconds after to find me knocked out in the yard, scaring Dave back into the house. It actually probably saved my life.

Luke wasn’t so lucky. He was still missing. Luke’s mom was pushing to get Susan and her husband arrested for taking Luke, or killing Luke, she wasn’t really sure, and kidnapping me for a period of time. She needed me to talk to the police to tell them what happened.

I agreed, but I just needed to heal up in the hospital for a few days. Luke’s mom was pleased. She said officers would be by soon to take my story right before she left.

It has been a day now and officers have not yet been by. However, something came by this morning that has given me alarm. It is probably just a coincidence, but a heaping piece of seemingly-homemade peach pie was on the food stand next to my bed this morning. It smelled delicious, but I didn’t care.

I threw the thing in the trash next to my bed and pushed the button for the nurse so I could ask her to remove the basket as soon as possible.

Originally published by Thought Catalog on www.ThoughtCatalog.com.