#(if you read this fast enough to get a ticket to it on Wednesday though that will be the sub not the dub)

[probablygayattorneys]

I went to another Ghibli Fest movie tonight, The Cat Returns and the whole time I was like “Wow, the Baron looks so familiar. I could swear I’ve seen someone dressed exactly like that before.”

Sure enough…

So I went to go see Kiki’s Delivery Service in theatres as part of this year’s Ghibli Fest, and the entire time I kept thinking that the boy in it reminded me of teenage Randall, just his general aura and everything, which was fine until…

Mark the similarities and the differences

[lire-casander]

WIP WEDNESDAY

since the amazing @wtfuckevenknows has tagged me, even though it's been months since i last wrote anything, i am sharing with you a snippet of a story that's not my usual fandom but that's helping me get back on track with writing (although it's been at a snail's pace).

“Flight AA2455 bound to Los Angeles, boarding gate number forty-seven,” calls the voice over the speakers.  That’s her flight, she realizes tiredly. She puts the envelope back into her purse before she stands up, grabs her carry-on bag and waits in queue for her turn to board the plane. The family in line before her is boisterous and chatty; the mother keeps babbling about the amazing time they will have visiting the grandparents and the father pipes in every now and then, while the two teenagers look bored out of their minds. Christa remembers what it was like to be a teenager; everything seems too big, too important, too much. Those are memories she cherishes, despite the existential anguish of not knowing who she was or who she wanted to be. She also remembers how she never got the chance to see her son go through that phase. When the line begins moving, Christa is drawn back from her memories. The teenage girls in front of her drag their feet through the floors as though they’re being sent to a slaughterhouse instead of to sunny Los Angeles. Christa sighs as she follows in their steps, and when it’s her turn to show her boarding ticket she smiles at the flight attendant who’s just doing his job. “Business class,” the attendant reads out loud. He frowns before addressing her. “Ms. Lorenson, your ticket is business class. You really didn’t need to wait in line. You could have boarded through our fast-boarding lane.” “I don’t mind waiting,” she smiles at him again, calmly collecting her ticket. “It helps me stay grounded, you know?” The attendant doesn’t say anything as she swishes past him and steps into the finger leading to the airplane. One of her secretaries picked the flight tickets for this trip; it’s been long enough since Christa has taken care of anything regarding her professional life herself. The hospital had hired two assistants for her office once the number of her patients became too large to be handled by just one person — especially one as busy as Dr. Christa Lorenson. And since she’d treated this invitation as a work issue, she’d left it in the capable hands of her secretaries. They always book her business class whenever she needs to fly out of town due to work, which doesn’t happen that often, but often enough for her to have accumulated some miles under her belt. Business class is a whole new world. She takes in the shiny seats, distributed so the passengers can sit almost on the ground and lie down for the six-hour flight that’s ahead of them. Waiting patiently for another flight attendant to take her to her seat, Christa notices the passengers that have already found their spot for the trip. There’s the typical businessman, taped to his laptop as he types furiously away on the keyboard. She also sees a woman, seated next to the bathroom exit, who’s checking her own reflection in search of imperfections in a pocket mirror. When Christa allows her eyes to wander further away, she spots a dark mop of hair sticking out over the edge of the backrest of the seat. She frowns; there’s something about it that inexplicably puts all her senses on alert, making her think about running away, but before she can decipher what’s going on with that, the flight attendant reaches her with a professional smile on her face.

[gallifrey1sburning]

Hi 👋 a prompt you can take or leave: Draco is very unsure whether he is being flirted with or this is an extension of their office rivalry that he doesn't understand (or the reverse!) Ty!

@skeptiquex and @ihavesomeideawhatimdoinghere, I read both of your prompts back to back, and they worked really well together, so I squished them into one. I hope you enjoy! Thank you both for sending me things, and thanks to @mxmaneater for the fast beta ❤️

—

The Tally

“One more for me!” Harry crowed, scratching a new tally mark next to his name on the chalkboard behind Draco’s head. “Better luck next time, Malfoy.” The board had a partner behind Harry’s desk, and the tallies recorded on one would reflect on the other, but Harry took great joy in invading Draco’s space and rubbing his victories in his face at every opportunity. Not that Draco was any better. It was part of the fun.

“Please, that one hardly counted,” Draco objected reflexively. “You only caught him because you tripped, for Merlin’s sake. Hardly an impressive arrest.” 

Harry shrugged and grinned, perching on the edge of Draco’s desk. “An arrest is an arrest.”

“Whatever,” Draco grumped. He and Harry had been playing this game for over a year now, and the margin was always extremely close. Harry was just barely ahead, at the moment, but Draco would catch up to him soon. He and Parvati had a potions ring bust coming up that Harry and Weasley weren’t involved in. Once that was done, he’d have overtaken him, and the smug expression currently gracing his colleague’s face would disappear along with his lead.

“So, any big weekend plans?” Harry asked, ignoring Draco’s pout.

Draco dropped the expression when it failed to produce the desired reaction. “Nothing too exciting. Yourself?”

“I’ve got tickets for the Puddlemere game on Saturday, actually. Ron was supposed to come, but something came up, so I’m trying to find someone else who might want to go. It would be a shame for the ticket to go to waste.” Harry was biting his lip and looking hopeful, and for just a moment, Draco thought— but no. If he’d wanted to ask, he would have asked, he told himself firmly. 

Taking care to keep his expression light, Draco pondered for a moment before saying. “I think McCutcheon is a Puddlemere fan. Maybe try him?”

“Oh, right.” Draco almost thought that Harry looked disappointed for a moment, but on second glance, his expression was clear and friendly. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll see if he’s free. Have a great weekend, Draco. Parvati.” He knocked his knuckles against the desktop twice before straightening and walking off, hands in pockets. Draco watched him go, sighing as he rounded the corner. It really was a pleasure watching him walk away.

He was brought back to reality by his partner smacking him in the back of the head with a stack of paperwork. “Ow! What the fuck, Patil?”  

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she hissed, looking even more exasperated with him than usual. “Every time he’s over here, you spend the rest of the day mooning, and he finally asks you out, and you say NO?!” 

“I do not moon!” He did moon, and he knew it, but he wasn’t about to say so. He still had his pride. “And he didn’t ask me out, either.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“He didn’t! He just said he had an available ticket! He very clearly had an opening to invite me, if he wanted to, and he very clearly didn’t.” There had been a number of moments like this, in recent months, and Parvati kept insisting that Harry was flirting with Draco. For his part, Draco kept insisting that she mind her own business, because she obviously could not read Harry Potter at all if she thought he was interested in Draco.

“You are an absolute moron.” Parvati shook her head in disbelief, but let it drop.

— 

They made the bust on Tuesday. Monday had been a rush of preparations and contingency planning and final logistics, and the stakeout had lasted all day, but in the end, it had been worth it—they’d brought in six players in one sweep and were confident that at least one of them would give up the rest in exchange for sentencing leniency. Draco had dropped into bed exhausted but elated.

He was still riding high when he sauntered into Harry and Weasley’s office on Wednesday. He leaned ostentatiously over Harry’s desk, stretching almost directly over his perpetually-tousled head to grab a piece of chalk and carefully add six perfectly straight tally marks to his own side of the board, giving him the lead by three. 

“And that’s how you do it,” he gloated as he straightened, smirking smugly down at Harry. “Suck it, Potter.”

Across the office, he heard Weasley groan and mumble something that sounded suspiciously like ‘he wishes’ under his breath. Harry looked a bit pink, but still smirked right back up at Draco, so it was probably just the heat. “Played that one close to the chest, didn’t you? But don’t worry, I’ve got something in the pipeline. I’ll be back on top before you know it.”

In Draco’s peripheral vision, he saw Weasley bang his head against his desk. “I’m getting tea,” he announced, stalking out of the office. Draco raised an eyebrow at Potter, who shrugged. 

Now that he was here, Draco didn’t quite want to leave yet, so he searched for something else to talk about. “How was the game?” he finally asked.

“Huh? Oh, the Quidditch game. Yeah, I didn’t end up going, actually.” Harry rubbed the back of his neck, not making eye contact. “Wasn’t really in the mood.” 

Draco wrinkled his brow, not really sure what to make of that, but then Harry asked a question about the potions bust, and Draco forgot about it, instead focusing on a dramatic retelling of his glorious victory.

— 

Harry’s next arrest came after a particularly brutal double homicide. It was all anyone was talking about when he arrived that morning, but, despite Draco’s expectations (and perhaps anticipation), Harry didn’t appear at his desk to brag about it. He was feeling a bit anxious by the time he finally saw him passing by his door in the late afternoon, and the feeling only grew when he did. Harry had bags under his eyes, and his usually confident posture was slumped. He didn’t look as though he had slept. He also didn’t look like he was going to stop.

“Hey,” Draco said, rising from his desk to catch him before he passed by completely. “Haven’t seen you today.” Are you okay?, he didn’t say, but he thought it was probably audible in his tone anyway.

“Oh. Hey, Draco.” Harry looked up at him, seeming a little lost. He looked hollow behind his eyes, and Draco could feel his eyebrows furrowing in concern. “Yeah, I’ve been…” he trailed off and glanced past Draco, into his office, to where the chalkboard hung prominently on the back wall. He seemed to curl even further in on himself. “I don’t want to count this one, okay?” he said, finally. “It doesn’t really feel like a victory.”

“Yeah, of course,” Draco said immediately, and he suddenly felt completely helpless. “Can I—” he hesitated, and then put a tentative hand on Harry’s slumped shoulder. “Do you need anything?”

He was half sure that Harry would pull away from his touch, but he didn’t. If anything, he seemed almost to relax into it. “I’m okay,” he said, and it wasn’t convincing, but Draco didn’t want to push it. “Thanks, though.” He reached up and gripped Draco’s hand where it lay on his shoulder, so briefly that his hand was gone before Draco could even fully register it, and then stepped back, continuing on his way.

Draco stood and stared at the chalkboard for a while when he got back to his desk. Then, he picked up his eraser and carefully removed one tally from his own side.

— 

Their next bust, they were on together. A small Neo-Death Eater group that the department had been keeping an eye on, but who hadn’t done much of anything until now, had suddenly decided to make a grand statement by threatening a large-scale attack on Diagon Alley if their (entirely insane) demands weren’t met. Needless to say, the Ministry was not interested in negotiation, and the whole Auror force had been called out en masse. 

Somehow, Harry and Weasley had ended up working in tandem with Draco and Parvati, and now Harry and Draco were back to back in a dead-end alley, dueling a pair that seemed to be the last desperate stragglers, while Parvati watched the street, ready to block anyone who might try to interfere, and Weasley stood to the side, clutching his ribs and sweating but still managing to hold a fairly steady shield charm. There was an unconscious, Incarcerous-ed body on the ground near him; his Stunner’s aim had been true, but the assailant had gotten off one last hex before it hit. He wasn’t in imminent danger—Draco had been hit by the same spell before, and it was extremely painful but didn’t cause any lasting damage once reversed—and although that would be easy enough to do, they didn’t have a wand to spare at the moment.

Harry and Draco worked together like they’d been born to it, and if their respective partnerships hadn’t been working so well for so long, Draco might have considered it a waste that they weren’t paired together. Spells flew around them like fireworks, and they cast and dodged and shielded and attacked without speaking, without pause, until, suddenly, it was over. 

“Ron!” Harry cried as soon as his wand dropped, but Parvati was already by his side, countering the spell, and Ron’s body relaxed almost immediately.

“I’m fine, mate. Great work.” 

Harry breathed out a sigh of relief and then turned to Draco, chest still heaving with exertion. Draco couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face even as he tried to catch his breath. He could feel sweat tracking down his face, his neck, his back, and he was streaked with dirt and—he suspected—blood; but they had won, and no one had died, and he was almost high on the rush of it. “I’m not sure who those count for,” he said, half laughing. “It happened too fast. Did you catch who took them down?”

Harry was grinning now, too, the buzzing energy of their win almost visibly coursing through him. He beamed at Draco, and he looked so fucking beautiful, even though he was just as dirty and dishevled as Draco was, that Draco couldn’t help but glance, just for a second, at those lips that he’d surreptitiously observed for so long as they stretched wide with joy. When he snapped his eyes back up, however, it was clear that Harry had seen, because the smile had morphed into something that Draco couldn’t put a name to, and his eyes were searching Draco’s for something. And then— 

“Fuck it,” he heard Harry say, and then there were hands on either side of his head and he was being—quite thoroughly—kissed, right there in the alley. He melted into it immediately, pulling Harry closer to himself almost instinctively. There was an iron tang of blood as their tongues met, and Draco wasn’t sure whose it was, but he didn’t particularly care. He didn’t care about much of anything, right now, besides Harry’s hands, and Harry’s lips, and the press of Harry’s chest and hips against his own, and whether Harry might want to reenact this moment later but somewhere with a bed and a lot less clothes.

“I TOLD YOU!” Parvati yelled triumphantly in the background.

“Fucking finally.” Ron sounded both amused and exasperated.

Draco ignored them in favor of sliding his hands into Harry’s birdsnest of hair, pulling lightly and making him groan into the kiss. He supposed this one counted as a win for both of them.

Also on AO3

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Texas relief, @doilycoffin donated $100, and requested Liam & Cordell Walker. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post.

(read on AO3)

One of Liam's earliest memories is the time Cordell dropped him on his head. Not actually accurate at all to the way it went but that's how it's told in the family mythology. He was really little, three maybe or four—for some reason that part's indeterminate—and Cordell was climbing the stable and playing adventurer, or maybe just showing off and the adventurer part was a good excuse. Liam was following Cordell around like he always did and he tried to climb up, too, on the fence that kept in the horses when they were let out for their run, and Cordell told him no and that he was too little but Liam was determined to try. Cordell climbed back down and tried to steady him where he'd made it up to the top rung of the fence, and Liam lost his balance anyway, and fell straight backwards and landed headfirst on the dirt. There was a little rock and then a lot of blood, and then stitches, and Mama fussing and their dad ripping Cordi a new one—Liam doesn't even remember that it hurt—but the part that sticks it as a memory is how they all rode together in the truck back and forth from the doctor and Cordell held his hand in the backseat and he was crying, the whole way home, a silent seeping kind of crying that made his face a shiny mess. Liam thinks about that weirdly often. Cordi looking out the window and crying.

When the story gets retold for new friends, or the kids, or Cordell's buddies from the Rangers come around for coffee and Mama's pecan pie, they tell it that Cordell's so clumsy he dropped his baby brother on his head. Liam sort of hates it, every time. Cordell laughs and does the aw shucks routine he's so good at, relaxed with his beer and shrugging embarrassed apology. When Liam was about to head off to college, his eighteenth birthday dinner, Daddy told the story again as a kind of miracle survival, and Liam got up from the table real fast and went out onto the porch, annoyed for some reason beyond measure. It was Cordi who got up and came after him and said, a little cautious, "What's up, Stinker?" and Liam said to him, mad, "Why don't you ever tell people it was me? I was the one climbing up after you. It's not like you did it on purpose."

Cordell just blinked at him. "What does it matter?" he said. "You were the baby and I was a dumbass kid. So what?" He hooked his arm around Liam's neck and he smelled like sweat and Old Spice and that laundry detergent Emily bought that wasn't anything like the one they used at home. Liam pushed at his side but didn't try hard to get away. Not that it would've worked. "It's how we figured out how hard that head was, right? Come on. Mama's gonna wonder if you didn't like the brisket."

Liam let himself be dragged back into the house, and Cordi pushed him down into his chair right between him and Emily, and Emily smiled at him easy, and passed him the potatoes. "One month 'til the dorms," she said, very quiet so no one else could hear under Cordell telling some awful lie about Liam having gas, and Liam laughed, surprised, and it just happened that it was the same time everyone else laughed so that was okay. He always liked Emily. Cordell punched his thigh lightly on his other side, and gave him a warmer more real smile, and Liam dropped it, and he didn't complain about the story again.

*

Seven years between them. Liam always wondered if he was an accident, even if Mama said that with Cordell going to school she was ready to have another baby around the house. Cordell was always the one who was getting into trouble. Rambunctious, loud, falling headfirst into things and getting dragged out covered in mud. Liam learned from his example what not to do. Do not: run along the bleachers at the football stadium and vault the handrails until your foot gets caught and you fall and snap your wrist clean in two. Do not: get caught drinking beer with your high school girlfriend behind the horsebarn, and make Daddy give the most mortifying sex talk in the world afterward. Do not: make friends with the most delinquent-ass kid in the whole hill country and wind up explaining every other week why, really, he wasn't that bad, give him a chance—

Somehow even then he was the golden child. Not the best grades, not the most obedient. That wasn't what their dad cared about. Cordell was good on a horse, good on his feet. Respectful when it mattered and devil-may-care when it didn't. In high school he was the quarterback, of course he was, and Liam was right there in the stands with their parents every Friday night, cheering his lungs out. Weirdly boastful with his fourth-grade friends: his older brother was the star of the football team. His older brother could ride a bull for ten seconds and get off hardly winded. Bookish, kind of short, he needed the borrowed glory of Cordell's success to be proud of. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it got him pushed over on the soccer field while some bigger boy went, gawd, William, who cares?

Liam never got in trouble. Never broke a bone. After bringing Cordell back from the hospital with a fresh new cast on his ankle and a dopey slightly-drugged smile on his face, Mama settled him in bed with Liam's help and turned off the light and then, in the kitchen, sighed and said, "Liam, you are a real relief to the mind, do you know that?" He was proud of that, too, in that moment. It wasn't until later that it nagged at him. A therapist asked him, much later in a sleek Manhattan office that smelled faintly of sage, "Do you think your predilection for being contrarian results from that time?" He went home annoyed with her, and was more annoyed when he told Bret the story and Bret didn't even turn around from the carbonara he was making and said, "Babe, you're the most contrary person I know."

He wasn't. He didn't—think he was. He… was, he realized, after a week of sitting with it, and a week after that it made sense. He didn't pick fights, and he didn't make waves. His rebellion was quiet. His hard head, forcing him to make his own space in the world. Not able to live up to Cordell and knowing instinctively that it would be awful even to try—and so taking the opposite turn, every time. It was better than being compared, even if he knew there was no chance but to be compared.

He studied hard. He read, all the time. He liked math and literature equally and did equally well in both. He hated P.E. but he did what he could there, too, and he learned to ride even if he didn't actually love horses the way the rest of the family did, and when Daddy asked if he wanted to join up with the little league baseball Liam asked to play soccer, instead, and Daddy frowned but Mama said, "Why not, I've seen enough boys drop foul balls for a lifetime." So, soccer, and most of his games were during the day or on Saturday mornings, but Cordi came to a lot of them anyway, and when Liam's team won Cordi would jump down onto the field and grab him up by the waist and crow David Beckham, right here! Little David Beckham for sale! Liam would struggle and then he'd be slung headfirst over Cordell's shoulder like a potato sack and his face would get so red from laughing that it hurt.

*

On September 12, 2001, Mama and Daddy were gone from the house when Liam got home from school and he was glad for it. That was a Wednesday. He was in sixth grade. The teachers weren't even trying to hold normal lessons and everyone was talking about what had happened the day before. Melissa Kettering was out that day and the rumor was that her dad had been on a business trip in New York. Liam had raised his hand and asked the social studies teacher if there was going to be a war, like there was after Pearl Harbor, and she sat down on her desk and shook her head and didn't answer.

He was trying to read his book for English when the phone rang. Cordell, calling from his apartment in town. Hey, buddy, he said, over the line, and Liam sat down on the floor by the phone table and closed his eyes, unaccountably almost about to cry. Is Daddy there? Liam told him he was home alone. Lucky, Cordi said, you can totally throw a rager, and Liam didn't laugh, and neither did Cordell, even though he always laughed at his own stupid jokes. Hey, um. I shouldn't—I don't know if I should tell you this but I've gotta tell someone, and Em's in class, and I just have to—I did something, and I need to—

He interrupted himself and Liam could hear him breathing over the line. He didn't want Cordell to say anything. If he didn't say anything then Liam could pretend that he was going to tell a story about some party they'd gone to at Emily's sorority, or that Hoyt had come back into town and they'd seen a show at ACL, or that he was gonna come stay that weekend, and maybe he and Liam would go riding. Anything but what he was about to say. Liam could hear it, in his head. He could hear it like it had already been said and it was echoing, now, inside, like a verse from a song he'd always, always remember.

Cordell graduated from the Marine boot camp on a Saturday in the middle of December. Liam went along even if he wasn't allowed to attend the actual ceremony and Daddy complained about the cost of the plane tickets until Mama told him to shut up. Liam sat between them on the flight and it was the first time he was ever in the air. Over the top of Mama's crossword book he watched the clouds go by over New Mexico, Arizona, with complete wonder. San Diego, then, different to Austin—palm trees, and the air so wet, and even the parking lot at their hotel smelling like warm flowers.

Mama gave him fifty dollars before they left for the graduation. They were bringing Cordell back, after, because they got one night with him before they had to give him back to the military. "Order a pizza," she said, "at 4:30 exactly, and we should get back at the same time the pizza comes so we can all eat together." Liam watched American Pie on the hotel tv while he waited, something he would never have been allowed at home. He made the call when he was supposed to, and when the girl on the phone asked him what toppings his mind went completely blank because he was never allowed to make that decision. Cordi liked ham and pineapple and none of the rest of them did. Liam ordered it with extra pineapple.

When a knock came on the hotel room door Liam jumped up to open it, cash in hand. The one holding the pizzas was Cordell, grinning at him with Mama and Daddy standing behind. "Pizza delivery," Cordell said, and Liam crashed into him for a hug so hard that Cordi almost dropped the boxes and said whoa, Stinker, soft and laughing.

His hair was cut off, an inch on top and shorter on the sides, so he looked like those pictures of their grandpa when he was in Korea. He was skinny, too, which Liam didn't get, because he thought boot camp was all about building up muscles. "Mostly running," Cordi said. He was tired, dark circles under his eyes. He was stretched out on one bed with his strange starched blue pants and the awful khaki shirt that made him look washed-out pale even if he'd been running around San Diego for thirteen weeks, and Mama was sat next to him squeezing his arm like he'd evaporate if she looked away for a minute, and even Daddy was hovering. Proud but worried. Liam sat by Cordell's boots and tugged on the laces, wanting to ask more questions but not daring to.

Cordi fell asleep before six o'clock. Daddy turned on the television real quiet to the news. More stuff about the invasion. Liam hoped it'd be all over by the time Cordi got there. Mama boxed up the remaining pizza, shaking her head. "Don't know why you picked pineapple, kiddo," she said, and Liam shrugged, sitting at the table, watching Cordell's face, turned away a little on the pillow. Liam wanted to shake him awake but of course he didn't. For his whole life, after, he gets a little sick to his stomach when he smells pineapple.

While Cordell was in Afghanistan Mama and Daddy had Emily over to the house a lot. She was sweet. Respectful of Mama, calling her ma'am half the time, and charming to their dad even though Liam knew that she and Daddy probably disagreed on more than things than not. She liked that Liam played soccer and asked if he ever watched the Premiere League. Liam didn't even know what that was. She helped Mama cook supper and went out and took pictures of the horses which made Daddy smile, and one time when Liam went outside after dinner to read she was there crying, on the porch, quiet with her hand over her mouth, and Liam hung back and didn't know what to say. "Sorry," she said, dashing at her cheeks with the heel of her hand. She licked her lips and nodded at his book, sniffing. "That's a good one. You should read the sequel, too." He did, and told her about it, and she smiled like a sunrise, the way she always did, and he felt like—he didn't even know, what he felt like.

Liam was the best man at their wedding. He felt and looked ridiculous. Fifteen in a tux and he didn't know how to tie a bow-tie, but Cordi didn't either, so Daddy had to do it for both of them, grumbling the whole time that they should've learned this by now. "Not a lot of bowties in Kandahar, Daddy," Cordell said, winking at Liam, and Liam—blushed. Ridiculous, and embarrassing, the way the whole affair and the lead-up had felt, but Cordell didn't seem to care or notice, so—there was Liam, blushing in a bowtie.

Cordell had only been back for a year and somehow things were off. He was serving the rest of his contract out in the reserves but he wasn't finishing up his degree like he'd told Mama he would. He'd entered the training program for the state troopers and was set up to be a highway cop, of all things. He'd rented a house in Austin with Emily and they lived together the whole year before the wedding—an argument with Daddy about that one, which Liam listened to from the hallway with his heart pounding—and they weren't even going to be married in the church because Emily didn't want a wedding mass and, Liam suspected, Cordell didn't either. Daddy lost that argument, too.

The wedding was tiny. Liam the best man, Geri the maid of honor. Emily's aunt that raised her on one side and Daddy and Mama on the other, and a handful of Cordell and Emily's friends making up the numbers in the little rented hall. Afterward they had a bigger barbecue out at the ranch and in front of the crowd Emily fed Cordell a dainty forkful of the lemon cake and Cordell responded by dotting a tiny bit of frosting on her nose and kissing it off, and Mama's best friend Sue-Ellen sighed and said to Mama, where Liam could hear, "Well, Abilene, maybe they're atheists but I daresay you raised that boy right every other way," and Mama said something dry back but Liam was watching how Cordell cupped Emily's cheek in his hand, smiling down at her like she hung the moon, and he thought, yeah. Yeah, Cordell was just about perfect, wasn't he.

"High school in the fall, right?" Emily's aunt said, later. "Emily says you play soccer. Going to try out for the team?"

Cordell and Emily were dancing, swaying in the grass, the bonfire leaping up behind them. His hand still on her cheek. "I'm quitting soccer," Liam said, without even realizing he was going to. "I'm going to try out for wrestling, instead."

*

He figured out he was gay relatively early. His friends at school got hold of a Playboy in fifth grade and didn't really know what to do with it beyond blustering. This was before anyone but nerds was on the internet, and Liam was a nerd but did a decent job of hiding it. Scott beckoned Liam over while they were waiting for the buses and showed him the top of the magazine, the bold logo and the girl with her boobs pushing up out of her bra—the group of them snickering, saying how hot she was—and that they were going to look at it at Scott's house later if Liam wanted to come over—and Liam said, "No, my mom's making me go to the store with her." The lie came out effortlessly.

They did have a computer at home, and dial-up internet it had been very, very hard to argue Daddy into. He hardly knew how to find anything but he did some careful searches while Daddy was out with the horses and Mama was cooking, singing bad over the stove like she tended to. Made Liam's face hot to see some of what he was seeing. Hoyt came over, once, while Cordi was away in the war, and he helped Liam and Mama dig out a bunch of tomatoes that hadn't grown in right, and afterward they sat on the porch drinking lemonade while Mama asked Hoyt all about the oil field he said he'd been working in and Liam watched how Hoyt's legs sprawled out on the porch, how his jeans hugged up against his calf muscle and how the sweat had made his white shirt nearly transparent, and he had to sit very careful on the bench with his knees drawn up to hide the effect it had on him.

When Cordell came home from Afghanistan they threw a huge party. Everyone came, Daddy's friends and Mama's, and Emily and their friends from college, and even Hoyt, magicked up out of somewhere (for the promise of free beer, Daddy said), and then Liam, the youngest person there, watching from the corner of the porch as always. Cordi was very tan and finally bulky with muscle and his hair had grown out, just a little, from that military buzz, and he barely detached himself from Emily the whole time, his arm always around her shoulders or hers around his waist, and when they did step apart his eyes followed her and she watched him right back, smiling at the most random times. Liam was fourteen and a little more aware of the world and he wondered abruptly if they'd had sex yet. Cordi had only been home one day and he'd slept at the ranch and not at Emily's apartment. How would they have found the time?

He was chewing his thumbnail over it when a sweaty weight crashed down on his shoulders, arms trapping his in. Hoyt. "Hey there, Stinker," Hoyt said, and Liam shrugged fretfully and said, "Don't call me that," and Hoyt laughed at him but stood up and ruffled Liam's hair completely backwards instead.

"Still pretty shrimpy," he said. He was grinning, like he had some big secret. "You planning on growing up anytime soon, champ?"

"Don't you have a sketchy job to get to?" Liam said, annoyed. He tried to fix his hair and gave it up as a lost cause the second Hoyt's grin got bigger. Asshole.

Hoyt sipped his beer. Twenty-one—he was allowed, although Liam had noticed that Mama was being a little free with handing out drinks to Emily's college friends. "Glad big bro's home, I bet," Hoyt said.

Liam didn't dignify that with a response. Hoyt laughed, under his breath, and held out the beer for Liam to take, which he did because he didn't know what else to do. "Go on," Hoyt said, nodding at it. "I won't tell your mama. Not fair that everyone else gets to celebrate while little Liam's sober. And boring."

"I'm not boring," Liam said, although he knew he was because half the kids at school clearly thought so. He took a sip of the beer, anyway, not knowing if Hoyt would snatch it away. Nasty, and he made a face that made Hoyt hoot, and then he took a bigger gulp, determined at least to get something out of it.

"There he goes," Hoyt said, weirdly delighted, and he clapped Liam on the shoulder the same way he would Cordi when they were in high school, and the bit of warm in Liam's belly went lower. "That's a welcome home."

Liam kept the beer, curled against his chest. He felt dumb holding it and also weirdly adult. "He's not even here," he said. Sort of scoffing. "Doesn't matter."

Hoyt curled his arm around Liam's shoulders again and ignored how he went stiff, and nodded out at the party. Music playing from a radio Daddy had set up on a truck-bed. Emily and Cordell, dancing in the firelight. Same as it would be for the wedding reception a year from then, although of course Liam didn't know that at the time. "Aw, he's here," Hoyt said. He squeezed Liam's shoulders. He smelled strange, like—skunk, and Mama's compost bin. It was gross but also kind of appealing and Liam shifted, hoping his dumb body wouldn't react. "He's just with his girl, and who could blame him. No call for getting jealous."

He wasn't jealous. Not—exactly. That night after Mama and Daddy went to bed the party kept on, and Liam went to his room and watched from the dark window, the bonfire still going and all the college kids still going, too. When he finally fell asleep he had a strange, blurry dream about Hoyt—building a bonfire together, and Hoyt smiling at him and being a jackass and then touching his face, the same way Cordell touched Emily's face, and then Hoyt touching his stomach, low—and then the dream shifted, the weird way dreams shift, and it was Cordell, touching his stomach, and smiling at him, and leaning in close—with his hair longer like it was before he enlisted—but wearing for some reason the dumb khaki shirt of his uniform—and then Cordell's hand—

When he woke up he was soaked and it was bright morning. He washed his underwear out in the sink, feeling like his head was screwed on to someone else's body, and then he hid the underwear in the hamper, and showered, and tried not to think about it. He had that dream or one like it on and off for years, until he finally lost his virginity to Michael in college and it went away. He never told his therapist about it, or Bret, or anyone. He could rationalize it but he couldn't ever acknowledge it out loud because of what it—felt like, to think about it. To make it real in a place that wasn't just his stupid, crazy, dreaming head.

He had the dream again the night before he came out to his parents. January 2nd, trying out his new year's resolution of honesty. He figured in a ruthless sort of way that if his parents kicked him out or hated him or tried to change him then at least he had early acceptance at UT for the fall and a full scholarship and it was just eight months where his life would be completely over.

Cordell was at home on the ranch and Liam figured that's what triggered it. A couple days of vacation, since he'd worked over Christmas, and he and Emily and baby Stella had stayed up for ringing in the new year, and everyone had taken turns kissing Stella's forehead when midnight struck. Liam had been allowed a glass of champagne, Mama not even fussing about it since it was a holiday and the house was full—so he had two glasses—and when he went to bed he could still hear Cordell laughing from the front room, telling Daddy some story about a bust on the highway, something about stolen Santa suits, something light.

He dreamed they were swimming, up at the lake, and Cordell was naked. Laughing, that same too-loud booming laugh, but just because he was happy and not like he was making fun. Being kind to Liam. Holding him from behind with his arms around Liam's chest, their legs slipping together in the water. Liam could imagine what it would be like for a man to do something to him, he'd seen porn by that point, and he'd seen Cordell naked too because of the vagaries of living in an old house without a lock on the bathroom door, but somehow there was still a disconnect in his head. He was turned on beyond belief but nothing—happened, just the vagueness of Cordell behind him. His big hands.

Mama took Emily and the baby in to town, that day, for shopping. Daddy said they'd just bought half of Macy's and Mama shushed him so Daddy was up at the barn, checking over the new foal. Liam sat on the porch with a cup of coffee and watched birds come to the new feeder Mama had got from Emily and he tried to rehearse it, in his head. What to say. He'd seen it in movies but it didn't feel possible to come out of his mouth.

Cordell sat by him, on the bench swing. "Since when do you drink coffee?" he said. Then, less casual: "Is that my mug?"

"Yes," Liam said, and didn't protest when Cordell took it out of his hands. He rubbed his palms on his jeans. He had a hard time talking to Cordi after he had one of those dreams and so it was a relief that most of the time Cordell wasn't around, that he was in town at the house he shared with his wife. With his wife, Liam reminded himself, as though that could help. Another thing to make Liam different. Wrestling instead of football, reading books instead of riding, and now—this, on top of everything.

"Whatever's going on," Cordell said. Liam blinked, came back to the world. The cold, and the swing barely rocking from how Cordi had set his boot on the porch and pushed, and Cordell looking at him very steadily. "You know you can tell me, right?"

Liam swallowed. "Even if it's—" Bad is what came to his mouth and he shook his head. He prayed about this, he resolved. It's not bad. "Weird?"

"If it weren't weird you probably wouldn't be being so weird about it," Cordi said, frank, and Liam shoved his shoulder. The dream dissipated just like that. How could he possibly be crushing on his brother when his brother is this much of a jerk. Cordell swayed, grinning, letting Liam push him even if Cordell outweighed him then by fifty pounds, but then he set his hand on the back of Liam's neck, more serious. "Whatever it is. We can figure it out."

Liam licked his lips, and nodded. He knew then that was going to tell Cordell the one secret, if not the whole of it, before they left the porch that morning, and Cordi would—back him up, with Mama and Daddy, even if he didn't get it. "Give me back the coffee," he said, and Cordell raised his eyebrows but passed it back, so Liam could take a gulp. The caffeine probably wouldn't help but maybe it wouldn't hurt, and it felt nice to hold the mug. "Promise you won't freak," Liam said then, even if he was—mostly, ninety percent, pretty sure—and Cordell said, immediately, "I promise," and Liam believed him. That was the thing, with Cordell, in those days. It was easy to believe him.

*

It's Mama who calls, when Emily dies. Liam's already in bed because he's got court in the morning and Bret shoves at his shoulder, says, "Oh my god answer it and then change your ringtone, I hate that song," and Liam's still fuzzy from sleep and doesn't quite process that there's no good reason Mama would be calling him after nine o'clock in Texas because she always thought that was bad manners, it had been drilled into him all his life, and he says, mumbly, still waking up, "Hey, Mama," and there's a sharp intake of breath on the other side of the line before she says, Honey, I'm sorry, but I have real bad news.

He flies out the next day. Bret tries to dissuade him. "There's nothing you can do right now," he says, as though that's the point. JFK to Austin-Bergstrom is four and a half hours and he spends the whole time with his chest this weird achy knot. It doesn't feel real but it is. He texted Mama his flight plan and she says that Daddy will pick him up at the airport, and when he gets into the truck Daddy shakes his head and says, "Good to see you, son," but without any truth to it. Liam doesn't take it personally.

Cordell's not at the ranch when they get there but the kids are. "Hi, Uncle Liam," Stella says, remarkably clear, until he hugs her, and then she curls his hands into his shirt and cries silently, her shoulders shaking. August doesn't get up from the couch, sitting there with one arm crossed over his chest and the other over his mouth, and he looks—Liam's always shocked by it—so exactly like his mother. Stella's a copy of her grandmother, to the point that Mama set her prom picture side by side with Stella's first dance photo and the only real difference was the dress—but Auggie always took after Emily, from coloring to temperament to those long straight eyebrows, that mouth that curves up into a wide, easy smile. Not smiling now, and not for a while, and when Stella pulls away and wipes her eyes Liam sits down next to Auggie and sets his hand on the back of his neck and Auggie just folds over, quiet, like whatever was holding him up just isn't there anymore.

"Where is he?" Liam asks Mama, in the kitchen later. The sun's going down. It hasn't even been twenty-four hours.

Mama's eyes are red-rimmed. "Where do you think?" she says.

Liam takes the truck. Lady Bird Lake is officially closed at night but of course that makes no difference. He parks and walks, up to the lookout, and Cordell doesn't hear him coming. He's sitting on the steps to the gazebo, his elbows braced on his knees. The light hitting his hair. Long again. Liam doesn't know how he's always skirting regs and getting away with it, except of course Cordi gets away with everything. Golden child.

He regrets the thought as soon as he has it. "Cordi," he says, and Cordell looks up in complete surprise. Liam smiles at him, as much as he can, and comes and sits on the step. He tries to think of what to say and can't come up with anything.

"Aren't you in court tomorrow?" Cordell says, after they sit there for thirty seconds. His voice sounds thick and distant.

Liam shakes his head. "Today," he says, and Cordell nods and huffs and says, "Right," and then looks down at his hands again. They're twisted together, his thumb rubbing hard and repeatedly at the mount of his other palm. Liam reaches over and puts his hand over the knot of Cordell's fingers and Cordell's jaw flexes but he lets Liam do it. "I'm sorry," Liam says.

"Everyone is," Cordell says, halfway bitter. Liam squeezes his hands and Cordell makes a rough low noise, some sound Liam has never heard him make. "Jesus. They won't let me go in to work."

"Of course they won't," Liam says, and Cordell pulls his hands away, pushes them into his hair. "Cordi, they have to—they're going to be looking for who did it and it has to be by the books so it'll stick. They're not going to risk screwing it up."

"I just want to—" Cordell cuts himself off but Liam can imagine what goes there. He touches Cordell's back instead and the muscle flinches. Set to fly off the handle any second. Fight or flight, but Cordell never used to run from anything and Liam can't imagine he's going to start now.

He stands up. "Wrestle me," he says.

Cordell looks up. "What?"

Genuine surprise. At least it's not misery. "Come on," Liam says. "See if you can pin me." These jeans are nice, were a gift from Bret, but he'll sacrifice them. He holds out a hand and Cordell lets himself be pulled upright, and it's a shock like it always is when Liam's been too long away, how much taller Cordi still is. Liam always was the shrimp. He pushes Cordell's chest, lightly, and Cordell slaps his hands away. "Cordi," Liam says, coaxing, and pulls at Cordell's wrist. "Let me take your mind off it."

Stupid thing to say and he knows it as soon as he says it. Cordell gives him an ugly look and shoves him for real. "Take my mind off it?" he says, while Liam's staggering backwards. Liam sets his boots in the dirt and braces, and when Cordell pushes him again Liam grapples, and they are wrestling, then. It's sloppy, bad holds, both of them in too-slick boots for this ground. Liam manages to swing Cordell around and get his back on the ground but Cordi's always been stronger and shoves him off, and then they're just—flat-out scrambling, Liam's hand sinking into a patch of mud and both of them breathing hard, Cordell twisting out of his grip and getting an arm over his chest, tight, before Liam eels over and flips them—gets Cordell on his back on the dirt—his leg over Cordell's—and then Cordi drops his head back against the ground and taps out, panting.

"You been practicing?" Cordell says. His eyes are closed.

Liam sits up, says, "Class at my gym." Cordi nods and Liam gets off him, kneels next to him in the dirt. The gazebo's bright and the skyline's pretty, on the other side of the lake. Liam looks at that instead of at his brother, so he won't have to see the tears seeping down Cordell's temples, wetting his hair.

"It's not okay," Liam says. He sets a hand on Cordell's chest. At the DA's office in Manhattan he's comforted widows, widowers, orphans. Some of them seeking justice but most of them knowing it won't really be found. Cordell, he thinks, is one of the latter type, but Liam tries out the lines he's learned anyway. "It's not okay and it's not fair. I can't pretend I know what you're going through but I'm sorry." He swallows, his throat trying to close without his say-so. "Jesus. I'm so sorry, Cordi."

"Yeah," Cordell says, rough, and grips Liam's wrist. When Liam looks down Cordell's eyes are still closed. They stay there for a while, by the lake, long past when it's uncomfortable.

When they finally get up, Liam's knees creak like an old man's but Cordell doesn't make the joke he should. He leaves Cordell's truck and drives them both back into town, and gets drive-through Whataburger that Cordell picks at instead of eating, and says, "Do you want to go back to the ranch?" and isn't surprised when Cordell shakes his head, no. They get a hotel instead, two queens and a respectable mini-bar, and Liam calls Mama from next to the ice machine in the hall and says that he's got Cordell, and they're fine, and they'll be back in the morning. She clearly wants to object but doesn't know how and Liam hangs up before she can figure it out.

He gets back, with the ice. Cordell's sitting on the end of the bed watching the news like it's the Superbowl. "I was thinking about the funeral," Cordell says, when the door closes behind Liam. "I have to plan the funeral and I don't even have her body."

Liam sets the bucket on the bar and sits on the other bed. "We'll help," Liam says. Cordell's cheek sucks in on one side. "You don't have to do any of this alone."

"Yeah," Cordell says, remote, and Liam looks at him. Weird hollowness in his stomach and he realizes only after a second why: it's the first time, all his life, that he can remember Cordell lying to him.

*

The Rodeo Kings operation is supposed to be quick. Three months, is the estimate: to get in, to learn the operation, to get out. They need an agent who can be convincingly skilled as a traveling rider, who knows a ranch operation, who can act. There's a depressingly short list and one name at the top of it. Everyone thinks it's a bad idea except for Graves, and Cordell.

"It'll give me something to think about that's not this," Cordell says, when Liam's trying to talk him out of it. They're on the back patio of his and Emily's house in town. The kids are still staying out at the ranch. It's two weeks after the funeral and they haven't gone back to school. Cordell hasn't shaved in a few days and the sound as he scratches his jaw is loud. There's no music playing from the kitchen window, like there used to be. The plants out here are already dying. Liam wants to grip Cordell's shoulders, get in his face and yell, but doesn't dare to. He gets a deep sigh, instead, and Cordell flipping a poker chip between his fingers like a restless card shark, and then a smile, fake as fake. "Anyway, who do you know who can ride a bull better than me?"

"No one," Liam says, and Cordell nods, like damn straight, and in the morning Liam goes in to the Travis County DA and announces he'd like to transfer offices, due to a family emergency that's going to keep him here in Texas, and it's only afterward when some calls are made and the paperwork's signed that he calls Bret, back in Manhattan, and leaves a voicemail that he's going to be staying a lot longer than he thought.

It isn't three months. As the operation drags on, Liam sweet-talks his way into being one of the assistant attorneys on the case and he tries to alleviate how Graves is getting more and more suspicious. Cordell's old partner James gets promoted to captain, six months in, and he vouches for Cordell, too, not that it seems to matter either way. Cordell's the one who's embedded with the rodeo and he'll either finish the job or he won't. They don't have another agent to send in, not without compromising the work that's been done so far, and nothing else will do but to wait.

The kids ask Liam for updates every week when he comes for dinner at the ranch. "I can't tell you everything," he says, like he does every time, and Daddy's quiet at the head of the table, and Mama quieter on the opposite side. Cordell has a rendezvous every Monday when the rodeo takes the day off with a burner cell phone and an agent waiting impatiently for his call, and his reports are terse: still trying to get them to trust me. They're suspicious of newcomers. The ring seems really tight and I can't figure out an opening. Give me time. He's allowed to call Liam the same day and Liam answers every unknown number on Mondays, giving hope to spam callers nationwide. Cordell usually sounds tired but he still calls and they have a dumb, simple conversation—about how the Rangers beat the Angels, how he's breaking in some new boots and has a blister the size of Indiana, how he's craving, inexplicably, sushi. "Sushi?" Liam asks, trying to imagine when Cordell ever tried it, and Cordi says, with rare humor, "Hey, I'm not a big fancy New York lawyer but I've had my share of raw fish," and when Liam hands the phone over to the kids they lean over the speakerphone and talk over the top of each other about a class project Stella did, and a history paper Auggie got an A+ on, and Liam watches with his hand over his mouth for the moment when Cordell has to interrupt and say, tired-sounding still, "Sorry, guys, I have to go," and the goodbyes have to be quick, and then that's it, for another week.

The first time Liam sees him when he's Duke it's a shock to the system. Seven months in and the reporting agent says that Walker missed his check-in. Walker—that's what they all call him, even when Liam's in the room with them. There's a small frenzy in the operation office. Graves calls for Cordell's head, predictably at this point. James, trying again to calm her down, but looking a little like he agrees. Liam leaves the office unnoticed and walks outside to feel cold air on his face and feel less—how he feels—and there's a text, on his phone, from an unknown number. The Alibi, Driskill ST, thirty minutes. Come alone.

Ridiculously illicit. Liam takes off his suit-jacket and tie and ruffles his hair into something unprofessional and goes. It's hard to park—Monday night football—and inside is the opposite of his scene but he finds a seat at the bar. A girl in a too-tight orange t-shirt gives him a once-over and he smiles tightly, ignores her, drinks a watery beer, and almost exactly on the thirty-minute mark someone sits down next to him and it's—not his brother.

Duke Culpepper was the fake name they picked. Originally from Texas but had some misdemeanors that made Texas unfriendly so he'd been hiding out in Tucson for a few years, working the rodeo there. Not dangerous but willing to get up to something that was, and he looks the part. He smells like sweat and horse manure and hay and some shitty, awful aftershave, and there's a bruise on his jaw like someone suckerpunched him, and he doesn't look at Liam but smiles sweet at the bartender and says, with a fake low drawl, "Darlin', I wouldn't mind a shot of bourbon, when you have a chance."

Jesus, Liam thinks. The bartender has an expression like Cordell slid a hand down the front of her jeans and made her the happiest woman alive—the shot takes about ten seconds to arrive, when Liam's been waiting for a second beer for five minutes. Cordell knocks it back in one motion and says, "Again, and—" and he turns, like he noticed Liam for the first time, "another round for my friend, here. We're celebratin'."

She blinks, notices Liam's empty glass. While the next round's being prepared Liam raises his eyebrows and plays his part. "What are we celebrating?"

"Got a new job," Cordell says—but no—it's Duke, who's saying it, Duke who's drawling lazy and has his hat cocked at an off-angle and who's got a bandana tied around his wrist which for some goddamn reason is working the whole, hot-ass look.

"Congrats," the bartender says, and Duke grins wide and winks at her and downs the second shot, letting out a little whoop. "Another?"

"Better make it a double this time, sweetheart," Duke says, and Liam puts his hand on the warm lean stretch of thigh knocking against his under the bar and squeezes, very lightly, a warning, and sees Cordell's eyes tighten just slightly, and sees how his shoulders round out, like he's ready to get in a fight. Cordell takes a deep breath and toasts the bartender, but turns to look at Liam, face a grinning glad mask. "Got a new girl, too. Real pretty."

The bartender's disappointment would be funny, any other time. "Your lucky day, then, huh?" Liam says. Cordell's knee presses hard into his under the bar. "Girl got a name?"

"Miss Twyla Jean," Cordell says, almost crooning it, and Liam raises his eyebrows—he thought they had embarrassing Texas names—and then Cordell downs the double-shot, grimacing at the sting, and then says, much quieter so that only Liam can hear: "All it took was me making it eleven seconds on a bull and she took me straight to bed."

Liam takes a deep breath. Cordell's jaw flexes, in the silence, and he puts the empty shot glass on the bar. "Thanks for celebrating with me," he says, and slides off the barstool, backwards. He grips Liam's shoulder so hard that it actually hurts. "Gotta get back. Job won't do itself."

"Godspeed," Liam says, toasting with his beer, and Cordell gives him a tight smile and tugs his cap and walks out of the bar, taking with him the smell of the stables and his too-tight jeans and this sensation under Liam's gut that's murky and dangerous, unsettled. His shoulder hurts. It's only after he's written down Twyla Jean's name and texted it to James, and gone home to the apartment where Bret's still bitching about the décor, and taken a shower, and pressed his forehead against the cold tile, that he realizes that Cordell was wearing a fucking Texas Rangers cap. The absolute bastard.

*

The night he hears from Cordell again he has a fight with Bret. The same fight, worked over the same way. Bret hates Texas. He hates being away from his friends. He hates the politics and the food and how Liam's always with his family. He doesn't want to go to family dinner at the ranch because he's sure Liam's dad hates him. "He doesn't hate you," Liam says, for the fifth time, but to be honest he's not sure. Daddy never seems to like Bret that much, either. Cordi's never met him and Liam wonders, like he's wondered many times, if they'd get along, at all. Wonders if that'd be a dealbreaker and then wonders, washing dishes while Bret watches MSNBC in chilly silence, if the fact that he's wondering if it would be a dealbreaker makes it a dealbreaker, after all.

The text comes as a relief. Annunziata's. He dresses down more carefully than the first time. It's a weird spot, on the outskirts of town where it feels less like Austin than like a suburb. Karaoke and Italian food and mostly-fake cowboys slapping their knees to the absolutely horrific song being sung—very suburb. And there, at a table right by what passes for a stage: Cordell. But, no: Duke, Duke Culpepper, with his arm slung around the shoulders of Twyla Jean and his lips on her ear, grinning, wild. It catches Liam's breath like it did the first time. Duke, confident in his body and happy and having a good time, easy. Hot. Jesus, Liam doesn't get how it's so hot.

He waits in the backroom and watches Cordell shoves his face into the water. It's disturbing how panicked he is, once he's Cordell again and not Duke. "You have to," he's saying—babbling—"You have to tell them, they're going to kill people, you can't let them go through with it—" but of course that's not either of their decision and Liam can't help. It's awful, an awful awful feeling. His big brother looking to him for an answer he can't give. Cordell pushes his hair back from his face and puts his hat back on and looks miserable but he goes back, he sits right back down with that girl and lets her slide her hand down his thigh up the inseam of his jeans and Liam watches from the corner of the bar, where he won't be seen, drinking a beer he doesn't want, seeing his brother be someone who's not his brother. Maybe someone his brother could have been. They're going to sleep together, tonight. Liam knows it. They've been fucking for three months. Is it easy, he wonders. It shouldn't be, for Cordell, but maybe for Duke it is.

He goes home to Bret and wakes him up, and apologizes for the earlier fight, and kisses him, and gets Bret on his belly, and fucks him that way, a little hard, kissing the back of his neck, making Bret gasp and flinch and groan, delighted. "Where did that come from," Bret says, lazy and satisfied, and when he falls asleep Liam takes a shower and then only then calls James, from the hall outside their apartment door, leaning with his forehead against the wall. The bank location has been obvious since Cordell reported about Twyla Jean; the only thing that wasn't certain was the time. It'll be fine, James says, firm, and hangs up on Liam to coordinate with the rest of the team now that Agent Walker has finally come back in from the cold, and Liam stands there with his eyes closed in the hall and thinks, yes. Yes, it'll be fine.

After the bank—after the clean-up—Graves debriefs Cordell for a long time. It borders on unlawful interrogation at a certain point but Liam doesn't dare intervene when she's this furious—he can't risk being taken off the case. It takes James making a call to her supervisor at the field office, who then calls her and pulls her out of the room, for Cordell to be given a reprieve, and Liam goes in to the conference room and finds Cordell still in the stupid black hoodie stained with Crystal West's blood, his head in his hands, breathing with his mouth open like he can't get enough air.

"Cordi," Liam says, and Cordell shakes his head. Liam licks his lips and checks the hall. No one's guarding them—they wouldn't, because Walker's one of their own—and he says, "Get up." Cordell looks up at him, finally. "Come on, quick before she gets back. Come with me."

Cordell follows him. Down the hall, left to go through the atrium instead of the bullpen, then through the glass doors to the hall to, at last, the men's room, and Cordell stands in the middle of the tile blinking until Liam nods at the sinks and says, "Do it."

He's sloppier about it, this time. His hair hangs dripping in front of his face. He pushes it off his forehead and looks up at himself, in the mirror, panting a little. Water drips off his nose.

Liam brings him paper towels and he dries his face. "You should take that off," Liam says, and Cordell looks down at his clothes like he has no idea what he's wearing and only just realized, and tears off the hoodie in an awkward tangle. Underneath his t-shirt is black so Liam can't tell if it's stained. The big silver cross swings from his neck.

"What happened," Cordell says. A croak.

"Graves didn't tell you?" Liam says, and then bites his tongue. Obviously not. "Clint and Crystal are both dead. Clint at the bank. Crystal crashed the car. They think she passed out. Blood loss." Cordell nods, tight, looking away. These are his friends, Liam reminds himself. These are the people he knew, the only people he really talked to, for almost a year. "Two more people died at the bank. Twyla wasn't there and we don't have information to tie her to the job. I don't know where Jaxon is but we have people looking. They're still trying to recover the stolen money."

"Graves did tell me that much," Cordell says, and turns around, leaning his ass against the sink. It's slowly draining, behind him. "I think she wants to arrest me since she can't arrest them."

"I think so, too," Liam says, and Cordell smiles a little. He looks like he hasn't slept all year. "You did your job. It's over."

"It's not over," Cordell says, immediately. He drags his hand through his hair. "Graves made that clear. The money's still missing and Twyla and Jax are in the wind."

"And Duke's being sent to jail," Liam says. "So his part in the Rodeo Kings gang is over."

Cordell wipes his fingers over his mouth. He's still wearing that bandana around his wrist. Liam wants to take it off of him. Throw it away, burn it. "Duke Culpepper, common criminal," Cordell says, drawling it a little.

"Never liked him anyway," Liam says, and Cordell smiles, dropping his head. Liam touches his shoulder, grips his neck. "Hey. Means you get to come home. The kids will be over the moon."

"Yeah," Cordell says. He brackets a loose hand around Liam's wrist and nods. "Yeah. Can't wait."

His smile faded, as soon as Liam said it. Liam thinks about that, for that whole night, and for the whole next day, after, when James tells him that Cordell put in for one week's leave. "You talked to him?" Liam says, and James shakes his head, says, "He called Connie. I think he still doesn't even know I'm the captain."

He tells Mama and Daddy that Cordell will be home next Wednesday. Stella's frowning, not eating her dinner. "I saw that bank robbery on the news," she says. Auggie's big-eyed, watching, next to her. "Was that Dad's big case?"

"It was," Liam says, and Auggie's eyes get bigger. "But there's a debriefing period. We need to make sure his undercover identity doesn't have any loose ends that'll tie him back to his real one."

Daddy's eyes narrow and Mama's quiet. Liam got pretty good at lying, over the years, but he never was quite able to fool them.

He calls Cordell the next day. "Tell me where you are," he says, and Cordell doesn't answer for a long moment, letting the silence stretch out over the cell line. Liam considers it a victory that he even answered the phone.

He has a room at the Fairmont, on the fifteenth floor. Liam knocks and it's a minute before the door opens. Cordell's in bare feet, jeans, an ACL t-shirt. Liam follows him in and the room is—nicer than Liam's current apartment, that's for sure. King bed, outstanding view. "Wow," Liam says, and Cordell says, "Better than the Super 8 in Kermit," sort of sarcastic, and then sits down on the bed like he can't stand up anymore.

Liam doesn't sit. He doesn't think he's really invited, even if Cordell let him in the door. "I told them next Wednesday," he said. "Mom and Dad, and the kids. A week. Do you think that'll be enough time?"

"Honestly?" Cordell says, and doesn't elaborate.

There's a table, with four chairs, like a dining area. On it a box, like one of the evidence boxes from the office. Liam walks over and tips back the lid and: there's Duke Culpepper. The striped shirt he wore when Liam met him at Annunziata's. That was—god, only three days ago. A plastic bottle of aftershave. The cross necklace. The gun. Liam picks it up and checks the revolving chamber—that one bullet, still ready. It makes him nauseous just like it did the first time.

"I know you're probably not okay," Liam says. Understatement, he thinks, of the century. He closes the box and pushes it away, toward the center of the table. When he turns around Cordell's holding the beer in one hand and playing with a poker chip, in the other. "I know you're going to need some time. But when you're done, we need you back. The kids, and Mom and Dad. And me."

"C'mon, you don't need anybody, Stinker," Cordell says, with the barest thread of levity. "You climb right up to the top of the barn all by yourself, when no one's around to stop you."

Liam pauses, confused by the subject change. Surprised, then. "You were there for that?" he says, and Cordell shrugs, one corner of his mouth lifting.

When Liam was eleven, and Cordell was at college, and the world hadn't yet turned over on its head. It was early August and his school hadn't started, and Daddy and Mama had gone over to the feed store to pick up a truckload for the horses. He was bored, and tired of reading, and he'd gone out to the barn and looked up at it and thought about how Cordell had done it, at his age or maybe even younger, and if Cordell could then Liam could, too, if he set his mind to it. It wasn't even all that hard, once he was looking careful for the places to set his feet. He sat down on the top of the barn and looked out over the ranch—and further, over the where the road into the ranch pushed out into the hills, down toward the town. He wondered how far he could really see, to the horizon.

"Swung by to pick up my football stuff," Cordell says, now. "Em parked on the other side of the house and I didn't think anyone was home, until I looked out the back. You were up there just—taller than anything." He shrugs. "See? Didn't need my help after all."

"I wouldn't have climbed it if you hadn't dropped me on my head," Liam says, and Cordell snorts, shakes his head. Liam bites the inside of his cheek and crouches, and Cordell's forced to look at him or be ridiculous and so Cordell looks at him. Liam reaches out and gets his hand, the hand with the poker chip, and squeezes it, and Cordell swallows and squeezes back. The edges of the plastic bite into Liam's hand. "Come back," he says.

Cordell takes a deep breath. "I will," he says. "I promise, Liam."

Liam stands up and hugs him, around the shoulders, and walks out of the room. He takes the elevator back to the lobby and steps out into the sunshine, and takes a deep breath, and calls Bret to arrange lunch. Cordell's promises.  Fifty-fifty, anymore, that it ends up being true. Liam decides to believe him. He's hardheaded. He might as well be hardheaded and optimistic about it.

[bokutosworld]

setsunai | oikawa tooru

setsunai. [noun, japanese]. a complicated sadness that painfully creeps through the heart. 

pairing: oikawa tooru x f!reader

wc: 2.5k words, established relationship, falling out, purely angst. (lil bit of fluff in the flashbacks which are italicized!)

summary: oikawa knows all good things come to an end, but the both of you are not yet ready, still holding on to that string that is keeping you together. 

--

no one really gets a warning when their relationship is on the edge of falling apart. like the first time you saw oikawa in the hallways of aoba johsai and got your breath taken away, you just woke up one day and knew.

it was the morning of his departure for the team's one-week training camp. still on the bed wrapped under the cozy covers, you heard rustling inside the room as he was opening drawers, taking clean clothes and packing them in his luggage. a scowl was on his face and he was scoffing as he rushed all over the place. you think his bad mood was possibly due to the fact that he woke up earlier than usual to go to the airport.

'what time will you be leaving on wednesday,' you ask him, voice devoid of any emotion, over dinner last week. now that he was a professional volleyball player, moments like this - seated together at the table and enjoying homecooked meals were rare - and though you were mostly used to spending not much time together, you couldn't help but get disheartened every time he told you he was leaving.

oikawa sighs, running a hand to smooth the creases on his forehead as he answers, 'fuck, i forgot about that.' he fishes his phone from his pockets and checks his schedule. 'our flight's at six-thirty in the morning.'

you nod in understanding and offer, 'want me to help pack your things in advance? how long will you be gone this time?' he seems to ease at your suggestion and reaches to bring your hands over his lips, 'i'd appreciate that a lot, babe. i'd also need you to wake me up too, wouldn't want miss it. it's only for a week, i'll be back before you know it.' he winks and you break out in comfortable laughter, something that you haven't done in a long while.

it was as if your adrenaline levels shot up as you scrambled to get up and assist oikawa. the clock read 4:25 am and you can feel his panic. seeing that he was still in his sleepwear, you moved to place your hand over his shoulder, 'go wash up and change your clothes. i'll finish here.' but he swatted you away, albeit rather harshly that your sleepiness left. he exhales and lowers his head before muttering an apology for his action and leaves you to take care of his things.

it only took 20 minutes for you to organize and gather all that he needs in the bag. you waited for him in the living room, sipping a cup of hot cocoa to calm your nerves before apologizing. mentally, you were kicking yourself for forgetting to arrange his belongings and you already knew that he was disappointed. heck he had every right to be mad at you now, but you know he was restraining himself.

when he emerges all prepped and ready to go, you stand and give his bag. his passport was in your hands, together with the tickets, just to make sure he won't lose them. oikawa grabs and places them on the pocket inside his coat and as you were about to say you were sorry, he turns and makes a beeline to the door. he walks out of the room, no goodbyes, no kisses, no see you laters. and you were struck with the scary thought if he would still return to your home.

'i miss you, tooru,' you cry out to him over the phone. oikawa laughs and mimics your voice, 'i miss you too, y/n.' he thinks that he has never been this in love before. sure, he had his fair share of flings but, as cliche as it would sound, he knows you were different. though you were a year his junior, you were the only one who gets him and was willing to standby his side - through sunshine and rainy days, through wins and losses, through sickness and health.

he remembers your nearing college graduation. 'i wish you could be here next week. i want you next to me when i receive my diploma,' he swears his heart drops at your confession. 'me too, y/n. i know how hard you've worked for that,' he smiles even though you cannot see it. the past four years of long distance relationship - oikawa being in argentina and you in japan - was definitely not easy. but somehow, it worked, thanks to the constant calls and messages sent. despite the time difference, oikawa made sure to be there for you when your thesis mates were giving you hell, to stay up with you when you were writing your papers or reviewing for exams.

'i mean it when i say that i couldn't have done it with you, tooru. you're my anchor and you've been keeping me steady in this rocky life,' you sweetly declared. 'just wait patiently, sweetheart. i'll be there before you know it.' you thought it was one of his jokes, words that he would say to put your worried mind at ease. so you were certainly not expecting to see him standing at the door of the auditorium, holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers, as you received your diploma on stage. as soon as the program ended, you ran up to him and oikawa braced himself for a hug. when you pulled away, oikawa immediately brought his hands to wipe your tears and said the one thing you've been waiting to hear, 'i'm home.'

you hear the door open, followed by heavy footsteps dragging its way to the living room. usually, his arrival would be accompanied by his declaration, 'y/n, i am home!', and you would drop whatever you were doing to welcome him with open arms. but today, the both of you were greeted by silence. oikawa knows you were probably working in the bedroom and as much as he missed you, he settles down on the couch and drifts off to sleep.

oikawa didn't like fights, he learned from his parents that one should never sleep on an argument which was how he found himself on your front gate and pressing the doorbell to your house. he was anxious, remembering the pained look on your face when he lashed out at you. he was well-aware that you were only looking out for him, so as soon as he said those hurtful words and saw you running away, he wanted nothing more than to fix what he has done.

'what are you doing here,' you said as soon as you opened the gate. 'go home, tooru, it's late and you shouldn't-.' oikawa pulls you to his chest, a tight hold keeping you from moving away. 'i'm sorry, babe. i don't know what took over me, but i wouldn't say those again, forgive me.' wrapping your hands around him, you release a breath you didn't know you were holding and say, 'okay.' you pull away and bring your hands to his face, squishing him and he pouts. 'i don't want you overworking yourself. you're already working hard enough, i just want to remind you to take it easy sometimes.' and as he looks deep into your eyes that night, he thinks about what he could have done in his past life to deserve someone like you.  

oikawa comes to his senses when he feels a warm blanket being put over him. opening his eyes, he catches glimpse of your shadow moving in the dark and reaches out to grab your hand. feeling his touch on yours, you crouch down beside the sofa and push away the hair that has fallen over his face. 'do you need anything,' you ask. he knows he should say something, an apology, an assurance that everything was okay. but if he was being honest, the past few months has been different. the shared home which has been his safe haven has been feeling less and less of an oasis to him. the relationship, he feels, to be something he was doing out of an obligation, of a years-long promise he couldn't dare break. so he keeps quiet and you return to work.

for weeks following that night, things have never been the same. breakfasts are shared in complete utter silence, car rides when he would drop you at the office have been filled with ambient music. no more cheeky texts and random funny images popping in your inbox at random times of the day. like a plane making its descent at its destination, it seems as if your relationship has reached its breaking point and the story that you thought would have a happily-ever-after has made a turn for the worse.

after work, you make a trip to the supermarket and grab ingredients for oikawa's favorite dish. you still held hope and want to try mending things before they become truly irreparable. but that evening, he went home late. he sees you sitting on the dining room drinking the half-empty bottle of wine, the table neatly arranged with plates with his favorite food at the center. 'have you eaten? i made this for you.'

his heart aches at the sight of you, sadness glossing over your eyes and the forced smile you were wearing. he's always felt grateful whenever you would cook, knowing that it wasn't your strong suit. he always treasured moments when he could enjoy your food, however right now, he feels anything but that. 'why are you still up? i texted you i'd be home late,' he mutters, immediately making his way to clear the table. 'you shouldn't have bothered to do this.' he takes the drink you were holding, 'and stop drinking too much.'

as soon as he finishes cleaning, he walks to the bedroom but what you say makes him stop in his tracks. 'can we talk?' his mind and heart races, already knowing what you wanted to discuss. but he wasn't ready and in your intoxicated state, he thought you couldn't handle the results of the conversation. 'tomorrow morning. you're drunk tonight, nothing good would come out of it.'

however, you follow him, wrapping your hands around his wrists to make him stop. 'you're not the person i know anymore,' he hears. slowly, oikawa turns around and he sees wet tears threatening to spill from your eyes. 'why haven't you been speaking to me, tooru. these days, i see you, i think about you, but you're not my person anymore.'

there was no going out of this now, oikawa thought. like waves breaking the shore, the ending was fast approaching and he wonders if there was any way to soften the blow. so he pulls you close to him. the both of you lost in the embrace as if you were savoring the last few moments of warmth together. no one speaks and oikawa is scared that if he does, he would just break you.

'tooru,' you were now weeping. 'say something, please.'

he doesn't know where to begin. he can't bring himself to say that time wasn't on your side, that his volleyball career was taking off and it was getting hard to see you anymore. after all, he thought that being busy was just a lame excuse since the two of you made it through high school and university. how can he phrase that he thought love was enough but lately, he had nothing left to give you anymore.

'is there another person?' you ask, but oikawa was quick to say no. he cups your face, thumbs grazing over your cheeks to erase the tears. 'there is no one else.' he presses his forehead to yours, eyes closing as he takes a deep breath, it's just... it's not the same anymore.'

he continues, 'you are the best thing to happen in my life, y/n. i could never betray you like that.' you look at him, eyes asking the question why. 'i got selfish. in the process of improving myself and focusing in my career, i lost sight of you. i haven't been able to take care of you, to give what you deserve, to give you the world.'

'and the worst part was that i saw this coming.' he moves to sit on the couch, face hidden in his hands. 'i knew one day i'd hurt you but i still kept you around. and i am sorry.' this time, you sit beside him, turning his body to face you, 'all those years, it was my decision to stay. so please, don't give up on us now.'

'are we really doing this? are we moving in together,' you were excited, standing in the middle of the empty condo and already imagining the many memories that you and oikawa would create and cherish. he sneaks in from behind, snuggling his face to your neck. 'hmm, we are doing this. but only for a while, when we become married, i'll buy us a house.' you hum in approval, 'with backyard and pool?' oikawa chuckles and pecks your cheek, 'yes, with backyard and pool.' he twirls you around and brings your faces closer, 'your wish is my command.' you smile and close the gap, putting your lips on his to mark the important day.

was this really the finish line? in the very apartment where you made promises and envisioned a future together, is this where seven years of happiness will end? that was the agonizing thought plaguing yours and oikawa's mind right now.

'we'll only end up hating each other if we continue this,' he speaks up after minutes of eerie silence and you couldn't help but laugh dryly. he always had a strong resolve and it was ripping you apart how there was nothing to be done to make him change his mind. so you stand up, knees almost giving way at the thought of leaving him, 'alright. i'll sleep over at my cousin's then.'

he looks up at you, gaze burning deep to your soul, 'no, i'll leave.' but you push him down and snap, 'oikawa tooru, stay. i'll go, i can't bear to spend the night here. it will only break me more.' oikawa sees you to the door, though you argued that there was no need for such gesture. 'i'll go here in the morning when you're at practice to get my stuff.'

'i'm really sorry, y/n.' you shush him, smiling a bit to hide the fact that your heart was currently shredding to pieces.

you try to lighten the mood, 'i really want to get away from you right now.' oikawa chuckles along with you. 'it hurts, tooru. but i'm glad we had the chance to be together. thank you for the memories you have given me. i will continue to wish for your success. make me proud.' and with one last kiss goodbye, you walk away, leaving a piece of you with him and you wonder if things can ever get better from here.

[the-alice-of-hearts]

Kids Again Ch 4

<Previous First Next>

He's always running with no one to keep warm

Two years she watched him run the rooftops and do his best to live up to the image that Bruce had, it wore heavy on him. 

She saw him get more reckless, and hurt more often. It was like he was running in circles, he was trying so, so hard to be better. She couldn’t even tell if he knew that’s what he was doing. So she stayed in his head as much as she could, making sure that he didn’t die on her. 

Marinette came to class with bags under her eyes. Her friends watched her up her coffee intake, she moved everyday like she knew something bad was going to happen. She got quieter, more clumsy. She would be there one moment and then in Gotham the next. Kim walked next to her, made sure he was ready to catch her. Alix went with Marinette any place the boys couldn’t. They watched over her; made sure that she didn’t get hurt. 

“Mari?” Alix had asked her in a small voice one day, “when did you sleep last?”

The four of them were lying on her floor, working on homework like they always did. Kim and Nino looked over to see her response. 

“What day is it today?” Marinette stalled for time, hoping that it hadn’t been too long. They got overprotective when she went too long with sleeping, and it wasn’t something she wanted to deal with today. Unfortunately it looked like they weren’t going to answer until she did. She sighed loudly, “I think I got a decent amount on thursday. Slept almost 5 hours before... waking up.”

Kim reached over to hug her, they all knew what was unsaid. She woke up in pain, scared, and hurting.”

Nino came closer as well, “Netté, today is wednesday.” He reached out and held her hands, “go to sleep. We will watch out for you. He usually naps before patrol anyways yeah?”

She rubbed her eyes, “yeah... he does… but we still have homework to finish.”

Alix grabbed the papers that Marinette was reaching for, “and we can finish our own work then help you with yours after you nap.”

Marinette bit her lip trying to stay alert enough to protest, “you’ll fail english without me.”

Kim laughed and tapped his fist on her head, “at the rate you’re going we’ll fail with you too. Please em gái, take a nap. Just a short one will do.” ((Vietnamese: little sister))

---

With that they convinced her to go lay down. The three of them looked at each other, Alix spoke up first, “what do we do if…”

“If he dies.” Nino picked up the train of thought, “I don’t know that we can do anything.”

“I swear to any of the gods listening, if he hurts her, I will kill him myself.” Kim looked at Mari. She was sleeping heavily, but he could see her start to toss and turn. “He’s already giving her nightmares.” 

“All we can do is be steady for her. She needs us to be strong, so we will be. Alix, do you think your dad will let you stay here for a while?” Nino had started planning out all of this weeks ago.

Alix nodded, “yeah I think he’s about to go to an excavation site soon anyways. My brother would be glad to not have to look after me.”

“Good. Kim, can you run interference with the teachers? This is hard enough on her, we don’t need her to have extra stress on her plate.”

“Yeah I can take care of that.” Kim was still looking at her so he saw when she finally let out a sigh and settled down, “how do we make her sleep though?”

“I can help with that.” Sabine had climbed up to check in on then and heard the conversation taking place, “We have her with a therapist, and it will be easy enough to get her prescribed meds for her anxiety and to help her sleep. It’ll just be a matter of making sure she takes them.”

Nino nodded at her, “We can make sure she’s taking them in the morning. I have to take mine each morning and evening on a schedule as well as needed for worse times. I can help there.”

Sabine smiled at him, “thank you Nino, that would help a lot. Alix you can stay here as long as you want, but if it gets to be too much please let us know.” She took on a stern voice, “You shouldn’t have to bear this alone. None of you are to take on more than you can handle. I know you want to help her, but you’re all kids too. I’m not above banning you from the house if I think you are putting too much stress on yourselves.” She reached out to grasp Nino’s hand, “I mean it. I know you know very well what she is going through, but your mom and I have a deal.” 

Nino smiled back, “yes ma’am. I promise.”

Sabine stood up from where she had sat near them, “With that settled, who wants to help me bring up some food for everyone. You all should eat, and Marinette will need to eat when she wakes up.”

Kim offered to go help her. After they left Nino turned to Alix, “you have to make sure she’s taking her meds at night. She won’t want to, and she will try to hide it. But you have always known us better than we know ourselves. You have to make sure she takes them.”

Alix nodded at him grabbing his hand and giving it a squeeze, “You know I will. Found family, right?”

“Found family.” he repeated the vow. 

---

Marinette stopped talking one day. She was getting sleep, but she still wasn’t in Paris enough. So she stopped talking. If she didn’t say anything then people noticed less when she left in the middle of a conversation. 

No one else at school noticed. Well no one but Chloé, but even she knew that this was off limits for teasing. Chloé may have become a bitch to Marinette for no known reason, but she knew the limits on what was too far. 

Mariette went silent so Kim got louder. The three hoped that if the teachers were focused on him being a clown that they wouldn’t notice Marinette not participating in class. Kim and Alix started a ‘rivalry’, making sure that any eyes that might stray to Marinette would land back on them. Nino had Marinette sit next to him so he could take notes for her, and nudge her if a teacher was looking at her. He also had the worst job, making her actually take her anxiety meds. Alix and Kim played distraction, Nino played mother hen. 

Marinette from a year ago would still have complained. She would have reminded them that she was a big girl and she could take care of herself. This wasn’t Marinette from a year ago, this was their best friend so scared for her soulmate’s life that she couldn’t take her eyes off of him.

---

Then something unexpected happened. 

Marinette spoke up during their study session unprompted for the first time in weeks, “He’s not Robin anymore.”

Alix sharply looked up from where they had been laying, “What?”

They all hesitated waiting for Marinette to continue, “Bruce saw his stitches, he... well he blamed Jason.” She scoffed at the thought, “like the asshole didn’t drive him into his recklessness.” 

“Netté, what happens now?” Nino was always the first one to speak up.

“Bruce said that he was wrong, that he shouldn’t have trusted Jason as Robin. He ran away. He’s stronger now, so being on the streets isn’t as dangerous. But he’s back out there. He went to one of his old hideouts. I don’t know what he’s doing next…” she trailed off and they all waited for her next thought. 

The boys had both moved closer, Alix was still laying on their back looking up at Marinette. They all knew that when her thinking face came out they needed to wait for her to speak up. 

She took a deep breath, “I need you guys to help me get him here. I know it’s a lot to ask, and I totally understand if you can’t help me, but it’s just-“

“How are we going to do that?” Kim asked her, cutting her off. They were all willing to do whatever it took to make Marinette smile again. 

She stared at him for a moment, her mouth in a perfect O, “you’ll really help?”

Alix nudged her leg, “found family right?”

Marinette smiled at that, “yeah, found family.”

She laid out her plan. It would take them all because it involved smuggling Marinette to Gotham, and her parents would notice if she started acting unusually in front of them. 

It only took a week to get things together. Alix had convinced their dad that they were looking into a historical artefact in class and wanted to prove their teacher wrong so they needed to go to America with Marinette as a witness. He bought the story easily, believing Alix when they told him they needed to take Marinette specifically because she knew the city better. Reminding him that her soulmate grew up there. So with two plane tickets the plan was finally in motion. Kim had been bringing his gym bag empty to the group study sessions so that Mari could pack clothes in it. Nino had a suitcase that he had smuggled out when his parents weren’t home. All of it was slowly collected at Alix’s house. Since their dad was still out of town they only had to drop home to take care of their plants, so it made it a really easy place to keep things. 

Then it took another week for their departure date. For the entire two weeks Marinette had been so focused on going to Gotham that she didn’t notice that Jason had been blocking her. Later she would know that he didn’t even realize he was doing it. 

They were at school the day before they would be on their way to Gotham when Mari checked in on Jason, making sure that she could find him. Hoping that he was in a place that she would easily be able to find him. He wasn’t. He wasn’t even in Gotham. He was in a desert, with a woman. She looked a little like Jason, but his mom had died… and this wasn’t Catherine.

Marinette looked up at Kim with fear in her eyes, “Something is wrong.” she said it quietly. With Alix’s hearing, Kim’s ability to read lips, and Nino sitting next to her it was easy to be sure that they all knew something was happening. 

Kim acted fast, shooting a rubber band at Chloé made her stand up and start yelling. That provided enough distraction for Alix to get over to Marinette’s other side. With Nino and Alix surrounding her, and Kim playing distraction she was able to completely follow Jason. It wasn’t good, he was with the woman. He called her mom, guess that explained why he wasn’t in Gotham. When Joker appeared Marinette gasped. 

_____________________________________

She was loud enough that Rose and Juleka looked over at her. Alix shielded Marinette’s body as much as they could, trying to make sure that no one could see her face. The terror on it shouldn’t be seen by anyone else. They took care of each other, and Marinette would be mortified if she found out someone else knew what she was going through. But not even with the combined efforts of all three of their strengths could they keep the attention off of her when the screaming started. 

It was like listening to a horror movie. Marinette’s screams ripped through the classroom. If you asked anyone to describe it they would tell you it was like being in a room that was filled with terror. 

“Everyone get out!!” Chloé yelled loudly. Alix looked up at her in surprise, not expecting Chloé of all people to help. Between Chloé and Kim they got the classroom cleared in less than a minute. “I’m gonna stand outside the door so no one comes in. Just, take care of her yeah?” with that she walked out of the room and closed the door. They could see her shadow still there. True to her word no one came in the classroom. Unfortunately everyone in their hall could hear the screams. 

“Netté, please. You have to listen to my voice. You have to come back, come back to Paris. You don’t want to see this. Please come back to us.” Alix finally clued back into Nino’s voice. He was trying to get her to come back, but it didn’t seem to be working. 

____________________________

Marinette wasn’t listening to Nino, she was caught in this moment. Watching Joker beat Jason, his blood spilling out on the floor. Then something happened that opened everything. Her mother had once told her that some soulmates could talk to each other in times of crisis, and this would count as one. 

She could hear Jason’s voice, ‘please let me pass out, please let me pass out, she doesn’t deserve to see this, please whatever deity might be listening let me pass out!’

Then she heard others in the link, ‘Jay bird! Please tell me you’re there! Little wing I’m trying to get there faster, but you have to wake up. There’s a bomb, you have to get up. Jay you have to get up now! You have to go to the door.’ 

“Jason please! Please wake up. We need you, we need you to wake up. I need you!” Marinette didn’t realise she had spoken out loud, but she would feel that her friends were all holding her. 

‘You don’t really know me, but please live for us. We all need to meet you one day.’

“Jason you have to get to the door.” She was sobbing now.

‘Jay, wake up!’

He started moving, crawling towards the door. For a moment she had hope that he would make it. She could feel everyone pleading with the gods to just get him out of there alive. Then he tried the door, it was locked. He didn’t have enough strength or time to get out of there, ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never got to love you Marinette.’

If she hadn’t already been in Kim’s lap she would have fallen to the ground. All the energy in her body was gone. It was like a huge chunk of her had been ripped out. 

“Mari, can you hear us?” she heard Alix’s soft voice.

“Netté, we need you to talk to us.”

Her sobs had turned into a hysterical laugh, “he’s dead!” She looked at Nino, still crying but becoming worse by the moment, “the fucking clown killed him!” 

Kim was running his hands through Marinette’s hair, all three of them waited for her to break back down. They had gone through it with Nino, they would be just as steady for Mari. 

After her laughing turned back to sobs Kim wrapped his arms around her again. Holding her tight, “we’re here for you em gái. We’re here.”

“He’s dead… Jay’s dead…” she sniffled turning to press her face into Kim’s chest, “and his last thought was of me.” 

Nino and Alix had moved in and were hugging her now too. “Netté, I promise, it gets easier.”

[gypsydanger01]

THE STORM - Part three

Fandom: The Boys (Amazon prime tv series)

Pairing: Black Noir x Reader

Comments, reviews, constructive criticism, and other requests are always more than welcome!

                  Posting new chapters every Wednesday and Friday!

            Come together

She was so late. Sarah knew she needed the rest, her body and mind both fatigued under the stress of simply being who she is. Of having to constantly be alert for threats to her identity and her life. And so, she’d taken what was meant to be a short nap, an energy boost so she could power through the rest of the evening.

She slept through the alarm. What ultimately woke her up was that prickling sensation one feels when subconsciously realizing they’re resting for too long. Feeling this pinprick at the back of her brain, she slowly opened one eye and then the other. Rolling onto her back, she exhaled loudly before swinging herself up and out of the bed. It’s then that she noticed the time. Immediately, she shot into her closet tossing random sets of outfits onto her bed. She took a quick shower and applied little to no makeup, reminding herself that a natural look is always best. Finally, she returned to her bedroom and made an impulsive decision on what to wear. She’d usually take an ungodly long time to choose an outfit, but she had about ten minutes to walk out the door.

As she spun in the mirror, she suddenly stopped and looked at herself intently. While being satisfied with her unruly curls and soft makeup, she could see the tension in her shoulders, the dread in her eyes. And although she loved musicals and shows, she couldn’t help but want to curl up in her bed instead. And it wasn’t because she was tired.

No, it was fear that sat heavy in her stomach, rooting her to her spot. The ticket to the show had been left for her by the mysterious B.N.

At first, her worry and confusion had been softened by Martha’s idea of a secret admirer, a timid co-worker who was working up the courage to ask her out. But as the weeks went by, Sarah was less convinced. Somebody was watching her, knew her routine, her likes and dislikes. Someone knew where she lived. At work, she was increasingly jumpy and afraid of every corner. Did Vought figure it out? Were they baiting her, waiting for the opportunity to eliminate her and the threat she posed?

It would be the perfect cover-up: a young woman is followed by a stalker, a fact that many other people already knew from the flowers delivered to her office each week. When he finally confronts her, she rejects him, angering him to the point where she’s murdered. This could explain her body being found in some alleyway, or even her disappearance.

Was this ticket going to deliver her to her maker? Would it take her straight to her death? The theater was such a public place, utterly packed with people both inside and outside. But so much could happen on the way there and back.

Realizing she’d begun to shake, she stilled herself and thought of Mallory. She’d been taught better than this. The older woman would probably scoff at her for walking into such an obvious trap, but she couldn’t run from it either. If it was Vought, they’d been toying with her long enough. She’d be careful, alert. Finally, she gathered her coat and purse and walked out.

“Hey, honey,” a voice spoke up from the sidewalk. She froze in the middle of locking the door. Maintaining her grip on its handle, she was unsure on how the next few minutes would unfold, how she would handle the unpredictability of the man standing behind her. But she felt the imperceptible change in her stance as her mind sharpened. She was taught many things, but taking shit isn’t one of them.

“What do you want?” she bit out, turning to face the man she’d never wanted to see again.

“Come on, babe,” he trailed off with a laugh, “it’s been almost a year-- I wanted to see you, maybe y’know, talk. God knows it’s time”

“I want you to leave,” she stared him down. “Now,” she added.

He moved fast up her porch steps, and she was quick to slip the key back in to open the door. She’d stuck one foot into the house when he stopped her, grabbing onto her wrist. He squeezed tight, the frazzled woman containing a wince.

“You need to stop before I hurt you. We’re over, Jason. Over.”

“Come on, you needed a break, and I gave you one.” He inched closer and whispered, an intense look in his eyes, “It may take time, but it always boils down to me and you together.”

She kicked him hard, "It's you and I, you illiterate ass."

He lazily let go, allowing her to back into the house. Before she could slam the door, he’d stuck his foot in. The woman pressed onto the hardwood with all her weight, but there was no stopping his breach. He stood menacing in the entrance, but she didn’t inch back.

Something clicked in her, like a mounting fury. The vase of pretty lilies sitting idly by the entrance. The floral pin in her hair. The ticket. The earrings. She grabbed the vase and threw the water in his face, letting the flowers fall off to the side.

“You,” with a snarl she pointed at him. “How dare you try to weasel your way back into my life! Have you been following me because I swear.”

She snatched the pin out of her hair, letting curls fly in front of her face. The pin quickly followed the water in a general trajectory towards him. Although her aim left much to be desired, she hoped it stabbed him in the eye. She tensed, ready for a fight. Her fingers twitched, and she wished she had a gun to curl them around.

Jason made a move to say something when a sudden force pulled him through the entrance, sending him flying back.

One moment he was there, and the next he'd vanished.

She stopped moving, stopped breathing. But not a moment later, curiosity had her moving towards the porch with tentative steps. A dark shadow stood tall over Jason’s crumpled body on the sidewalk. Dressed in a black armored suit, the figure was heaving deeply. Its strict posture seemed to be shaken by erratic breathing, like an animal's. A long knife’s sharp edge glinted under the moonlight, and she realized what was about to happen.

She threw herself forward, “No, no, don’t.”

Jason’s features were bloody, but his eyes were open, and he was breathing. His arm was folded at an awkward angle under him. The tall, masked figure tensed, and turned around completely, stiffly, until he was fully facing her.

The blood drained from her face. “Black Noir.”

It wasn’t clear whether her words were meant as a statement or a question, but he replied with a slow nod.

His breathing had gone quiet and steady. His eyes were hidden behind the heavy black goggles he wore, but she could’ve sworn he gave her a calculating look. As if he were measuring the weight of her words. He looked down at the crumpled figure, and then slowly back at her. She realized it was a silent question. Was he asking for permission? She hated Jason. He was a terrible person, and it’d taken her time to shake his influence from her life. He was ungrateful and a coward and a mistake.

Now, on the ground he was choking on tears. While he mouthed ‘please’ in her general direction, clasping his hands together, she almost wished she hadn’t intervened. That Black Noir had hurt him. Though his gaze was concealed, she could read anger in his stance. She thought he looked like a modern fury in the night, and she was sure this must be the scariest moment in Jason’s life. As Black Noir waited for her word, she realized that in one silent look, one silent gesture, he’d made her judge, and he her executioner. Looking down at her ex boyfriend’s form, she steeled herself against her heart’s instinct. After those years of suffering, it only wanted to hurt the man on the ground. The tall man standing over him watched her, trying to read the conflict in her eyes. But she was no judge. And she would not make him her executioner, no matter how willing.

Steadying her voice, she spoke softly. “Let him go, it’s not worth it.”

They stood there for a few minutes, as Black Noir processed her words. The urge to finish the filth laid out on the sidewalk was strong, and he had to steel himself against it. He didn’t want to get carried away in front of her, have her witness the monster inside. And if he disobeyed her request, would he alienate her forever? Would she hate him, be disgusted by him?

Finally, he shot down and grabbed onto the other man’s shirt, tugging him upwards. He brought his face up to his mask, reveling in the way the smaller man trembled with fear. He let him go and moved away, taking a protective stance in front of the young woman he’d sworn to protect.

Jason scrambled to his feet and caught a glimpse of his ex behind the shadow who’d come to stand in front of her. Black Noir shifted to hide her from view, but she still saw the disbelief printed onto his features, the wild look of fear in his eyes. He moved backwards, crossing over to the other side of the street. Looking over his shoulder, he sped away, holding onto his side.

Black Noir watched him go, inhaling and exhaling deeply. He centered himself and decided to file the man as unfinished business.

Peering around him, she watched her ex disappear at the corner down the street.

Looking up at the dark shadow standing with his back to her, she stood in slight disbelief herself. She couldn’t help the shock still coursing through her veins. Seeing Jason after a year. Learning that he’d been stalking her for some time. Black Noir appearing. Asking him to spare the life of a man she loathes.

And now that she was alone with what she knew to be Vought’s personal hit-man, was this it?

He moved towards her slowly, and she took equally large steps back. Should she run, slam the door? It’d be useless, she didn’t stand a chance. Years ago, she might have been able to make a stand. Not now, not anymore.

They were in the house and he raised his hands. It confused Sarah. She expected him to finish her off quickly. The potential cover-up would hold: her abusive ex-boyfriend shows up, and as she rejects him things get out of hand. He gets violent and she ends up with her head bashed into a wall or a vase crashed into her skull. She knew what Black Noir was capable of. He’d have to control his strength to make it look like a human had murdered her.

She stood frozen and couldn’t seem to bring her heartbeat to an acceptable rate. She knew he could hear it, and she wondered if he was getting off on her fear. What he did next took her completely by surprise. Black Noir leaned down and began to gather the scattered lilies at her entrance. He picked the fallen flowers up by their long stems, placing them back into their vase.

He could feel her heart beating wildly, like that of a scared rabbit. He focused on the flowers he’d chosen for her, thinking of a way to calm her down. Was she still panicking after the attack, or was she simply afraid of him? She’d seemed fine with him when he’d crossed her in the lost-and-found.

When his thoughts returned to the other man’s appearance, his blood rushed in an unpleasant way. It was the surge of wild energy that coursed through him before a hunt.

He moved towards her, with long, smooth steps. He raised both hands, one steadying her head, the other holding a shimmering piece of metal. Immediately, she flinched, and her breath grew faster. This was it. The fight in her immediately reared its head, and she gathered all her strength to push against him, her hands curled into fists. He tensed and took a step back, exhaling loudly. It disturbed him that she could think he would hurt her. If only she knew to what extents he'd go to protect her. He showed her the piece in his hand: it was the beautiful pin of flowers. They glinted under the light in different shades of blue.

She stammered, “I thought--” He could still kill her with the pin, she reminded herself. All he had to do was jab it hard into her neck, and she was a goner. She breathed in deeply, “Why? Why are you here?”

When Black Noir just looked on, she grew uneasy and began to squirm.

She steadied her voice and squared her shoulders. “You need to leave.”

He looked on and slowly nodded. He wanted to claw at his face, at the terrible being he’d become. She feared him, entirely closed off and ready to run away. He gently lifted the pin to hand it to her.

She shook her head, “You can take it. I don’t want anything of his.”

The big man let his hands drop to his sides and took a step back. He tilted his head to the side. If she could’ve guessed, she would’ve thought he was dejected, disappointed even. He held out a firm hand. She shook her head. He insisted. With hesitation she took it, and he held her fingers delicately, like they were made of thin glass. The gloves were rough against her skin. Her mind wandered to how many men he’d killed or beat senseless. Jason had gotten lucky that night.

Black Noir led her in front of the mirror. She slipped a small dagger out of the hidden pocket she’d sewn into her dress. From behind, he ran his fingers over her hair, slipping the pin into place. She stood tense, not understanding the meaning of his actions. He knew she’d pulled a knife out, keeping it flat against the palm of her hand and out of view. The gesture intrigued him. He tilted his head slightly and wondered how much he still had to learn about Sarah Burns. He stepped away towards the door.

She was utterly confused by his gesture. It felt meaningful, but she couldn’t decipher it. Was he truly just going to leave? He had helped her with Jason, would have killed him even. He’d picked her flowers up off the floor. He’d gently thread the pin back into her unruly locks of hair. “What is going on?”

She whirled around, just as her voice compelled him to face her. She was already confused, and the night had raised her sense of fight or flight. She gripped the small knife tighter.

He didn’t want to add onto the tension he could read in her eyes. He was a shadow who would watch over her from afar, a shadow that should not taint her light. He felt something towards himself he’d never felt before: disgust. Disgust for the being he’d let himself become, or better yet disgust towards the way he’d succumbed to other’s visions of him. He’d been built into something further down the line from evil. Something deeper, something more focused and dangerous. And the issue was he liked it, he let it consume him and run free because he'd come to enjoy it. He felt empowered by it.

In her entrance, standing both inside and outside, he stood conflicted.

“Why?”

Disgust for himself and his inability to answer her simple question surged through him. And yet, he felt rooted to his spot, incapable of leaving. He slowly reached into a side pocket on his chest and extracted a petite, black box. Hanging on its side, was a familiar clean, white tag. The gift was small in his gloved hand, and he handled it with care as he placed it on the cabinet.

She looked at him, the flowers and the box.

She moved her fingers through her hair, careful around the pin she didn’t want to dislodge. Black Noir watched her in silence. In her dress and light makeup, her mascara slightly smudged under the eyes, he just wanted to take her in his arms and disappear. Her eyes were fixed on him as if she were looking into his soul. He looked away. He was a being both brutal and dark: his soul was too dark of a place for her.

“Black Noir. You’re B.N.”

Once he gazed back into her eyes, he found himself unable to look away. Suddenly flushed, and watching him with bated breath, she waited for a reaction.

The man in question thought he should just disappear into the night. It could all end there. He’d find a way to be content with watching over her from afar. Occasional gifts would remind her of him, should she continue to accept them. He’d never be able to stay away, but he could erase himself from her life. One of his greatest abilities was staying invisible, sticking to the shadows.

And yet, he wanted to be worthy of her attention, and he wanted her to want him close.

He nodded and stood straighter if that was even possible.

He could feel the woman’s heart rate speed up again, as she processed the new information. After a moment of speechlessness, she walked towards him. Coming to a stop only a few steps away, they simply looked at each other.

“Are you here to hurt me?”

Even with his military grade eye-ware she could sense the intensity of his gaze on her, reading her every move and gesture. He shook his head no.

He could be lying. He was a spy, sleek and dangerous. He never spoke, and she was sure that he was a professional observer. She was certain he knew how to read people, because that's what he does every day of his life. He never interacts; he observes and takes orders. Was he simply trying to get her attention? Was his following her unrelated to Vought? It shouldn’t, but this somewhat filled her with relief. She might just have a normal stalker, not a hit-man sent to kill her by the organization she was planning to tear to the ground.

Or was he here for information? Maybe they weren’t so sure about her involvement and had sent him to assess the situation.

But this could go both ways. She’d feed him false information, and maybe she would be able to extract information from him. She severely doubted this but giving him the information she wanted to give would allow her to control Vought’s research on her.

Still somewhat confused and flustered, she kept eye contact with him. This would be a dangerous game of cat and mouse, where the cat is a man who could snap her neck in a split second.

She offered him something they probably both needed. “Let me get us a glass of wine and we can talk.”

PART 4  PART 5

Giulia

[milo-my-beloved]

chapter six of stupid things!

Read on AO3 // Playlist // Buy me a coffee?

Wylan and Jesper took a cab home, leaving Kaz and Inej to find their own way home and a very disgruntled Matthias to deal with them. They giggled the entire way back to Jesper’s apartment, imagining increasingly ridiculous and complex methods that Nina’s boyfriend might come up with to get the two to go home.

Wylan insists on paying for the taxi, since Jesper had declared that he should stay the night. They tumble through the door, laughing at the possibility of Matthias locking their friends in an aquarium overnight, and collapse onto the couch, Wylan’s head cradled on Jesper’s chest.

“We should get up,” Jesper says, not moving. “Put pajamas on, or something.”

Wylan just snuggles closer to his chest. “Will you put a movie on?”

Jes smiles down at the sleepy man cuddled up to him and runs his hands through his curls. “Sure thing, sunshine. But I’m picking.”

By the time the opening credits of Star Wars have finished, Wylan is quietly snoring against Jesper’s chest. By the time the Death Star explodes, Jesper has followed suit, both of them pressed against each other, only visible thanks to the full moon outside the window.

{o0o}

One of the things Jesper loves the most about Wylan is the mystery that surrounds him. The only person he’s met that is more skilled at dodging questions is Kaz, and that’s half of his personality. Wylan is nowhere near as good at lying, but Jesper doesn’t push it when he clearly doesn’t want to answer a question. With anyone else he might have, but he really doesn’t want to lose the man who he’s grown so attached to.

Maybe Drunk Jesper has made one good decision. But that’s about it.

One of the few things that Jesper has managed to figure out about his boyfriend is that he’s secretly rich, and embarrassed about it. He always wears quality clothes - soft, cashmere jumpers and dress shirts and fancy shoes - and he insists on paying for a lot of things they do together, but he always blushes whenever Jesper teases him for it.

Actually, Wylan blushes quite a lot. It’s one of Jesper’s favourite things about him.

When they wake up on Saturday morning to the sunlight streaming through the window, they’re still packed tightly together. Jesper’s arm is stiff from being curled protectively around Wylan, who has apparently spent the night drooling on Jesper’s shirt.

If it was anyone else, it would be disgusting, but Jesper finds it strangely endearing.

“Morning, sunshine,” he greets, smiling to himself as Wylan yawns and stretches. “How did you sleep?”

He mumbles an unintelligible response against Jesper’s chest before turning and burying his face back into the crook of his arm. Jesper laughs quietly, but he brings his hand up to cup Wylan’s head and gently strokes his hair.

“For all that drool you’ve managed to get on my chest, you’d better plan an excellent date,” Jesper teases, but Wylan doesn’t respond, already fast asleep again.

{o0o}

Wylan has never been a fan of surprises. Everything in his life has always been planned; from his wardrobe to his meals to what he is supposed to be in life. That’s why he messages the group chat on Wednesday with his plans, rather than leaving it as a surprise like everyone else seems so fond of doing.

Wylan: I know what we’re doing on Friday :D

Inej: and you’re gonna tell us???

Wylan: yes :DDD

Kaz: unheard of

Wylan: I got us tickets to the new exhibit at Ketterdam Museum!!!

Jesper: wat

Inej: awesome! what’s it on?

Wylan: fossils, I think :)

Jesper: there better be a gift shop

He smiles to himself, looking down at his phone as he checks the museum website. Huh. There is a gift shop.

{o0o}

Kaz and Inej mention something vague about going to dinner before meeting them at the museum, so Wylan and Jesper make their own way. Wylan calls them a taxi, smiling to himself as Jesper complains about their friends the entire way there.

“All I’m saying is that it’s rude!” he exclaims, flapping his arms about for emphasis. “It’s called a ‘double date’ for a reason, there’s supposed to be two couples there.”

Wylan hums noncommittally.

“If they were just getting a different ride there then I guess I could understand that, but to go out for dinner first? That’s, like, a whole activity that they’re doing without us!”

“You’re here,” the driver interrupts as they pull up to the front of the museum building.

“Thank you,” Wylan says, handing over the money. “And Jes, how about we go out for dinner afterwards? Just us, I mean.”

Jesper pouts as he climbs out the car. “I already ate.”

“I’m sure you can find room,” Wylan replies, rolling his eyes fondly. “Look, there’s Kaz and Inej.”

Sure enough, their two friends are waiting on the steps outside the museum, huddled together with Kaz’s cane propped up beside them. Inej spots them as they start to approach and stands up, waving frantically to catch their attention while Kaz shakes his head at her antics.

Wylan tugs the corner of Jesper’s sleeve, waving back with his other hand. “Come on!”

Jesper rolls his eyes. “Can we just pretend we don’t know them and go get food now?”

“I thought you ate already?”

“Oh, piss off.”

Wylan grins widely when they finally reach them, brandishing the four tickets in front of him like magician asking ‘is this your card?’ Jesper snatches one out of his hand before anyone gets the chance, Kaz and Inej taking theirs in a much more dignified fashion.

For all their excited chatter as they head towards the entrance, Jesper has to admit, a trip to a museum has never been on his list of dream dates. Or vaguely acceptable dates. Or a day out with his friends. At best, he decides, he might have gone on a school field trip, but mostly only to get out of doing much work for a day.

The foyer of the building is impressive, even by his standards, but he still doesn’t feel nearly as excited as Inej or Wylan. (It’s hard to tell what Kaz is feeling at any given moment, but Jesper is fairly sure he has never seen him excited.) It’s only after they hand their tickets over to a kind attendant and round the corner that Jesper stops in his tracks and stares ahead, his mouth wide open.

“Is that… a dinosaur?” he asks, completely rooted to the spot.

No one bothers dignifying his question with a response, all of them too busy staring at the huge creature standing before them. Of course, it is just bones, but there is still something incredible about being so close to an animal that has been dead for millions of years.

Of all of them, Wylan seems to be the least affected.

“It’s the first T-rex to be displayed in Ketterdam for over a hundred years!” he exclaims in a hushed tone, smiling at the awed expressions on his friends’ faces. “I think his name is Titus.”

“Woah,” Inej says, stepping towards it. “It’s huge!”

“Twelve feet tall,” Wylan responds with a smile.

“How come you know so much already?” Kaz asks, his eyes wandering around the rest of the room.

“I booked the tickets, remember. I looked at the website.”

“Kaz!” Inej exclaims, grabbing his gloved hand and pointing across the room with her other hand. “Look, they have an interactive section.”

Even as the other two disappear around a corner, Wylan and Jesper stay rooted to the spot. It takes a few minutes for Jesper to get over his original shock of being face-to-face with a twelve-foot tall dinosaur, but when he does, he practically starts vibrating on the spot.

“Wy, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me we were gonna see actual dinosaurs! This is so freaking cool,” he exclaims, slowly walking around Titus to get a better look at his side.

“I did!” Wylan protests, smiling at the look of awe on Jesper’s face. “I told you the exhibit is on fossils.”

“I thought we were gonna go see a load of musty rocks with weird shapes in them, not a T-rex!”

Wylan just laughs, squeezing Jesper’s hand. “I didn’t know you were such a fan of dinosaurs.”

“Come on, man,” Jesper protests. “Jurassic Park is one of my favourite movies of all time.”

“Hopefully, these ones don’t come to life,” Wylan quips, and Jesper giggles, dragging him around the rest of the exhibit.

{o0o}

After Jesper has read every single piece of information there is to read (in a range of funny voices) to Wylan, and every corner of the museum has been explored, they decide it’s time to call it quits.

“Shall I call a cab?” Kaz asks as they head towards the museum entrance.

“Not for us,” Wylan replies, squeezing Jesper’s hand. “We’re gonna stay out in town for a while longer.”

“Alright,” he says, fishing his phone out of his pocket and stepping away as he calls the taxi company.

Inej smiles at them, bringing them both into a tight hug. “Thanks for organising this, Wylan! I had fun.”

He blushes. “It was my pleasure. I’ll say goodbye to you now, though - I just need the toilet before we go.”

“See you next week,” she replies, squeezing them both tightly before pulling away.

“Bye,” he says, before turning to Jesper. “Go and wait with them - I’ll only be five minutes.”

“Alright,” Jesper replies, kissing the top of his head. “You better not leave me for too long, though. It’s rude to keep your hot date waiting.”

“Is it, now?” Wylan laughs, turning away and hurrying down the corridor. He heads in the right direction until they are out of sight, before doubling back the way he came and darting into the gift shop instead.

It only takes a minute or two of browsing before he grabs what he’s looking for. He takes it to the counter, smiling, rummaging through his jacket for his wallet.

“Is this all, sir?” the lady behind the till asks.

“Yes, thank you. It’s a present for my boyfriend,” he replies, blushing slightly.

She smiles warmly, her eyes crinkling. “That’s so sweet! Here, if it’s a gift, I’ll wrap it up for you.”

Wylan watches as she deftly wraps it in orange wrapping paper, humming to herself as she works. “Thank you.”

He hands over the right amount of kruge as she passes him the wrapped gift, which he slides into his inside pocket.

“I hope he likes it, sweetie.”

“Me too,” he replies, thanking her again as he rushes out the door to meet back up with Jesper.

{o0o}

They end up going to a fish and chip shop and finding a bench in a nearby park to sit on while they eat.

“Wy, these have to be the best chips I’ve ever eaten,” Jesper declares, still chewing.

“I can tell,” Wylan remarks, raising an eyebrow at the (bordering lewd) noises Jesper makes while eating. “Oh, by the way, I got you something.”

Jesper’s head snaps up. “Dessert?”

“No,” Wylan laughs, fishing the small parcel out of his pocket. “I got you a present.”

Jesper swallows the food in his mouth and wipes his greasy hands on his jeans before carefully taking the parcel from Wylan. He unwraps it gently, laughing when he realises what it is.

“So there was a gift shop after all. When did you get this?”

“When I said I needed the loo,” Wylan admits, wringing his hands in his lap.

Jesper turns the fridge magnet over in his hands, running his fingers over the writing. ‘I survived a T-rex encounter!’

“Thank you,” he says, suddenly finding it a little hard to speak. “That’s really nice of you.”

Wylan shrugs. “It was like, five kruge. You don’t have to thank me.”

Jesper laughs, blinking away the wetness in his eyes as he leans over to whisper something in Wylan’s ear. “I have to tell you a secret though.”

Wylan frowns. “What?”

Jesper smiles down at him. “I don’t have a fridge,” he admits, giggling.

“Wha- how do you not have a fridge?”

He shrugs. “Jesper skills. Now shut up and kiss me.”

Wylan is more than happy to oblige.

tag list (ask to be added or removed!) :D

@hrtbreakprincess / @tooindecisivetopickaurl / @kazcoded / @saltyfortunes / @just2bubbly

[natsspammityspamspamham]

Dino Watches Anime (Nov 15)

BOI, I HAVE A MIDTERM ON TUESDAY AND TEST ON WEDNESDAY. SCREW THAT. I’M GOING TO TALK ABOUT THE ANIME I’VE BEEN WATCHING IN BETWEEN STUDY SESSIONS! Yeah, the studying is like 2% while the anime and games are like 98%... I’m working on that, okay? Anyway, I’m going to cover mostly seasonal stuff with some other stuff.

Let’s go over the seasonal stuff first. Summer had so few anime coming out whereas Autumn/Fall came in like, “OPEN THE FLOODGATES! LET’S GO!!!” I haven’t even gotten around to all the anime airing this season that I want to like Yuukoku no Moriarty, Majo no Tabitabi, and Adachi to Shimamura. I missed some last season too like Deca-Dance which I just didn’t want to commit to if it was only for the good animation.

Taisou Samurai (DROPPED) 

I dropped it after two episodes. MAPPA has two major series this season, but they clearly gave more time and attention to the one that was actually going to make money here (which I’ll talk about later). This one seems like a passion project without the passion in it anymore. It’s like opening a bag of chips and finding out they went stale long before you even reached into the bag.

Taisou Samurai, at its core, has a premise that I found really promising. I happen to like watching gymnastics sometimes, and the idea of an athlete who doesn’t want to retire is interesting. They went wrong with the execution. I don’t know what they were trying to pull here, but with unlikeable characters and a terrible run at it, it’s like they weren’t playing with a full deck of cards here.

Also, if you don’t know what a gyaru is, one of the supporting characters will look like a racist caricature. Also, this bird has no other point than to try to make up for this show’s lack of usable humour by using Kappei Yamaguchi’s range and going, “Please, save this show. I beg you.” 

I didn’t even bother giving this show three episodes to drag me in because I just couldn’t see myself wasting another 20 minutes here. Maybe I’ll have a change of heart, but for now, I should be having better things to do.

Munou na Nana (WOULDN’T RECOMMEND)

I know everyone has made this joke already, but this is really just My Hero Academia x Among Us. I feel like if there was some more... budget put into this anime, they could’ve made it a lot better. The manga had a lot more detail, so a lot of the gruesome scenes with zombies or killings, etc. were muted and toned down beyond belief. Not to mention, I guess watching it after I read the manga just made me feel stupid. This is such a junkie show that pulls tricks that everyone knows is coming. Nonetheless, I can’t find some big reason to say “do not watch this” because it’s still a very mediocre show. It has its good points, but its presentation devalues it, the voice acting is meh (especially since Yuuichi Nakamura is playing THREE overpowered main cast characters this season), and the jig is up after the first episode, so the twists are just to make you sympathize more with the imposter. I haven’t seen a show like this for a while though, so I guess you can watch it if you want something refreshing like that. I don’t think you’re supposed to like this cast of characters, so I won’t say anything against not liking this cast. 

Kamisama ni Natta Hi (CONDITIONALLY RECOMMEND)

Jun Maeda... the man who manages to incorporate baseball into every anime he does... seriously, every anime I’ve watched by him has it from Angel Beats to Charlotte to that unfinished Little Busters I just left on hold. Anyway, Kamisama is no exception. Jun Maeda has a reputation for building touching stories that start off strong then really lose their footing once he realizes that he’s not going to get 24 episodes and needs to squeeze all of those 16 episodes of story left into 4 episodes or so. It also doesn’t help that sometimes he goes off on useless storylines that pay no use to the story. 

Hina is really funny sometimes (but can be annoying). Narukami is funny. Really, everyone has some valid point about them that makes the show better compared to the previous entries. 

Seriously, some little kid comes up to you and goes, “The world is ending, I am God, and I’m going to stick by you.” Meanwhile, you’re just a simp that’s trying to get your childhood friend to fall for you.

Honestly, I’m still having a blast watching this. As much as Maeda’s writing can really suffer from tonal shifts (mostly in the end), I still wanted to watch this anime simply because I always like his storytelling in the beginning, and the laughs it brings can sometimes still muddle out the bitter taste that’s left in your mouth when the series finishes. I can already feel this train going down a slide and off a cliff. I already paid for my ticket though, so I’m obligated to stay on this shootshow until the end.

Seriously, I do not like where some of these relationships are heading. 

Maoujou de Oyasumi (CONDITIONALLY RECOMMEND)

This anime is relatable. It can get stale fast for a lot of people, but every time I think I’m going to get sick of it, it pulls one of the same gags that makes me go, “This. This is why I’m sticking with this.” I’m not sure how much more there is to say. It’s just an abducted princess who couldn’t care less that she’s a hostage and instead, takes this newfound time to take some good ZZZs. What a life.

Oh yeah, this princess is also willing to commit murder, mutilation, theft, and assault to get the sleep she wants. 

Tonikaku Kawaii (CONDITIONALLY RECOMMEND)

I’m not dropping this show... even if it makes no sense. The premise is astoundingly stupid, but it pulled a Zombieland Saga on me. It sounded so stupid, but once I gave it one episode, I found myself being entertained and almost rooting for the characters and their relationships. 

Imagine this: You are about to get into the high school of your dreams when you see the girl of your dreams cross your path. You want to ask her out so you jump over the barricade and get hit by a truck. You’re on the brink of death when you realize you can’t die there without confessing your love. You chase her down with blood coming out of your head and confess. She says that she’ll only go out with you if you marry her. You then... somehow survive, drop out of school, then get a job to search for her. I kid you not. This is the setup. It’s as stupid as it sounds, and the anime knows this. It doesn’t try to fool you into thinking that this series is supposed to be anything but some highway fast-track way to convince you into watching a married couple. I think what irked me the most is that the character designs didn’t change from when they were in middle school to when they were adults. It wasn’t the being hit by a truck and not being sent to another world, it wasn’t this girl who stopped the truck without ruining her hair, it wasn’t anything else but their character designs staying the same. 

Anyway, this anime is cute as long as you can jump some hurdles. It’s basically puppy-love marriage with anime stupidity through and through. I don’t know what about this series people, including myself, find charming. 

Jujutsu Kaisen (RECOMMENDED - BUT DON’T COMPARE TO DEMON SLAYER TOO MUCH!)

It’s Shonen Jump. “Will it be the next Kimetsu no Yaiba? The next big Shonen Jump series? One of the next big three? Five?” No, I don’t think so. I’m not enjoying this nearly as much as I did binging KNY. The cast isn’t nearly as likeable, but I’m still having a good time. It’s not all that fair to make that comparison anyway. The cast for Jujutsu Kaisen is passable. I like some of the main cast, but I feel like they lack the same kind of depth with its main heroine. I know she gets more stuff done in the future chapters, but her backstory so far is, “I had a friend once... No, she’s not dead. She just left our small town.”

The fight scenes are actually so much fun to watch. MAPPA gave this series a lot more time and budget than say that first anime I mentioned. It’s fluid, the camerawork is amazing, the choreography is on-point. 

The voice acting for this anime is spectacular among the main cast... when character dialogue allows it.

I feel a bit of imbalance, but Yuuji does offer a good protagonist template. Junya Enoki makes his lines so funny and gives this nonchalant approach that is the polar opposite of his performance in Tonikawa. This is definitely his season.

Junichi Suwabe voicing the main demon thing is amazing too. It fits so well, and he sounds so cool and evil. It’s great.

Gojou is also one badass mentor played by Yuuichi Nakamura. Overpowered, part of the main cast, etc. Insert your reverse Kakashi joke here. Just give him more Sharingan genjutsu, I dare you. 

Yuuma Uchida is back playing another tragic character that’s serious and uptight. I can’t say much more about him.

The opening and ending are both worth listening to even if you don’t want to watch the anime. Lost in Paradise by ALI has been on repeat for me.

Besides that, I’m going to go over some other anime that I’ve been watching.

Hunter x Hunter (AS IF THIS HASN’T BEEN RECOMMENDED ENOUGH)

Slowly. Slowly but surely. 11/148.

I know this is going to be amazing... I just want to be in the right mood to full savour it. I don’t want to be consumed by stress and not pay attention. The reason why I like a lot of those seasonal anime is because I don’t pay the same kind of attention. 

If you told me these characters’ ages, I probably would’ve believed everyone... except Leorio. The guy looks like a middle-aged money-hungry gangster.

What I would give to have the energy and serotonin of a Shonen Jump protagonist. 

Haikyuu (YEAH, IT’S GOOD)

I’m watching this one with my mom and sister as they go “OMG OMG OMG” as we watch while I’m sitting there like -_-

Don’t get me wrong, it’s a good show, but sports anime are made like shounen battle anime (because they are in a way) with different stakes. I’ve felt more “nervous” about some of the Haikyuu matches than I did with some of the Hunter Exam. Worst case scenario in Haikyuu, you lose the match. Worst case scenario in Hunter x Hunter? You die. 

I knew what I was going to get into when I was watching Haikyuu, and it’s given me what I remembered (since I did watch 10 episodes of it a few years ago) and expected.

SKET Dance (HIGHLY RECOMMEND)

Unfollow me. Unfollow me right now. This is what I’m going to be talking about for the next month. I can feel it. I’ve had this show for like 3 days and watched around 33 episodes along with some of these other titles. I have a problem. I know that, but I don’t feel like fixing it. This show is just too good.

I get why people call this a poor man’s Gintama, but it’s not quite that. I can get the similarities, but it’s like eating an empanada and saying that it’s just like that dumpling you tasted last week. It looks alike on the surface... if you’re not that great at... telling the difference between things... but once you get to the meat of it (PUN HAHA), you realize that they are completely different, and you were a fool for thinking otherwise. 

That’s our main heroine! Go go go!

Dude, episode 25 hit me out of nowhere, AND I READ THE SPOILERS! I won’t say any more than that.

The cast is one of the best that I’ve seen in a while. Their chemistry is basically the entire show. Without one of the main three, you wouldn’t have the show anymore. It handles its female characters better than some of its fellow competitors at the time, and it may have what some may call a “token fat character”, but the character never makes fun of her for being fat. They make fun of her for saying “Yabasu” every single sentence. It hurts that the manga ended with some loose ends, and this anime isn’t getting a season 2.

But at its weird and mushy core, this show is about three people with heavy and complex pasts who simply want to help people work out their issues in their own... unique ways. 

I don’t want to say much else, but I wish more people would watch/read it and create/post most content for it even if it’s a bit old because it deserves it. I’m almost a decade late, and this anime still holds up.

I gave Mairimashita Iruma-kun its own post.

[awkward-radar-tech]

Kylo Ren, The Rising Star: Ch. 2

Summary: One day has elapsed in the week of your sort-of boss, Kylo Ren, staying in your run-down apartment. After another night terror wakes him in the middle of the night, you each learn something new about the other.

A/N: IT IS HERE!!! Finally. Sorry it took so long, life is a bitch... This is really fluffy. Mostly. And I have ideas for another part, if anybody wants one. Well, many parts tbh... Word count- 2957

Warning: Kylo/Ben’s night terror is about you getting (probably fatally) injured at your wedding. If you don’t want to read his non-graphic description of it, please skip the section between these emojis:❗❗❗ 

Chapter 1

💕💕💕

Wednesday had come and gone without any issue. It was mainly just Ben sleeping, waking up for food or the restroom, then shuffling back to bed. He didn't have another night terror until the early hours of Thursday morning. You did the same thing as before and went to wake him up.

He wrapped you in his arms and didn't let go, "That one… that one was bad. Really bad."

He had told you in his rare waking moments that the terrors were common, and that they usually had something to do with him or his family getting hurt. By this point he knew they weren't real, but they still bothered him. 

You rubbed his arm, "Ben. I'm here now. Do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head, "No. Not right now. Still too raw. But stay here, please."

You hummed, "I will. Do you want me to pet your hair again?"

This time he nodded and moved to lay his head on your lap, "Please. Thank you, (y/n)."

You ran your fingers through his hair and untangled any knots you hit. You hummed some of your favorite songs to him and absentmindedly braided parts of his hair. You had thought he had fallen asleep again until he turned so he could look up at you.

He gave you a shy smile, "Can I talk about it now?"

You gave him a kind and inviting smile back, smoothing loose strands off of his face, "Of course, Ben."

❗❗❗

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before starting, "This one… this one was about you. And you got really badly injured."

You nodded and stroked his hair.

He continued, tears welling in his eyes, "Some… somebody attacked you while you were walking down the aisle," the dam broke and he started to cry, "I don't know how they got there. It was such a small wedding and we had security. You were hurt so bad. But you woke me before the ambulance arrived, before we found out if you were okay. But based off of previous experience you wouldn't have been."

❗❗❗

He reached up and wiped his tears just as you were, so you just rubbed his cheek, "Kylo. Ben. It wasn't real. We aren't getting married. We aren't even dating."

"But what if we do? What if it is real?"

You hummed, "Ben. Benny. Then we'll make sure to have so much security. People will have to be on the list, have a ticket scanned, bags checked and metal detectors for everyone, whatever. But for now it is nothing to worry about. Just deep breaths to help calm you down"

He listened to you and took in a few stuttering breaths until he could take a smooth one, "What time is it?"

You turned to the clock on your nightstand, "3:07... AM obviously."

He groaned, "Alright. Well, I've calmed down now, so go back to sleep. You deserve it. Even if I can't go back to sleep because that one was so bad."

You looked down at him, "If you're staying up, I'll stay up. We can just talk about whatever."

He nodded, and sat up, moving to the center of the bed and folding his legs, "Can I vent?"

You nodded, "Of course."

He sighed, "I feel lost. Just so lost. I don't know what to do with my life outside of work anymore. I mean, I can't do the things I used to do, not without being hounded. I miss my old life, being Ben. But at the same time I'm so grateful for my success, I'm not dependent on my parents any longer."

You nodded along, "I can't really imagine. Like I see a bit of it, obviously. But I don't go through it. But you've been Ben since walking out of my car. And until the end of the week." You paused for a moment, "Anytime you need to be Ben, just let me know. I'll let you come over. I'll give you food."

Ben smiled at you, "Thank you. I appreciate it," he looked down sheepishly, "can I get some food now? Just some leftovers, is all."

You got up and offered him your hand, "Sure. Come on. Let's have ourselves a late night snack. There are plenty of leftovers."

He got up and took your hand, "Thank you. I really need to do something nice for you for all of this."

You stopped in your tracks and turned to him, "No. I'm fine. You don't need to do a thing."

He shook his head, "Nope. You are doing so much more than you signed up for. You applied to be an assistant on a movie set, not my personal assistant, flying all over the world with me for promotion things. And now you're housing and feeding me? Just tell me something you want, that you can't or won't get for yourself. Anything at all. I'm sure you want some nice cast iron or something like that to cook on."

You looked away, "Maybe… I'd love a grill pan, flat top combo that covers two burners. And different cast iron pots and pans. A Dutch oven."

He smiled, "I knew there was something. Consider them bought."

You looked to Ben wide eyed, "No, you don't have to. Don't waste your money on me."

He held your chin between his pointer finger and thumb, and gave you a smirk, "It isn't a waste if you make me food with them. And, besides, I have more money than I know what to do with. The least I could do is use it to buy useful things for someone. Especially a good friend."

Your cheeks warmed, and you quickly turned away and continued to the kitchen, "A good friend?"

He followed you again, "Yes. Well, I don't really have friends right now. But you said I could consider us friends. So I do. And you're my best one. Although my bodyguard Max is a close second, he's cool, and spots me when I work out."

You just shook your head and took out all of the leftovers you had and two plates, beginning to serve yourself before speaking again, "Help yourself, Ben."

He took the other plate and assembled an assortment of all the leftovers. A taco, some pasta, meatloaf, chicken and biscuits, definitely more than a snack. Then he sat down and began to eat everything cold.

You microwaved your food and watched him, "You can warm it up you know."

He quickly swallowed his mouthful, "I know. But I don't want to. It is good like this."

You chuckled, "Alright Ben. Do you want something to drink?"

"Just water is fine. Thank you."

You got your food and set it down then got each of you water, "Can I ask you a question?"

He looked at you, taking a sip of water before speaking, "Always. Anything. I'll tell you anything you want to know."

You smiled, "Why do you always eat so fast? And you take such big bites."

He hummed, "Well, I have a big mouth, so the bites you take are tiny to me. And I don't quite know why I eat so fast. I get it from my dad, I think. I just ate like him growing up so I could play with him more."

You chuckled, "Okay… And all of you is big, Benny. Just look how big your hand is compared to mine."

You held out your hand so he could see, and he placed his on yours, "Maybe you're just small?"

You shook your head and moved to hold his hand, "No, you're definitely just big. Huge even. Every part."

He smirked, "Maybe it is both? You're small and I'm gigantic."

"You are not gigantic. Just big."

He chuckled, "Have you seen my feet?"

You looked away, grabbing your water, "I have."

He smiled, "Well, you know what they say about big feet?"

You gave him a surprised look, almost choking on your water, as he took a dramatic pause.

He grinned, "Big shoes. And I have to special order shoes online. So at least my feet are gigantic."

You laughed and went back to eating. 

He stayed silent for a bit then spoke again, "My turn for a question."

You looked up to him, "Of course."

He looked away then turned back, "You didn't completely shoot down the thought of my terror. You even said if. Why?"

It was your turn to look away, face warming quickly, "Because. I, uhh… well. You see."

He cut off your stammering, speaking fast, "I like you. A lot. Like I have a crush on you. It isn't why I asked to stay here though. I just knew I'd actually have a break here." He stood up and walked away before you could respond, "Sorry, shouldn't have brought it up. I'll go back to bed, forget I said anything."

You lept out of your seat and grabbed his arm, "No! I like you too, I think. Well, I knew who Kylo Ren was before I was hired, didn't know he'd be working the same movie I applied for. And I thought he was cute. But as soon as I found out I worked for him I pushed those feelings aside in order to be professional."

He stopped in his tracks and turned to you, "You think I'm cute?"

You nodded, "Yes. And very nice and personable."

He smiled, "So. You like me?"

You returned his smile, "Yes, I said that already."

"Can I kiss your cheek?"

"Yes."

He leaned down to kiss your cheek, right in the center, careful not to be too close to your lips. He went back to his full height, smiling wide.

You just watched him, butterflies rampant inside you, then reached up to cup his cheek. Your voice was soft, "My turn."

He leaned down enough so you could reach, and hummed when you hugged him tight, hugging back.

You rocked side to side while hugging him, "I like you, Ben Solo."

He let out a yawn, "I like you, too, (y/n)."

You pat his arm as you pulled out of the hug, "Go back to bed now, Ben. I'll see you in the morning, and we can talk more."

He nodded and pat the top of your head, "Goodnight."

You smiled and watched him go back, pushing the door closed then opening it back up and waving to you, which you returned, "Goodnight Ben."

He left the door open then went into bed, curling up under the covers. You went back into the kitchen to put everything away, leaving the plates until morning, then went to your nest of blankets on the couch, quickly falling asleep.

In the morning you woke to sounds in the kitchen. You got up, still sleepy, and went to the kitchen. You found Ben reading one of your recipes and trying to find everything he needed. 

Your voice revealed your grogginess, "Ben? What're you doing?"

He whirled around, having not heard you shuffle up, "I'm, I'm uhh. I'm trying to make you pancakes. I found it in your book and decided to do something for you. But I can't find the measuring stuff."

You moved to the drawer he was in front of, "They are here."

You pulled out what he needed and went back to the couch, still tired, not really registering what was happening. You fell back asleep and woke up some time later to nudging.

You lazily swatted at the hand pushing your shoulder, "Five more minutes."

Ben chuckled, "I already gave you that. Your pancakes will get cold if you wait any longer."

You hummed, still nowhere near functioning, "Ooh, I like pancakes."

Ben pulled on your arm to get you to sit up, "Then get up, (y/n). I made breakfast. And don't make me carry you."

You reached out your arms, "Take me away, sir."

He smirked and picked you up bridal style, "Did you drink after I went back to sleep or something?"

You giggled, "No. Just very sleepy. Trying to regain some of my energy, I guess."

He set you in the chair and set a plate with pancakes and fruit in front of you, "Alright. But it is time to fully wake up now. I can give you a caffeine pill if you want."

You took some deep breaths and shook your head, trying to fight your grogginess, "No. I'm good. I'm slowly becoming a normal human again."

He smiled and handed you a cup of orange juice, "Drink this. Maybe the sugar will help."

You took a sip and hummed, "Thank you, Benny."

He blushed at the nickname, despite you having used it before, "You're welcome."

You began to eat, "These are good Ben. You did a good job."

"Thank you. I was following a pretty good recipe."

You got a confused look on your face, "Did I wake up and pull out the measuring cups and spoons for you?"

He hummed, "Yeah. You did. Then you went back to sleep."

"Oh, I thought I was dreaming."

He chuckled, "You were not."

You nodded and ate, slowly becoming more human. 

After breakfast, with casual silence, the two of you went to the couch to watch something.

You looked at him, "Do you like watching tv and movies? Like ones you aren't in."

He nodded, "I do. I prefer more documentary type stuff than pure entertainment. I just know or have seen in person too many people, and I start trying to find ways to emulate other's techniques in my acting."

"That makes sense. What do you tend to gravitate towards? Food, history, science, nature?"

"I like science stuff, and food and cooking. Sometimes I'll do history or nature or animals. I also like home renovation and building shows."

You turned on a cooking competition show and curled up in the corner of the couch under one of your fuzzy blankets. Ben took another blanket and covered himself, curling up in the opposite corner.

Soon the two of you were rooting for different contestants, yelling at them for making risky decisions, pleading for them to hurry up and plate their food already. 

At the end of the episode the two of you just looked at the other and began to laugh.

You grabbed Ben's hand, "Are you sure we haven't been best friends for years?"

He squeezed your hand, "I'm pretty sure. But it feels like we have."

You paused the next episode as the beginning started to play, "I should go down and check the mail. Your clothes should be here, right?"

He checked his phone, "Yeah. It is saying they've actually been delivered now."

You pulled on a sweatshirt and sandals, grabbed your mailbox key, and looked to Ben, "I'll be right back."

He waved and you went down and got the three boxes and one bag. Thankfully all of them had your name on them and nobody was around, so you got back without interacting with anybody else. 

You kicked the door to knock, “Ben, open the door. How much did you order?”

The door opened and he took everything from you, “Sorry. But not everything is for me.”

You walked in and locked the door, “Benjamin. What’s your middle name?”

He looked away, blushing, “The initial is C.”

“Benjamin C. Solo, you did not buy me something.”

“I did. And there are no returns. You are keeping it. Now I just need to figure out which box it is in.”

He began opening boxes, looking for something, and then he found the smaller box in one of the boxes, and held it out to you, “Here. For you.”

You took the box and opened it, to find a nice watch, “Ben. No. I can’t accept this.”

He gave you a pointed look, “You are. I’ve noticed you don’t have one, so I felt you should get one. And I can fix the band size for you. I used to work at a watch shop.”

You took it out of the box and tried it on while he ripped open the bag and tossed something else at you, “Ben!”

He smiled and looked away, “I also got more of your drug of choice. Caffeine pills.”

You sat next to him and he adjusted the band for it to fit your wrist.

He looked to you, kind of bashful, “I hope you don’t mind I got that for you. I was ordering other things from the company and saw it. Like I said, I want to use my money for others. I donate too. A lot. All the food banks and human and animal shelters in the county, here and at home. Also I did order you a grill pan. It will be here on Saturday. But I’ll get that from downstairs.”

You just hugged him, “Thank you Ben. I love it.”

He turned to look at you after you pulled back and you locked eyes. You both smiled at the other, and without thinking you both leaned toward each other. 

Time stopped. 

You smiled and then the lips against yours spread wide too. 

The air filled with mirth. 

Time stopped again. Then again. And another time.

Your hands were in silky hair again, and there were hands in yours. 

Time kept pausing. And you didn’t want it to stop happening. But you needed to breathe.

You pulled back and looked at the culprit of the stoppage of time, smiling like a fool, “I like that.”

The culprit smiled too, “Me too.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, “How about a bit more?”

It was your turn to stop time.

[clansayeed]

Bound by Destiny ― Chapter 3: The Evidence

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny ⥽

Nadya Al Jamil (MC) has been struggling from the day she moved to Manhattan, but her new job as assistant to the mysterious CEO of Raines Corp was supposed to turn her luck around. Until she finds herself caught in the middle of a war involving the Council of Vampires who secretly run the city. An evil from the birth of Vampire-kind stirs beneath, feeding on the conflict, and finds Nadya bound to a destiny she never asked for.

Bound by Destiny and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Everyone said nothing good would ever come of falling into an online video rabbit hole. Unfortunately for Nadya they were right.

[READ IT ON AO3]

She doesn’t see hide nor hair of Katherine in the days following the Gallery, and can’t help but suspect that’s kind of the point. Adrian doesn’t mention her name, her presence, or the fact that he essentially ditched Nadya at an event full of strangers to conclude whatever business he and Kamilah had with her.

He does make it up to his secretary just as he said. When he picks her up Monday evening there’s a sample box of gourmet cronuts from a news-featured local bakery with a reservation line as long as the one to get a photo on the bridge where King Anton proposed to Princess Caoimhe. Before she can message Adrian what he wants for dinner on Wednesday there’s an email from security downstairs about a food delivery — which just so happens to be from one of the best Brazilian steakhouses in the city. And just when she doesn’t think he could be any more impressive (or desperate for forgiveness) he sends her off Friday near-dawn with front-row tickets for her and Lily to Saturday’s evening performance of On Summit Blackspine.

“No — nope, no freakin’ way.”

With his hands in his pockets Adrian is like a wall of generosity. He simply won’t take it back. “I insist. You two were looking at tickets anyway, right?”

“Well, yeah,” she splutters, acts like she has no idea how to hold two small pieces of paper, “but we were looking at tickets, like, a year from now, and… way way up in the nosebleeds!”

Adrian completely disregards her protests; even when they start to venture into ‘why were you listening to my lunch break phone call’ territory. He doesn’t seem somber — like he’s genuinely repaying some sort of debt — at all. In fact she’s never seen anyone look so excited about something they won’t be partaking in.

He joins her in the elevator ride down but doesn’t have any of his usual things. He’s staying late but won’t hear a word of her offering to keep him company.

Before the revolving door separates them Nadya plucks up her courage and turns on her heel to look Adrian in the eyes. He startles back, but his composure is never more than a hair’s breadth away.

“You know you don’t have to do anything, right?” It’s as sincere as she can make it; any more emotion between them and she might as well be bawling into his tie.

“What do you mean?”

She groans in protest. “Adrian, you know exactly what I mean. All this stuff —” her gesture is open, vague, but he’s a smart guy, “— and whatever you have in mind about making it up to me. You don’t have to do any of it. Please tell me you understand that. I mean it. I need to hear you, like, verbally say it.”

He laughs in that familiar kind way of his; even puts on a squared jaw and teasingly stern frown when she swats his arm.

“I understand, Nadya, I do. But I can’t help it. I left you on your own most of the night, and didn’t even tell you when I was leaving. Just let me do this, please?”

Eventually his kicked-puppy eyes break her resolve, but only just. “Fine. But this is it, Raines. No more apology gifts.”

“Alright, alright! No more. Though returning the Maserati might be an issue…”

Nadya’s heart falls into the pit of her stomach. “The wha —” But Adrian’s awful at hiding his smile, even worse at hiding the shit-eating grin it grows into, and though he could probably dead-lift her without a second thought she hopes the numerous smacks she wails on his arms do some kind of damage.

He waves her off, calls out “Tell me all about it Monday!” and she’s the one left watching him retreat back into the building.

While riding the subway Nadya’s thoughts wander — and not for the first time either — to whether or not other Manhattan secretaries had such eccentric bosses. Doubtful.

There isn’t time the next night to think about Adrian’s oddities — all thanks to Lily. If she spent the whole evening worrying about work and why her boss was so nice it was a guarantee that her roommate would use any physical force necessary to snap her out of it.

“I can’t believe you had all day to catch up and you spent it rewatching AME!”

While they certainly aren’t dressed up to rival those she’d seen at the Gallery, Nadya and Lily are still the best-dressed things to grace the subway in a long time. Nadya had been ready to call a rideshare until Lily so graciously reminded her how expensive drinks and snacks were likely to be at the show — and they already had subway passes.

“The stage show debuted last year,” Nadya argues defensively, “it’s not like they’re gonna edit the script for every new episode that airs.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m pretty sure.”

They compare notes of knowledge and trade fan-theories on the ride; every time Lily riles herself up over the book plots Nadya has to pat her shoulder and remind her to use her subway voice. It may have been way too much for Adrian to spend on someone who managed his datebook but she couldn’t deny how much she missed hanging out with her best friend.

“Check it out,” Lily whispers in her ear, and Nadya turns her attention away from the seating chart above the door to the sight of Lily’s dress shirt unbuttoned and spread Superman-style; revealing her collector’s edition The Crown and the Flame book-cover tee; a memory from their first Christmas together.

It sends them both into fits of giggles — the attendees around them may be averse to laughter and joy but they certainly were not. The doors open soon after and they take their seats — smack dab in the middle of the front row.

The lights dim, the curtains part, and all the reviews Nadya read about how ‘difficult and underwhelming it was to bring something filmed on-location and with tons of CGI to the stage’ can go shove it because the Five Kingdoms are beautiful.

Lily steals her phone Monday afternoon for a quick text. Nadya doesn’t think much of it — they’ve lived together long enough with little boundary — until she’s about to go down and wait for Adrian on the curb but instead he’s blocking her path in the doorway.

“Uh…?” The confusion doesn’t last long — not when Lily practically assaults Adrian with one of her signature bone-crushing, spine-deforming, lung-shrinking hugs. She praises a litany of gracious thanks so fast she’s out of breath before Nadya can pull her off.

To Adrian’s credit he’s not phased in the slightest — back again with that silly grin. “Well that solves my mystery,” presenting his phone screen to them both, “because when I saw how the text was signed I thought you confused me for someone else.”

When she takes the phone and spots the ‘xoxo’ signed at the bottom of Lily’s request for Adrian to meet her at the door, Nadya’s cheeks burn scarlet.

“I’m gonna kill you.”

“I figured.” Though Lily doesn’t seem ashamed in the slightest. “I just wanted to thank him in person. I had the chance, so I took it.”

“I take it that means the show lived up to the hype?” Adrian looks between them eagerly; and even Nadya relents and nods.

“It was amazing.”

“They had a full. sized. dragon puppet. Of course it was amazing!”

They’re running an hour late — Adrian insists it wasn’t any trouble but when Lily’s highlights became ‘recounting the show scene-for-scene’ Nadya had to get them out — but even the CEO’s reassurance falters when the elevator door opens to Nicole standing tersely in front of his office door.

All these months and she still doesn’t understand the dynamic between Nicole and Adrian. He’s her boss, both their boss, yet sometimes it feels like Nicole is the one ordering him around, keeping him on task — a feeling curiously accompanied by her presence in the general vicinity.

Today is no different. Her frown turns into barely-expressed rage as she looks between them. If she held her files any tighter there might be nail-shaped punctures in the paper.

“You’re late.” Nicole gives a terse click of her tongue and strides between them — parts them physically — towards the waiting elevator.

Adrian glances at his watch. “Not by much. It’s not as though Lester is clamoring to see me.”

“A certain degree of professionalism is required when handling… delicate matters such as these.”

While they argue, Nadya starts slowly inching towards her desk. Tries to make as little noise as possible as she lowers her purse down and starts taking out her work. Either it works or she’s suddenly magic because they continue to bicker on as though they’re alone up in his office.

“I don’t know anyone in the world who would call Lester Castellanos delicate, Nicole.”

The elevator door tries to close behind her but her heel wedges in the gap and forces it open. It feels like a metaphor to Nadya.

“You know very well that’s not what I mean.”

Adrian raises an eyebrow. “Then what do you mean?”

There’s no questioning the spiteful look Nicole flashes behind him. Gaze pinned straight on Nadya with a crinkle in her otherwise perfect mask of stone-cold witch.

“Not here. Downstairs.”

She’s a little more than half surprised that Adrian doesn’t pull the cinematic-cliche ‘anything you need to say, you can say in front of Nadya’ line. But it wasn’t a full surprise — there were just some things she wasn’t privy to yet. The fact that she knew as much as she did with less than a year under her belt was astonishing to say the least.

Instead, Adrian casts half a look over his shoulder. His eyes not quite meeting hers.

“Very well.”

Then they’re both standing in the elevator — Nadya watching it close from the other side.

It’s either a trick of the LEDs or Adrian looks apologetic before the door shuts with a soft ding.

Lunch — the midnight version of it — rolls around and Nadya tries not to seem so obvious in how she sneaks glances at the lift. Hoping, willing it to open. It’s almost maddening. Almost; until she replays the pair’s confrontation for the umpteenth time in her head and catches something she missed before.

Her fingers fly across her keyboard; pb&j abandoned in front of her.

Lester. She knows that name; can still hear it in Adrian’s voice clear as day.

“What have you contributed, Lester?”

The browser isn’t even finished loading her results when the unease settles in. What was once a tightly-wound ball of panic that kept her from even looking in Adrian’s direction had dulled, yes, but somehow that just made things worse. There had been a chunk of time in which she really considered Adrian might be involved with killers; or that he may very well be one himself. His charm wasn’t the only thing that disarmed her — because Adrian’s charm didn’t have the same luster it did when she first started working for him.

Nadya remembers the smile he gave her as he reassured Nadya over her interview jitters. It was something easy, practiced. It was easier to fake something around someone you didn’t know — that’s how she’s lied her way through the confidence to report directly to such an important member of the industry. Now — things changed; well hadn’t they? From daily drives to silly quips hiding behind a chocolate fountain. They’d grown close.

Somehow she hopes that means it’s harder for him to lie to her. It’s certainly harder for her to see him as a murderer. Kamilah Sayeed, on the other hand…

Lester Castellanos looks exactly like a man named Lester. Either his mother was psychic or he decided to grow into a name that oozed lecherous intent. Right off the bat a few clicks here and there on her screen outline his meat-packing company (along with several FDA violations and one unionizing strike three years ago) and how his ‘father’ ran it before he took over after Y2K. Only there aren’t any photos of Mister Castellanos with his father… or without him, actually. Plenty of local news rags have snapshots of him with a pretty (paid) girl on each arm; coming out of a Lacroix spring debut, donating to Senator Vega’s reelection campaign, having some small branch of the Metropolitan Museum of Art named after him for his generosity.

Nadya’s so close to giving up — to associating Adrian and Lester as businessmen of the same tycoon-ishness — when a grainy streaming rabbit hole catches her eye. Not that she’d ever admit she was looking so intently but that maroon pantsuit? Hard not to recognize.

Probably doesn’t help that she’s had more than a few dreams about it…

It’s been ages since she’s watched anything that wasn’t taken on some form of camera phone. But the date stamp in the corner and the slight lag between audio and visual definitely mark this as a remnant of the bygone VHS-era. Probably when Lester was inducted in as CEO of his company.

There. She spends what feels like hours pausing, rewinding, dragging the player to a specific spot and having to time her two-fingered assault on the keyboard just so but the victory is sweeter than she could have imagined.

Behind Lester’s flouncy gestures for some speech about bringing ‘old industry’ back to Manhattan — the flicker of maroon. And beside Kamilah’s pixelated waves of dark hair stands a figure two heads taller and with cheekbones definitely made to exist in the time of high-definition photography; distinctive even from a distance.

Adrian’s grainy figure leans down and whispers something in Kamilah’s distorted confidence. Maybe she laughs; maybe she frowns. She doesn’t look away from Lester’s speech.

And in the corner: [03 JULY, 2001]

An uncharacteristic calm falls over her. Maybe she’s done enough freaking out for the day — or over Adrian Raines, for that matter — and she’s numb to new information. She deletes her browser history — doesn’t think it’ll do much good if anyone really wanted to see what she was looking at — and clocks back in. Loses herself in the work. For once in Nadya’s life the mindless, soul-sucking tedium of an office job is a good thing. Doesn’t really need much brain power, makes it so she doesn’t pay attention when the lift door dings and Adrian returns from his meeting with a slump in his shoulders.

That is until he looks over her shoulder.

“You’re already working on the MacCombe spreads?” He sounds surprised.

“I finished all those return calls—here —” she hands him three neon-pink post-its with different names and dates scribbled on them, “— don’t worry about memorizing them; I’ve updated your datebook with the appointments. Though this one, Volenti, is a lunch at some rooftop Italian place, so I’d avoid the morning coffee.”

She expects him to pay it all little mind. After all, this is what he’s paying her for: clerical nonsense, not to be his friend and a pesky detective on the side.

But Adrian’s all about subverting expectations; plucks the note from her fingers and frowns at the time.

“I can’t make it that day. I’m booked up all afternoon.”

Nadya quickly pulls up both his digital datebook and brushes aside an open folder to the desk calendar she has color-coded to the nines. Even Adrian’s eyes widen at the sheer mess of her incoherent organization.

“Uh, no you’re not?” Which isn’t so much questioning her boss as questioning her own appointment-making skills.

“I am. Tell Mrs. Volenti she’ll need to change it to a dinner reservation.”

“Well maybe we can squeeze—”

“Nadya.”

She looks at his face for the first time since he returned. When Adrian realized ‘professional personal space’ wasn’t really her forte — a habit picked up from living in close quarters with Lily, no doubt — he started testing his own waters until it wasn’t uncommon for both of them to just reach over one another without a second thought.

He takes up that personal bubble, now; towers over her in a way that makes Nadya shrink back in her chair slightly.

She’s never heard that sort of tone from him before. Harsh, cold, almost mean. Nadya shivers.

The hard look in Adrian’s eyes softens instantly. His tone stays firm.

“Change it to a dinner reservation. And book me up for office calls that day.” Then, as if their friendship is an afterthought; “Thank you.”

His office door closes behind him absolutely silent — she can just imagine him being as delicate as possible with the creaky old wood.

Nadya takes a few minutes to collect herself in her personal bathroom. She emerges, still counting down from one hundred, and grabs the note with Volenti’s number to reschedule.

“BOOM! HEADSHOT!”

Nadya looks down at her pint of ice cream with a grimace. No matter what the commercials said, they were liars: lactose-free ice cream was a crime against humanity.

“Did you see that? I’m pretty sure I couldn’t replicate that move if I tried.” Lily talks half to herself half to her one-person audience as she studies the controller in her hands. She brings it close and strokes her thumb over the joystick.

“Tell me your secrets… please?”

The controller vibrates — makes Lily scream in response. Then a horde of zombies swarms in on her character on the television screen and she scrambles to return to diligent gamer-mode.

Maybe time passes, or maybe Lily suddenly has the ability to teleport. Both options are equally likely as one minute Nadya successfully tunes out the groaning roar of digital catastrophe and the next Lily’s plucking the barren spoon from dangling awkwardly in her mouth.

“Hello? Ground control to Al Jamil; can you read me, Al Jamil?”

It takes Nadya a moment to blink away a sluggishness she didn’t know she had.

“You say something, Lil’?”

“I mean,” she seriously thinks it over, “nothing more than my usual gaming banter — which is still worthy of an epic quote-book. How was your trip to Planet of the Mush-Brains?”

Crouched in front of Nadya’s armchair, Lily steals a bite of melty ice cream — cringes at the lie that is ‘lactose-free’ maple pecan but forces herself to swallow it.

There’s a quip about the squishy mess that would be planet Mush-Brain on the tip of Nadya’s tongue. Instead she looks down at her half-reflection in her roommate’s smudged glasses and erupts in gooseflesh.

“Can I ask you something weird?”

“Weird on a scale of…?”

“Weird.” Nadya confirms. Lily grins.

“You fuckin’ bet.”

There’s a pause where she breathes in deep, tries to process the words about to come out of her mouth, and she goes for it.

“Do you believe in vampires?”

They’ve lived together long enough now to go through all the theories, discussions, and conversations generally reserved for the butt-crack of dawn or when midnight seems to stretch on forever. They’ve bought matching sleeping bags and sometimes have camping nights in the living room (though Lily is forever banned from buying candles — because sometimes ‘the aesthetic’ just isn’t worth possibly burning down an entire apartment building); laid head-meet-toes for hours and talked about the things that made them who they were; what they dreamed about, their genie wishes, and the things unproven that they still believed in anyway.

Vampires included.

Lily props her chin on Nadya’s knee and blinks slowly. She reminds Nadya of a cat sometimes.

“Sure,” she shrugs, “I guess. Are you talking about that video that went viral about that Norwegian metal band that said they drink each other’s blood before gigs?”

Nadya blanches. Some things should just never be said with a straight face. “No! What?! Who—where do you find these things?”

"The internet.”

“Right — I mean — no. Not Norwegians. Like… actual vampires.”

It’s stupid; ludicrous even. It’s not something she’s even going to go through the process of explaining out loud because some things even Lily might find absolutely bonkers. And she once went on a date with a Flat-Earther.

Maybe her roommate’s actually taking her seriously because she takes a long pause before answering.

“Sure, I guess. Depends on what kind.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, what lore are we talking? And also, is this a sleeping bag situation?”

Nadya wants to say yes. She wants them to push the coffee table aside and lay down together so she can vent every crazy idea she’s processing — and then some. But the room looks lighter than it did a few minutes ago and when she glances at the stove clock her heart sinks. 06:08 glaring at her in bright ugly red. Lily ‘Freakin’ Superhuman’ Spencer is no stranger to pulling all-nighters before work but Nadya has a feeling if she unloads now it might tempt her roomie to call out to stay by her side.

And while the company would be nice there was one thing she liked just a little bit more: being able to make rent.

“Nah,” she’s not convincing anyone, least of all her best friend, when she waves it off and jostles Lily onto her rear end by standing, “I was just thinking weird things.”

But now Lily’s caught the scent. Leans in sans personal-bubble as Nadya puts the melted ice cream away.

“What kinda weird things? When did you start thinking them? Who made you think weird things?”

“It’s nothing, Lil’.”

“Obviously not.”

“And you’re suddenly Sherlock Holmes…?”

“I talked to my controller, Nadi’. And you didn’t stop me.”

“Well as long as you weren’t tonguing the joystick.”

“Ew,” Lily recoils, “you know I don’t do sticks. Stop changing the subject!”

But it was just enough to get Nadya time to slip out from under the gaze of nerd-glasses scrutiny; she’s already closing her bedroom door. Lily never could resist a lesbian quip.

“Good luck at work!” She calls, and leans against her door with a heavy sigh. Nothing’s stopping Lily from knocking until she answers, or more frighteningly; nothing’s stopping her from breaking into a rendition of the song from Frozen.

But Lily respects her space. She’s just crawled into bed when she hears a call of “See ya!” and the front door slamming shut.

She texts Adrian half an hour later calling in sick. She gets sick time, right? Of course he answers when she’s on the cusp of real sleep.

[TEXT]: Are you alright?? -Adrian

[TEXT]: yeah Lil gave me her cold. sorry. can I do it like this or do I have to call hr? [TEXT]: please don’t say I gotta call nicole

[TEXT]: No this is fine. I’m sure I can survive one day. -Adrian [TEXT]: Actually take a long weekend. See you Monday. Feel better.

It’s more than she asked for so why does something uncomfortable settle in her gut? She stares at the text chain, squints until her eyes begin to blur the words, and then it hits her.

No ‘Sincerely, Adrian.’ Whatever he’s doing this early (which, honestly she’s surprised since everyone has to sleep sometime but not him, apparently) has him occupied enough not to be, well, himself. And there’s a part of Nadya that feels like if she sends him a message asking about it he might very well respond. Her fingers hover over the buttons on screen long enough for her hand to prickle with pins and needles.

She turns off the ringer, tucks the device under her pillow, and forces herself to sleep.

They are grown-ups, thank you very much. They have grown-up jobs and grown-up bills and grown-up credit cards and checking accounts and monthly interest fees. And while most of grown-up life sucked a big one, having jobs that only operated during the business week was a small perk in a sea of ‘wait, I didn’t ask for this.’

Lily doesn’t bring up the ‘V’ word all weekend. They aren’t best friends for nothing — Nadya’s way ahead of her and knows when the questions itch on the tip of her tongue. Doesn’t help that Lily’s magically, totally spontaneously decided to bring out her old copy of ‘Blood Suckers 3: Fast-Forward’ to brush up on her apparently rusty vampire-cyborg slaying abilities.

With a grocery-store pizza crisping in the oven and the tinny sounds of the cybernetically-enhanced undead wailing their deaths throughout the entire apartment things feel… normal. They feel like they used to. Before Adrian, before Raines Corp., before her internet browsing history was shamefully filled with the beginnings of research into the possibility that the creepy spookies might be legit.

There’s only one job that has followed the pair of them into grown-up life: knowing how to take care of each other. They were a bit rusty — but still got the stuff.

Lily’s eyes are glued to the screen, thumbs twitching on the joystick and slamming into buttons because hitting them harder made the little in-game avatar attack faster—obviously. Nadya can’t stop watching in amusement as she scoots, inch by inch, towards the edge of the couch in anticipation for this level’s boss battle.

“Die cyborg scum! For a third and final time!”

Any harder and she might actually break the triangle button. But Nadya doesn’t get time to warn her — not with the sudden shrill screech of the smoke detector.

“The pizza!” She’s up in a flash — yanks the pie way from the heat where it falls lamely on the floor and spews blackened bits all over the tile. The alarm chirps on out of spite.

Nadya waves a dish towel at the collecting smoke — god she really loves Lily to death but the fact that she’s the only one picking herself up to do anything is frustrating to say the least.

“Lil’! Open the windows! Please?!”

It’s enough to pull her roommate out of the distant and horrible year of 5048; then a mad dash to unlatch the fire escape window. Winter forces in like that time Lily thought they could rent out their couch space to gap-year European students. She’s chilly but effective in sucking the smoky air outside. Snowflakes flutter in but vanish on contact with the decades-old carpeting.

Above them; the sudden THUD THUD THU-UD of unfortunately all-too-familiar workboots. Then a shrill voice cuts through the aged plaster holding their building together by a thread.

“What’s that awful noise?! Marty, stop stomping you fucking idiot! I’m tryna watch my show here!”

“It’s those dykes downstairs!” Marty’s delightful holler suddenly grows sharp — echoes from his open window to theirs, “CUT THAT SHIT OUT! You ain’t takin’ us to Hell with you!”

Like a holy sign the detector ceases; angry red blinking slowing down into green, false-alarm peace.

Lily glares at the white plastic in contempt. “Rude neighbors I can live with — but a homophobic smoke detector? Nu-uh. Where’s my bat?”

While Nadya tries to dissuade her from beating them into a replacement fine Marty resumes his best lumberjack impression above them. The hazards of living somewhere with rent security.

The bat may have just been a comic-con prop but there’s nothing comical about the slew of rusty nails sticking out of the business end at odd angles. It takes a solid chunk of time to talk her down, talk her into unleashing her aggression back on Lestat-meets-the-Terminator.

After a bit of sleuthing — and with pizza crust char smeared on her cheek — Nadya holds out the culprit with all the conviction Law and Order could teach: a chunk of the plastic wrapping melted into a gloss on top of a pepperoni.

“I’ll have to call the store in the morning.”

Lily snarls at her game with new vigor. “Why?”

“Because — we caught it. What if there’s a bad batch?”

“I mean, maybe. But you don’t know that.”

“Neither do they unless I say something.”

“So…” Hunger stakes both Lily and her boss battle; ‘PAUSED’ flashing on the screen in bright blocky letters while Lily pushes up her glasses, “no pizza?”

The air hurts her face. Why did she willingly choose to live in a place where the air hurts her face?

There’s definitely an open pizza joint a few blocks over — you don’t have enough money to geomap the entire world and lie about late-night pizza — but not only are people like Nadya one of the reasons food delivery services were invented, she’s just not as familiar with her neighborhood as she once was. At the moment she blames Adrian for that.

“Stupid ritzy lunch deliveries,” she mutters, keeps her lips moving and tries not to lick them and ohp—there it goes, now her lips feel like she’s well on her way to frostbite, “stupid fancy dinner hotels, stupid employee-only rooftop restaurant, stupid DiGeronimo’s plastic-riddled pizzas of death.”

She’s glad there’s no one around to listen to her muttered tirade. Some things a woman just has to complain about alone.

“Why am I the one out here anyway?” she asks no one in particular — the snowflakes picking up speed around her, maybe, “I can’t even eat the darn pizza! — Then again I was totally gonna eat the pizza. Hey, universe, if you’re listening, I was gonna eat the pizza. I was gonna be punished enough. So like… let up on the ice age, will ya?”

The universe doesn’t let up on the ice age. If anything it feels like the snow drift is picking up speed. Flakes turn to fat droplets on her glasses that distort the world around her. Cupping her hands over her mouth does no good — can’t exactly see with fog over her lenses.

Huddled under the drooping awning of a closed bodega, her shaking hands fumble around for her phone and the map. “Nooo… how did I end up on the wrong side of the friggin’ park?!”

Lily will wait for her cheesy delight, she decides — kicks the sticky snow from her boots and trudges across the street towards the park entrance, she will wait until I’ve regained feeling in all ten fingers and all ten toes and not a minute before.

It’s all very Every Crime Serial Ever. Literally, Nadya swears she’s seen at least a dozen winter-themed episodes start with a young woman taking a shortcut in a dark park. But there’s more on the line than empty stomachs and another night of instant ramen now. Now; it’s a point of pride. It’s about making it out into the storm and returning, victorious, from the highest peak with tales of wonder and mystery.

So she keeps to the snowed-over pathways even when the cold wet starts to seep into her thick fuzzy socks — keeps under the glow of lamp posts the city abandoned a long time ago where she can find them. Distracts herself with thoughts of delicious melty cheese and sneaking a few mushrooms onto Lily’s side before she gets back to the apartment — and wonders if the delivery driver might take pity on her poor frozen soul and drive her back to her block rather than making her return with a pizza-sicle.

That’s the problem with expecting something bad to happen, though. When you expect it you do everything in your power to not think about it — to not run around freaking out over every fallen leaf and garbage-diving raccoon. There’s definitely a difference between using smart caution and just straight up stamping down every bad feeling rolling around in your gut.

Nadya, unfortunately, is prone to the latter. Years of jeers and teasing and being called irrational will do their damage eventually — and for her they come together as the knowledge that she shouldn’t be doing what she’s doing but not enough wisdom to turn back.

There’s a loud crash. Nadya screams loud enough to warm up her insides. Her keys held tightly between each knuckle in self-defense on one hand and phone ready to emergency dial with the other. Fear creeps in at the edges of her vision; makes the darkness outside the safety of the lamp’s light appear alive, undulating, thriving off her terror.

In the dark void between one lamppost and the next a hollow metal creaking grows closer—closer—closer—and she’ll never tell a living soul (that’s a lie, she’ll probably tell Lily when she stops having nightmares over this mess) but she might have accidentally unclenched her legs a little too quickly as an upended garbage can rolls a path through the fresh snow with the contents painting a trail behind.

I’m a good citizen, dang it, but I wanna keep my fingers. Because what horror movie starts with the victim being ripped to shreds while she’s saving the environment during a polar vortex?

The distant Lily-adjacent voice in the back of her head quips something like “holiday horror movies, duh!” but it’s too quiet — too soft over the sudden primal roar that carries on every gust of winter wind.

She’s cold. She’s afraid. There’s the strangest taste of almonds on the back of her tongue?

Then everything is warm and dark. She briefly considers crawling out of bed to have Lily remind her to pack a lunch in the morning.

Instead she welcomes sleep.

[artificialqueens]

living ultralife (Branjie) - Holzmanns

A/N: This fic uses male pronouns for Brooke and female pronouns for Vanessa for ease of reading more than anything else, though it is still a M/M fic. Thank you all so, so much for feedback on my last fic, I appreciate it more than you know.

6:03 pm | Jose: Get your ass over here!!

6:04 pm | Brock: Miss me already? It’s only been two weeks.

6:05 pm | Jose: Shut up, you miss me too. And it’s two weeks too long lol

6:05 pm | Brock: You’re not wrong about that.

6:06 pm | Jose: Which one??

6:07 pm | Brock: Both. Wednesday can’t come fast enough.

Brooke smiles at his phone, before placing it down gently on the table. He grabs his lash glue to put the final touches on his makeup. He’s ready almost an hour before his call time for the Saturday night gig, discipline from years of ballet touring rendering him unable to leave preparations to the last minute.

The local queens bustle around him in the communal dressing room in various states of undress, tugging on pairs upon pairs of tights and bantering over his head with one another. They’re all friendly enough to him - they are in every bar - but he knows that most of them are regarding him with a wary eye. He can’t blame them; he used to be one of them too – watching the RuGirls swoop in for gigs and electrify the crowd while wondering how on earth they made the cut for the show, what they had that he hadn’t.

He’s reached the goal that he’s been striving for for the past four years after auditioning over and over again, finally hearing “Congratulations, you’re on season 11” over a crackly phone call from a producer who probably knew exactly how much he just changed his life. Brooke is now one of the so-called lucky ones who fly around the country for gigs in every city and town, living out of a suitcase and catching up on sleep in airport departure lounges. Brooke’s grateful: aware of his luck and the novelty of people knowing his name before he even has to introduce himself. How his career opportunities have skyrocketed.

The nomadic lifestyle, however, leaves things to be desired. He misses his cats. They’re safe; he’s lucky to have friends in Nashville with no hesitation about taking them in while he’s away, but he misses their purring when he’d wake up in the mornings and the way they’d always try to grab a bite of his food.

Brooke also misses Vanessa.

It had been nice, after filming was over. They had felt like they had all the time in the world, with no cameras being shoved in their faces and no wayward producers dragging them over to film confessionals about the other. The months had been filled with visits upon visits to LA, Vanessa coming to Nashville (he showed her all of his favourite things in the city and introduced her to all of his favourite people and she truly, truly became a part of him), and a trip to Toronto where he showed her a past that not many others had been privy to.

The cast announcement had changed things. His Instagram followers shot up at the speed of light, his manager suddenly juggling requests for interviews and bookings across the country. It’s why they decided to take a break, knowing that they wouldn’t be able to keep their relationship the way it had been over the past, blissful six months after filming.

Vanessa is used to the grind from the previous season, after all, but it’s new for Brooke. It would only be wise to focus on their careers when the window of opportunity was the biggest as their season aired. Or at least, that’s what they had told themselves a few months prior. It didn’t last.

They had both pined for longer than either of them wanted to admit, avoiding talking about their feelings and how much they missed each other. And then he had gotten a drunken FaceTime call from Vanessa, punctuated with I’m sorry and can we please try again p l e a s e (the only parts he still remembers from the conversation, his heart had been beating too loud to hear the rest) and everything had changed.

It has been okay so far, pretty much how Brooke had expected it to be. He misses her just the same as he did when they took a break, still feels her absence and a tug in his chest every time he thinks about her, but now he can talk to her again. They’re not absurdly avoiding each other in the way that they had started to when neither of them wanted to say how they felt about the situation.

His phone dings with another message from Vanessa, a mirror selfie before she begins to paint for her own gig later in the evening. Brooke can’t help the smile on his face as he sends her a string of emojis in reply (something he never used to use in his texts before her).

Vanessa is one time zone and two flights away from Brooke, in LA for a week while he’s in Edmonton. Or is it Calgary? The cities are already beginning to blend together for him, despite touring only for a few months.                                           

He hosted the viewing party at Roscoe’s stone cold sober a few days prior so that he could hold things back and be intentionally vague – unlike drunk him, who spilled too much information at all the wrong times. He told the crowd that he wasn’t going to see her for a few weeks, which isn’t quite a lie. He really is going to see her in three weeks – except, he’s also going to see her way before that, too.

Brooke has a flight booked for Nashville the next day, to decompress for a few days at home and to switch out both boy and drag outfits before travelling again. His plan after that is to fly to LA on Wednesday for a gig, and more importantly to see her. He’s been counting down the days (now four to go) until LA for the last week and wonders why on earth he’s planned on stopping in Nashville in the first place.

The idea comes to him as he’s gluing down his lace. Why does he have to stop in Nashville?

He texts Courtney, his part-time assistant and full-time friend, to ask if there was maybe, possibly, some way he could switch his flight. He braces for her reply.

She calls him back in a matter of seconds. “You want to what?!”

“I know, I know! It’s last minute-“

“Yeah, no shit-“

“I just have some things to do in LA, that’s all.”

Brooke can hear Courtney’s snort on the other end of the line. “Oh, I know exactly what you want to do. Or who.”

“Shut up.” He hangs up the phone grinning, knowing that despite her teasing she’ll try to work something out.

The rational part of his brain is wondering about flight ticket cancellation fees, ungodly layovers, and being stuck with his current clothes for another few weeks, but the rambling thoughts are being overshadowed by the idea of seeing Vanessa earlier than planned. Should he surprise her? Should he call her now? God, he’s tempted, he wants to hear her reaction to the idea right this second.

He decides against it. He’d rather see that reaction in person.

Courtney pulls through as she always does, cancelling his Nashville ticket and instead managing to book him on a flight to LA for early Sunday morning by the time his gig is over for the night.

“You have to head to the airport in three hours,” she says. “You won’t get any sleep but it was the only one with seats still available. You’re welcome.”

Brooke is practically giddy when going through the security lines, despite the early hour and disgruntled travellers around him. He sends Vanessa a good morning text as he boards, knowing she won’t read it until she wakes up in another few hours, but wanting to message her before he’s in the air nonetheless.

Brooke is used to plane rides. He takes Xanax for the long ones, and sleeps or watches Netflix for the rest. His current three and a half hour journey to LA, while shorter and spread over two flights, feels endless in comparison. His leg bounces up and down and he’s drawn a glare from his seatmate once already.

The Uber from the airport to Vanessa’s place feels just as long. The LA traffic makes him feel as if he could walk through the gridlock and still get there faster. The lack of sleep is catching up to him and his head falls slack against the car window more than once.

His exhaustion fades when he finally, finally reaches her apartment. The Uber driver is nice, taking pity on Brooke and helping him bring his suitcases to the building’s elevator. He lugs his bags to Vanessa’s front door on his own, and has to catch his breath ever so slightly before knocking.

“Coming, coming!”

Brooke can hear her gravelly voice on the other side getting closer, and he is unable to suppress his grin when it is followed by the sound of tripping and a slight oof.   

“Damn I need to clean, now who the fuck is knocking so early on a Sunday-“

The door swings open and he’s face to face with Vanessa, whose bleary eyes size him up and take a second to register-

“What are you doing here!” Her hug is crushing his ribs and he doesn’t care, he’s here and she’s here and in his arms and all the travelling was worth it. “I’m so happy, what the hell Brock, come here.“

She pulls him down for a kiss, one that doesn’t last long because their grins get in the way. When they pull back Vanessa’s eyes are sparkling and she runs her hands over his arms, his chest, his cheek, his hair, like she can’t believe that he’s standing in front of her. In all honesty, neither can he.

“Surprise?” Brooke offers, and Vanessa cracks up, pulling him in for another hug. He swears that he hears a contented sigh when he kisses the top of her head.

“What happened to stopping in Nashville for a few days?”

The hug and his jacket muffle her voice. He shrugs, as much as he can in their current position.

“I couldn’t wait until Wednesday.”

It’s the truth. How could he when they both have days off? All time that he can spend with her. He feels like he’d be able to be in her company forever and not tire of it, never wanting to stop hearing her laugh and ramblings and everything else that comes out of her mouth. He doesn’t ever want to stop being able to pull her close and hug her and kiss her, being able to relish in the feeling of how perfectly they fit together.

After all, he’s tried once. They’ve tried once. It didn’t work. He never wants to try it again.

“You look beat,” she says when she looks up at him, her own sleepy eyes roaming over his face.

Brooke can feel the exhaustion of the journey starting to hit his system now that he’s made it, now that he’s with her.

“My flight was at five.”

She shakes her head incredulously. “When did you plan this?”

“…Last night.”

“You’re absolutely batshit, you know that? I love it.” Vanessa reaches on her tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek when he protests that statement, then tugs on his hand. “C’mon.”

She helps him bring his suitcases inside. Brooke closes the door, then tilts her face up with two fingers under her chin. His lips are on hers and his heart is going to burst. He feels like he’s home and it’s like he never left, like he has forever to go with her.

Vanessa tugs the jacket off of Brooke’s shoulders, leaving it on top of the pile of suitcases. She grabs his hand and pulls him to her room, which is now becoming as familiar to him as his own. He has a nook for his clothes in her closet, a toothbrush by the sink and he never thought that he’d have this, that he’d want this but it feels so right and perfect. She’s right and perfect.

She goes to her dresser and tosses him a pair of shorts that he gratefully changes into (why did he wear jeans for his flight this morning?), and he tugs off his shirt for good measure. It’s still early in the morning, and by her stifled yawn he can tell that she’s on the same wavelength as he is. Everything else can wait.

Vanessa pulls him to the bed, and he climbs under the covers on his side (he has a side, he’s never had a side in someone’s bed before her) like it’s second nature. She curls into him as easy as breathing, her warm body pressing into his and making him feel like he’s defrosting on the inside. Her head rests against his chest and his arms wrap around her, as if letting go of her means that he won’t be here anymore.

Her fingers tracing up his sides and the lingering smell of her cologne help to ground him, to remind him that he is really here.

“I missed you.” It’s a whisper. She’s quiet when she’s feeling soft and sentimental, something he’s grown to understand.

He holds her impossibly tighter. “I missed you, too.”

Brooke doesn’t know if Vanessa has heard him. Her breathing is already beginning to slow down and her fingers are stilling as she drifts off. He doesn’t mind. They have days in front of them, and he can tell it to her as many times as she wants to hear it. And that she’s truly a part of him now, in his veins and his mind all the time and there’s no way that he can get her out. Not that he ever wants to.

He’s criss-crossed the continent over the last few months, travelled from city to city. As he lies in bed with Vanessa and feels the rise and fall of her chest as his own body succumbs to sleep, he discovers that he’s already found his favourite place in the world – and it’s with her.

[believerindaydreams]

el trío

good lord it’s done

I mean, there’s some cleaning up to do, and A03 rewrites and things, and who knows what else, but the story as it stands is now done, and I can actually breathe again and get my life back

this is it

trigger warnings for- racism like fuck. 

I’m assuming, if you’re reading, that you’ve seen “The Good, The Bad and The Ugly” and know what happens at the end. Blondie riding off, to let his partner lynch himself on his own noose. 

We get a rewrite of that scene here. It’s traumatic. 

(there is also sex. The sex is, more or less, consensual, but being juxtaposed the way it is I’ll warn for that as well.)

Today’s Holy Wednesday: the day before the Last Supper and the betrayal and the arrests and all the rest. Penultimate. Tasting rain on the wind. 

Today is also Wednesday, and there’s a brand-new John Wayne film about to open in the morning, and Tuco has a perfect idea how to cheer up his partner when he wakes up, if only Wallace would give him his damn pack back. 

“Now the way I see it, Father Paul entrusted this into my keeping until Lent’s over,” Wallace says, slinging it over his back. “Or anyway, not yours. It’s only twelve miles walk back to the monastery, I’ll be doing you a favour by carrying it all the way. All you have to do is walk.”

“But I can’t leave Blondie alone...”

“You heard what the doctor said, he’s basically fine and he’ll be discharged tomorrow. I’ll bring the car around to pick him up tomorrow evening. If you think you’d rather stay out in the world until then, that’s your decision.”

“But you have all of my-” Tuco says, gesturing. “Everything, okay? I need it back.” 

“Then you won’t need to face the temptation of resisting any cigarettes, if you can’t buy any,” Wallace says phlegmatically. “A little Lenten restraint for a change will do you good, I think.”

He doesn’t know about Lent; but he’s certainly made this man’s Christmas. And there’s not very much fuss he can make about it, without drawing unnecessary attention to the three of them; he’s not willing to make his brother’s life any harder than it needs to be. “You could at least give me money for breakfast.”

“I could,“ Wallace agrees, and bangs his way out the door without further ado. 

Okay. Problems: he’s covered in mud, he’s hungry, he needs somewhere to sleep tonight, and he needs to figure out how to scrape up the money for two theatre tickets before matinee tomorrow. Saint Blondie probably won’t be too excited about sneaking in, like they usually would. 

Tuco sighs, rubs his temples. This is going to be a fun one. 

***********

...too bad you weren’t here, Angel Eyes. Would have saved me a lot of trouble. 

“I don’t know whether we should have done that,” Blondie says, almost meekly, as they leave the movie theatre. He’s being unusually terse, even by his standards; and that’s not like him after a movie. 

“You know, I liked that one,” Tuco says. “I didn’t fall asleep once.”

They haven’t missed a single John Wayne film, but it’s a running joke between them that he can always be counted upon to sleep through them- even “The Green Berets”, he hadn’t thought much of that. “Brannigan,” though, that’d been funny. Wayne as a cop in London, lots of jokes, the worst assassin in cinema- he finds himself looking forward to seeing it with Angel Eyes.

“It was a disgrace. Man whoring himself out like that....doesn’t he have any more self-respect than that?”

Yeah, yeah. If Blondie’s not going to chat about the movie, he has a story that’s more than worth telling. “At least we got in. You know what a time I had, getting us to see it? First I had to go and steal a pack, smuggle it out-”

“You did what?” Blondie asks, stopping cold. 

“A little hustle,” Tuco says, casually. “Don’t worry. I paid them, when I got my pack back- you remember, Wallace made off with mine. Had to think pretty fast on my feet. But what I did, I went and found a department store where they sold bags just like mine, and I smuggled it out of there. Under your coat.”

“My coat?” 

“Yeah, your coat, I borrowed it. It wouldn’t have fit under mine.” He gently wraps Blondie on the shoulder, to get him moving again. “And then I went down to the police station, told them that I’d met this good old priest, walking all the way back to his monastery in the dark, and he’d taken my old battered bag instead of his new one by mistake. You never saw such a helpful police officer in your life. Drove down the road until we found him, even gave him a lift back to the monastery. But I came back to town to look after you.”

“...it’s Lent. It’s Holy Week,” Blondie says. “You stole a bag, lied to a police officer, swindled a priest-”

“Hey, he started it. If he’d given me my pack back in the first place, I wouldn’t have needed to do any of this- besides, he gets a brand new pack out of it, I don’t see why he should complain. It was funny, though, seeing his face when we pulled up with the sirens and the lights-” Tuco laughs. “Guess he thought I’d called him out for stealing. It’ll be good for him, to know what it’s like being on the run- pretty clever, Blondie, eh?”

Blondie stops and swings at him; and the only thing that stops him going sprawling is the way the blow’s misjudged; it goes right over his head. So it’s Blondie who goes flat instead, now his weight’s unbalanced. Aided by a swift kick in the pants. 

“Sorry,” Tuco says, a little awkwardly. “I didn’t meant to do that, you know how it is.”

“That was the worst movie I have ever seen in my life,” Blondie says; and it’s not really an apology but Tuco knows how to take it. He puts out his hand and helps Blondie up. 

“You know what you need, eh? A little dose of el trio.”

“Trinity,” Blondie repeats, irritably. “Which one’s this, your joke about food or sleep or worry?” 

“That’s a good one,” Tuco says fondly: his formulation for when not to play poker, if you’re having trouble with more than one you should call it a night. “But that’s not the trinity I meant-”

“You mean, us three?”

“Yes- no, not right this minute I wasn’t. El trio, remember? First the movie, then...” 

He lets it trail off delicately. Next the sex, then a meal afterwards. Whenever he’s with a woman they always seem to want it in the wrong order, but that’s how he and Blondie have thrashed it out. 

“Not in the mood- let’s just go back to the monastery. We can walk it.”

“No exertion,” Tuco reminds him. “The doctor said that you were okay, not that you should go walking a marathon.”

Blondie doesn’t say anything; but his hands are clenched tight, and he’s sweating. He smells like desperation. 

“See, you’re tense,” Tuco coaxes. “We should do something about that.”

“All you want is a fuck.”

“Sure. Got a problem with that?”

“Find us an alley, then,” Blondie says. “I know you scoped out the town in advance. And give me a goddamn cigarette.” 

Tuco’s about to say he doesn’t have any, but he checks the bag just on the off-chance, pries out a lost stray from where it was jammed in the lining. He lights it, sucks in a few grateful breaths, then passes it to Blondie. 

His partner takes it, with a kind of nonchalance that it’s a relief to see; Blondie slipping back into the pose, cool under pressure. Looks good. Looks damned good, and he wants it bad. 

Tuco reaches out, to take the cigarette back; Blondie gently raps his knuckles away, keeps on smoking. 

Tease.

***********

Normally, they don’t do this in public. Too risky. 

The thing about Blondie is, for whatever reason he just can’t get one off without a noose involved- which, whatever, he’s heard of weirder kinks- only it’s not real safe for either of them to be caught out, one of them apparently trying to murder the other. Especially when one of them is him. 

So there’s always a frisson to this, the way they’re breaking every taboo in the book, and if it was up to him they’d never do this anywhere they could possibly be seen- but Blondie has a taste for it. And Tuco can’t help but get an extra kick out of it, going just that little bit too far, the relief afterwards burning through him with genuine giddy amazement, because the danger’s just as real. 

“That was good,” he says, glancing up. Nobody inside seems to have noticed the sounds, or the rope they’ve looped over the fire escape. Probably nobody will. 

“Damn good,” Blondie says; and there’s still light in his eyes, like he’s still hungry. “How about the other way now, eh? Just for once in a way?”

Blondie always asks this; and he always says no, because he’s not stupid enough to put his head in a noose. 

Because it’s fucking screwed up, is what it is, this being 1975 and a white boy hot to get his coloured squeeze into a noose. Because it’s not quite so good for Blondie to be in it himself, but it does the job and that ought to be good enough. Because it’s not his kink, not in the slightest. 

Because he doesn’t trust, maybe, what happens after this part. 

“This itches,” Tuco complains. It does. The hemp’s harsh against his skin, rough the way Blondie likes it. “What you get out of this, I don’t understand.”

“Hush,” Blondie says; but the word’s tranquil, relaxed. There’s so much grace about his motions, as he starts pulling the rope. “It’s like a taste of what’s to come, Tuco. Your future, mine, everybody’s, this is what it’ll be. When that rope tightens around you, you can feel the devil coming...”

The noose goes tight and high, so he has to stand on his toes to breathe, and suddenly- 

and suddenly it doesn’t feel like anything, nothing erotic or special about it, just another damned Wednesday, because if he wants to know what it’s like thinking he might die any second, all he needs to do is walk down a bad street talking Spanish- 

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Blondie whispers. “Like nothing else.” 

Tuco whimpers, wonders how long it’ll take his partner to finish again- he should talk, say something to speed this up, but for once every last hustle’s deserted him. Blondie’s tied his hands to his belt, with the usual cowboy bandanas; those wouldn’t break in a month of Sundays. 

This man’s your partner, he reminds himself. Blondie. You trust Blondie. 

Maybe he did, maybe he should- all he knows now is that every instinct he has, the instinct that’s carried him through his whole life, is screaming at him to get out of this now. Before the stranger in front of him kills him like a pig and runs away whistling. 

“Blondie- Blondie, let me out of this.” He can see the damp pouring down Blondie’s cock; the man’s come already, in a dripping mess. “Please let me out.”

“I don’t get the chance, to enjoy this too often,” Blondie says. “You stay in there just a little longer, why don’t you? Maybe I’ll just pull a little more...”

His boots are still on the ground, just. If he goes an inch higher he starts choking. He’s starting to breathe too fast, with too much oxygen- hyperventilation, that’s the word. 

You can trust your partner, whatever happens. 

Maybe he’s never had a partner, then; and Blondie always knew that, brooded over it, resented it...

“Say,” Tuco says; his voice steady, quiet, the way he sounds when he’s not pulling anything. “Even a condemned man ought to have a last request...bring the Duluth over here, I want something.” 

“Another cigarette?” Blondie’s tutting. “You greedy little pig.”

He catches a strap with the point of his toe, drags it carelessly across the ground. Kneels down to pick it up with one hand, while Tuco stares at the rope in the other. It’s not a complicated arrangement. The moment Blondie lets go, he’s free. 

“Go on, root around in there,” Blondie says pleasantly. “Oink oink.”

Tuco’s not really sure how he manages a laugh, there (he knows, because it covers for what happens next)- 

he whips out the revolver and shoots, and nothing happens. The pack drops to the ground between them. 

“You fucker,” Blondie says, with slow admiration, genuine respect; and that’s when Tuco knows he’s going to die. 

(the rope breaks)

(a gun fires)

(he falls on Blondie)

(that doesn’t seem like the right order?)

“You goddamn, cheese-eating, flop-haired excuse for a no-account Midwestern layabout,” Angel Eyes says, driving his boot hard into Blondie’s thigh, where the wound is; his victim shrieks, childishly, rolls away best he can. 

“Every word,” Tuco says, a bit dazed. “I didn’t think you’d remember every word when I told you all that.”

“Unlike some people, I listen to my partners,” Angel Eyes says. He’s straddling Blondie now, gun pointing squarely down at heart. “Count yourself lucky that I shot the rope instead of you. I might still do it.”

Blondie’s crying, bubbling over with wet tears; and it’s something that should offend or please him, Tuco thinks, but he’s feeling too empty to be either. He crawls over to the wall, to sit up straight and wait to stop shaking. 

(His body’s enjoying very much, not being dead. It’s like orgasm overkill.)

“You know what a kink is,” Blondie says wetly. “That’s all it was. Dangerplay, you do this stuff yourself.”

“Tuco doesn’t look like he thought so. Did you?”

“I’m your partner,” Blondie says. “He knew, Angel, he knew.”

“...I couldn’t tell,” Tuco says after a while. “I didn’t, I tried to shoot him. What happened to my gun?”

“I emptied it the other night,” Angel Eyes says. “On the presumption that somebody was going to get killed if I didn’t take precautions. Looks like I was right about that.”

He feels dizzy, but maybe not so dizzy he can’t stand. He pulls his weight up, grabs his pack. “Fairy tales, huh? Here’s one for you, Angel, maybe it’s about Bluebeard or somebody...a man and a wife, and she can do anything she wants, except walk into one room. So of course she has to do it. And I have to leave.”

Angel Eyes frowns at him. “What are you talking about?”

“That he’s throwing both of us over, the bastard,” Blondie says, wiping muck off his face; and that’s when it starts to hurt, knowing all this has happened and Blondie’s still the one who knows how to read his tells. “You went into his Duluth? Fuck, if he thought he could take you you’d be on the ground now, and I’d be joining in.“

“I saved you,“ Angel Eyes says. “Tuco, I saved all three of us. You can see that.”

“I know...I know, but it doesn’t matter,” The Duluth settles into its usual place, with comforting weight; if he has that, he has everything he needs. “You two look after each other, okay?”

“Don’t you dare,” Angel Eyes says, to Blondie’s “We need you.”

“Maybe,” Tuco says, managing a shrug; he’s alive, and his blood’s humming, and he’d like to tell them he’s sorry, but he’s not feeling it. “Truth is, I need not to be around you two bastards for a little while, and that’s all there is to it. Que sera...I know you saw that movie,” he adds, for Blondie’s benefit; and his partner scowls at him. 

“Do you even know,” Angel Eyes says, with a measure of concern in his voice, “how you’ll manage? Where you’re going to go?”

“Sure I do,” Tuco says. “I’ll send you a postcard from Sonora.”

Blondie’s still on the ground, when he turns for one last look; but he thinks they’ll make it up. Maybe all three of them will, one of these days. 

But right now...

right now, he’s going south. 

[antigonies]

Summer highlights

I haven't found the right words for a while, but I especially don’t know how to do justice to this summer. Everything seems to have happened. But if I don't  actually force myself to write something down now, I never will.

It all started still in Paris, with C and J inexplicably ignoring me whenever I mentioned planning a trip. And then the uncertainty of whether or not I would be hired to work in England again, something I had been looking forward to all year round, but I somehow decided that I would not get hung up on it, and believe that whatever happened was meant to happen.

The second day after flying home, C picks me up for lunch. Her hair is so short you can somewhat see her scalp, but she looks as lively and happy as usual. Meeting B at the restaurant, 10 minutes later, C tells us that she has been diagnosed with lymphoma. She did not tell us before because we live abroad and wanted us to see that she was ok. I manage to not cry then. But B reveals that the reason she was home early this year is that she woke up one day not remembering anything, covered in bruises; according to her roommates, she came home crying and screaming hysterically. She thinks she may have been drugged but none of us dare to talk about what we all are thinking. Heartbreak upon heartbreak. Holding my friends' hands, hugging  them, crying on the lunch table. 'We are too young to live through this, aren't we?', except no one actually says it, knowledge that tragedy has been happening to us already and will continue to happen. I want to never be away from them again. (I remember having written something about C back in January, something about how "I would not want to live in a world were she doesn't exist". Did I know, somehow? Does love do this to you, worrying always so much that you breathe your fears into life? I have long suspected that dreams, sometimes, are small windows into the future.)

Everything blurry after, hours of just sitting in J's car listening to him talk about the first boy he's ever really liked; going to a pride event (in honor of Garcia Lorca, my heart) with him and C; driving lessons, endlessly, my anxiety getting the best of me. Stopping a class just to call C to check if she needs help with her birthday party.

I'm clingier than most nights. C, tired of hugging me, points at this friend of hers, L, and says, half-jokingly: "He can cuddle with you". Fast forward an hour later and I'm grabbing him and kissing him in the dark of C’s front porch, clumsy and a little desperate. This may have nothing to you with you. I don’t even need to see you again, to be honest.

C and I dress up and surprise J at his graduation. He spots us in the crowd and just shouts "¡Cabronas!", which we take to mean, "I love you with all my heart". Taking cute pictures of C and her ex, because the love is still there, albeit a bit changed; everything transformed into something else.

Is this guy seriously texting me? Are we making conversation now? At first, I'm just being polite, but very quickly I'm laughing wholeheartedly at his jokes and sending him pictures of my favourite artwork at this exhibition from which C, B and I almost got kicked out because we were laughing too hard. Cheap food and two huge pints of cheap drinks later, all three of us are spilling secrets we never thought we'd share. Mocktails after because C is not supposed to drink, talking about everything we have survived in turning from girls into women, all the traumas we've fought and will keep fighting. You never know when one of the best nights of your life can happen. This is one of them.

The best nights of my life just keep piling onto each other, like the time C and I go to see 'Love Simon' and have only fries for dinner (just  like when we were thirteen), then singing our hearts out to Cristina Aguilera, thinking "this is the happiest I've been in months, maybe years, and also, I love you so, so much".

Purposely forgetting France, but also everyone I love there. Finding out that it is impossible to be present everywhere and for everyone. That perhaps you'll always be missing somewhere.

Telling my parents about J's new boyfriend and half-accidentally coming out as bi to them in the same breath. Getting just a surprised comment and then the insinuation that I'm just doing it to be like my friends. Being too scared, or too tired, or too indifferent to tell them my story, so there we are, after a brief moment of silence, at the sushi restaurant, middle table, arguing way too loud over something 'completely unrelated' that has obviously everything to do with It. Still feeling lighter after, somehow, not having to constantly look over my shoulder.

Talking to L about whether of not he should come out to his parents, too, him telling me about this boy he likes in his hometown, me telling him about how this girl keeps ghosting me. This is what my parents were scared of, I guess. This freedom. And this is just the midsummer. The only poems I care about are about the sun.

Sending C flowers after her last chemotherapy session, thinking the worst has passed already. She keeps getting weaker, though, her smile still on, but needing days of sleep. We've all become used to planning our weeks around her good days, that is, always after Wednesdays. When she starts coughing too much, though, she is admitted at the hospital, the same week we were all supposed to go partying again. The little room inside the patient area where her bed is smells of antimicrobial gel even, with the mask on.

When she tells me not to come visit the next day, my heart feels so heavy in my chest that I must find a way to distract myself from all this. Texting a former friend I am just getting back into contact with after two years since our falling out. "Hey, are you going to the fair? I really need to go out". Oh, L is coming too.  Only half-flirting, we share whatever drink he was having and I ask him about his crush; the reply makes me laugh because it may have been more than I bargained for. Of course, an hour later, we're making out at the Cuban bar after I just put lipstick on his ex. We didn't know how to dance when the night started, but we're getting better now, or more oblivious. He asks me to take him to the city center somewhere, just the two of us. I show him the best view of the city, we get breakfast together, I tell him about how the character I relate to the most is Sabina from The Unbearable Lightness of Being, because she always wants to flee, always looking for something somewhere else. He doesn't understand why I ask the things I'm asking, why I talk about loving my friends so much but seem to hate romance. I really don't know, man, I have a doctor's appointment. Straight from the party, I fix my smeared mascara and sit patiently in the waiting room for her to tell me about my blood. Unable to sleep, then, I think I'm experiencing my first hangover. The second night, the other guy in the group points out he's the only one there who hasn't had anything with L, so of course we all chant for them to kiss. Everyone is and is not tired. I don’t go home when he does because I want to keep dancing. No one knows where this is coming from. Not even me. I just want to forget myself a bit, I think.

I seriously don't know which day it is, at this point, or what happened before or after. J's birthday, with very inappropriate presents that we wanted to give him so badly. I keep re-writing C's poem but my handwriting is never pretty enough, never the perfect gift. I have, somehow, not argued with my parents in almost a month. I say I feel like a different person, and C acquiesces. My friends in France wonder where I am, what I have been doing.

I go online while half-asleep one night and seem to read that Marta (@tosfumarewords) is leaving tumblr, something with which I cannot deal at that point and I hope I just misread, trying to go back to sleep. Wondering how I can be so sad over losing someone I have never met in real life, but frankly I am too depressed about it to log on again and find out if it's really happening, and why.

Everyone is going back to studying, so I am alone more. I don't want to be alone. I also don't want to think about it. J takes me up to the mountain to go stargazing. I don't think I could be more in love with the night sky, or with the moment we cuddle in the backseat of his car,  telling him about how I don't want to die anymore, although maybe I would not have chosen to be born, not yet anyway. The clouds have come by now but it doesn't matter. We softly hum to the radio on our way down.

At my grandparent's village, the familiar routine of getting to know old friends again and being too afraid to ask about the war-full past marks the beginning of the end of the summer.

I've started to reread the bad literature of my teenage years over which C and I first bonded over. She is too busy to go out now, back into the hustle. I talk to B about relationships, how they seem to be in a language that is foreign and distant to me. She asks me to let her and her friend sleep at my house in Paris in November, and of course, everyone is welcome to come. The same day, L tells me he is getting tickets to come visit the city. I guess everything happens at once.

This, the first time I write anything new in months, and now it's five pages long, three hours later. I apparently don't know how to do anything in moderation. Getting ready for new farewells, again, and already, things that seemed to be over come back. Reunions on the horizon. Nothing ever leaves completely. Everything transformed into something else. Even summer, time, even me.

[no-birdstofly]

3 for the right to the good parts thing?

3. I just told you I liked you but now I’m shy and say “never mind, forget it” and why are you looking at me like that?

It starts with an escape room, which is apparently one of those rare things in life that Jon Favreau is not naturally great at, nor something he can bluff his way through.

Or, rather, it starts with Jon cornering Lovett in the office kitchen on a Wednesday evening while he’s trying to find the last bag of cinnamon sugar pita chips that he stashed earlier this week, and saying, “Um, hey, do you want to do an escape room with me?”

Lovett only stops laughing when he realizes Jon is still standing there with a frown and his arms crossed. He takes in a deep breath and tries to settle down, gasping out, “Wait, you’re not joking?”

“Why would I–no, of course I’m not, what the hell?”

Lovett just stares at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop, so Jon starts talking again.

“There’s this one that’s, like, Egyptian tomb themed? In Hollywood? I was just thinking, I know you’re always doing them with your, your other friends, and I’ve never actually done one so, I don’t know. There’s a Groupon going on for it right now?”

“Hang on, you’re,” Lovett breaks off into a light laugh, “you’re being serious.”

“Yes, I am, why do you think–”

“You want to do an escape room with me.”

Jon crosses his arms again. “Yes, jesus.”

“Okay yeah, sure.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, buy them or whatever, I’ll square cash you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jon says in a rush. “Next weekend? Saturday?”

The following Saturday, Jon invites Lovett over and they have a few beers before they head out. The night’s going well until the first puzzle, wherein Jon proves his total incompetence at logic games, and Lovett proves his inability to communicate effectively while frustrated.

Lovett ends up having to solve most of the puzzles himself, and it takes forever since he’s too proud to ask for clues. Jon mostly stands around looking helpless and handsome and a little upset.

When they finally make it out, Jon immediately starts apologizing, but Lovett cuts him off. “Look, it was fine. Maybe not your best idea ever for a hang out–”

Jon looks down and away, his hands stuffed in his pockets, and Lovett thinks it’s weird, but Jon doesn’t say anything, so.

“–but totally fine. And honestly, seeing you jump every time something moved was pretty great. Did you actually think the curse was real?”

“I don’t know! Who knows?” Jon cries. “All those guys that excavated King Tut’s tomb died.”

“You do know we’re not in Egypt.”

Jon just glares. “Yes, Lovett, I’m aware there’s probably not an actual pharaoh’s curse on fake artifacts in Los Angeles.”

Lovett decides to be the bigger person and pulls up his Postmates app. “You hungry?”

“I could eat,” Jon allows.

“Cool, I’m inviting myself over. What do you want from Taco Bell?”

“You are not ordering from Taco Bell.”

“You just made me solve an entire escape room by myself, I’ll get whatever I want.”

Jon sighs. “Can we at least do Del Taco?”

The following week, Jon slacks him when he’s in recording ads with Tommy. do you want to see the new jurassic park movie when it comes out?

Lovett replies, already got tickets with spencer. if I don’t hate it I’ll see it with you again

When Jon doesn’t reply for a moment, Lovett sends, i could see if we have an extra ticket

Jon ignores that message and says, what about oceans 8

Lovett turns his attention back to the ad reads, mostly because Tommy’s looking at him funny. When they’re through the Quip, Great Courses, and Sleep Number ones, he replies, also spencer, sorry. Then, what’s up, do you just really want to see a movie??

He’s a little surprised to get back, what about hereditary?

do you even know what that is? Lovett types, then erases it. The thought of seeing what’s being touted as the scariest movie of the year with Jon of all people has its appeal. He sends back, sure, this weekend?

The movie goes about as well as Lovett expected, and includes a lot of Jon covering his face with his hands and making concerned and unhappy noises. It’s amazing. Lovett likes the movie a lot overall, though he definitely needs to see it again in an atmosphere where he’s not laughing through all the scariest parts.

Afterward, Jon looks pale and uncomfortable in the afternoon sun. He’s pouting a little, and he keeps looking over his shoulder. Lovett walks close beside him, letting their arms brush together every few steps.

“Did you seriously not know what it was about?”

“No! I figured it was like a boring family drama or something!”

“You figured it was a boring family drama, and you wanted to see it… why?”

Jon just shakes his head and then perks up when he sees a shop nearby. “Ice cream?”

Lovett rarely says no to ice cream, and he’ll admit Jon probably deserves it right now, after sitting through what has to be one of his worst nightmares.

Jon charms the girl behind the counter, asking for just a few more samples, he really can’t decide which flavor, and Lovett doesn’t know why he brings it up then, but he does. In a low voice that’s pitched loud enough for the entire room to hear, he says, “I can’t believe you actually screamed during that one scene, you’re such a wuss.”

“I didn’t scream,” Jon says.

Lovett just looks at him.

“I might have, uh…”

“Yelped?”

“Shut up,” Jon says, his face turning red.

That night, Jon comes over with Leo and ends up passing out on Lovett’s couch. Lovett lets him stay out of the goodness of his heart, and mostly because he remembers how freaked Jon looked even while eating a hot fudge sundae with marshmallow and coffee ice cream. In the morning, Jon and Leo are gone.

The next invite is a text asking Lovett to play mini golf, which Lovett declines in quick fashion. The one after that is to bowling, which. Not that Lovett necessarily enjoys bowling, but at least bowling alleys have fried food and full bars.

If there’s bumpers, Lovett texts back. Then, Are you inviting everyone, or want me to?

Before Jon responds, Lovett’s told Tanya, Travis, and three of the interns. It becomes the next Crooked outing, but when everyone congratulates Jon on such a great idea, he looks more annoyed than pleased.

Then at some party Ira’s throwing at a very loud WeHo bar, Jon sidles up to him, hands him a fresh drink, and shouts over the music, “Laser tag?”

To which Lovett replies, “Batting cages?”

“You want to go to the batting cages?”

“What? No, obviously I don’t. I just didn’t know what we were doing, what the bit was, so I went with arcade amenities.”

“What?” Jon sounds genuinely confused. “No, do you want to go laser tagging? Do laser tag? I don’t know what the verb is.”

“What are you doing?” Lovett asks, downing his old drink and looking around for a flat surface to set his old glass.

“What do you mean?” Jon asks, but he looks shifty.

“You keep asking me to do weird stuff that you’re not into. Have you even ever played laser tag?”

Jon has already finished half his drink in a few minutes, which is remarkably fast for him. What is going on. He says, “In like junior high, yeah. I think so.”

“And you want to go now?” He hands his old drink to Jon to put on the table behind him. Jon takes it without complaint.

“Well not now now, but maybe next week?”

“What is this?” Lovett says, gesturing to, well, everything.

“What’s what, Lovett? I want to go play laser tag with you.”

“Yeah, and that’s weird for you,” Lovett says. “And you know it’s weird. First the escape room, then the movie, then fucking, what, mini golf? Bowling? Now laser tag? What’s next, the trampoline place?”

“Trampoline place?” Jon asks. “We could do that instead, if you–”

“Jon, stop! Tell me what’s going on. I know you’re not inviting Tommy to bizarre bonding rituals, we talked.”

“Bonding rituals?” Jon asks, his voice getting high and quick the way it does when he’s pissed. Lovett would put money on his tripping over his words soon. “That’s what you think this is?”

“I don’t know what this is, that’s why I’m trying to ask you, you idiot,” Lovett snaps.

“Oh,” Jon says, loud even over the music, “oh I’m the idiot. At least I’m not the one who can’t figure out when someone’s trying to fucking date them.”

Except the song ends, followed by a long pause somewhere around when Jon’s saying “who can’t figure out,” and Jon doesn’t seem to realize until after the whole sentence is out and everyone in the bar is staring at him.

Jon, in turn, stares at his shoes until the next song starts playing.

“Jon–” Lovett starts, and he reaches for his arm, but Jon blanches and steps back.

“Never mind,” he says, and finishes his drink. “Fuck, just. Forget it. I’m sorry.”

He practically runs out of the bar, and Lovett does his best to ignore the confused looks Tommy is giving him from across the room. He double checks and finds out Jon’s card is still at the bar, and closes it out before leaving.

“What’s going on?” Tommy asks, catching him on his way out.

“I’m not sure,” Lovett admits, “but I think Jon is trying to date me?”

Tommy laughs. “About fucking time.”

“Wait, what?”

“Go,” is all Tommy says, shooing him toward the door.

The Lyft to Jon’s feels like it takes forever, and Lovett lets himself in the front door even though he knows this is an occasion where he should probably let Jon decide whether or not to let him in. Oh well.

Jon is sitting on the couch, clutching Leo and refusing to look up at Lovett. He doesn’t even have the TV turned on yet, he’s just stubbornly staring at nothing. Lovett steps between him and the blank screen.

“You can’t ignore me forever,” Lovett says. “We started a company together.”

“Watch me,” Jon says sullenly.

“Plus I have your credit card and ID. You forgot to close out.”

“Fuck, thank you.”  

“Did you really mean it?” Lovett asks, edging closer so he can perch on the other end of the couch.

“Mean what,” Jon says, flat and tired. Leo huffs and squirms his way free, padding into the other room.

“Were you–are you really trying to date me?”

Jon buries his head in his hands, so his, “What did you think I was doing?” comes out a little muffled.

“I don’t know, maybe your therapist told you to be a better friend or something!”

“I don’t even have a–oh my god, if you don’t want to, that’s fine, let’s just. Do we have to talk about it?”

“Yes!” Lovett cries. “We really, really do!”

“Why?!” Jon yells back, finally looking up at him. He looks hurt and a little bewildered.

“You were trying to date me,” Lovett says, not a question. “You were trying to date me by doing stuff with me that you know I like doing, that you don’t like doing.”

Jon shrugs and looks away again. “I like doing things you like.”

“You saw a horror movie with me, Jon.”

After a long moment, Jon slumps. “I’ve barely slept since we saw that stupid movie.”

Lovett tries not to smile too wide. “Alternate theory: you have been dating me, I was just blissfully unaware.”

“Blissfully? Gee, thanks.”

Lovett waves his hand in the air. “Word choice, whatever. Shut up. You’ve been dating me, and you have yet to make an actual move on me.”

Jon scrubs a hand through his hair. “I was trying to take it slow?”

“We’ve been friends for almost a decade,” Lovett says. “Take it any slower and we’ll be dead before we ever fuck.”

Jon makes a small sound at that, staring up at Lovett with wide eyes. “You want to–”

“Of course I want to. I want to date you and fuck you and whatever else you had in mind. What, probably, like, ferris wheel rides and holding hands or some bullshit?”

Jon blushes but doesn’t deny it. Lovett carefully rests his hands on Jon’s cheeks, right over the warmth, and tugs him forward.

“Jon Favreau, I hereby give you permission to date me,” Lovett says, “but for the love of god, no more escape rooms.”

“And no horror movies,” Jon says, leaning forward.

“Ugh, fine.” Lovett smiles and kisses him, pulling back before it gets too intense. “And I’m only going to the batting cages if you promise some pretty stellar sexual favors in return.”

Jon grins and kisses him again before saying, “I’m sure we can work something out. I do actually kind of want to go laser tagging, though.”

“Never say ‘laser tagging’ again and I’ll see what I can do.”feel free to ask for one of these, if that’s, like, your thing

[nycrunning]

well, August is always a good month because of SUMMER STREETS, literally, I should be hired by the Summer Streets People because I feel like a community evangelizer. That is all I talk about to anyone all year long. You know it. Anyway, to recap: I like Summer Streets. A bit. If you just met me or this is the first time you read this blog, Summer Streets happens 3 weekends in August, on Saturdays: they close traffic on Park Avenue in the Upper East Side all the way to the Brooklyn Bridge, for 5 hours. It’s MAGIC.

If you missed it, shame on you (and, how are we friends???). If you never heard of it, pen it in for next year and don’t make vacation plans or don’t say yes to weddings. If you don’t live in NYC, get tickets now. 

So, Summer Streets was awesome, even though it RAINED ALL THREE SATURDAYS as you can see in the pictures (ugh) and we have to chop one run short because there was lightning, thunderstorm and flash flooding (but mostly because with all that water I couldn’t keep my contacts inside my eyes…!). It was still awesome. 

The day after the first Summer Streets, July something, a Sunday, I run the NYRR Manhattan Mile, a new race and a distance I’ve never run. So, automatic PR you say? Meh I don’t count those, but I WILL COUNT THE NEXT TIME I RUN THIS DISTANCE because I run it as slow AF. So, here we go: I have a bum knee. It’s not chondromalacia patellae, it’s not ITBS, I’ve ruled out a lot of things but it’s just weird because it hurts VERY randomly. AND, if I take time off, it hurts more. Go figure that one out. Good luck. Anyway, that day my knee was hurting so I struggled to finish. It was also like one hundred million degrees celsius/fahrenheit. 

Luckily I had Jackie, Michael and Brian to not only keep me company but throw power boosts at me during the last mile where they all decided to pick it up and I was just not into it. Aw, friends that throw stuff at you while you want to curl and cry are the BEST! ❤ I guess.

HA.

The next weekend was another combo of Summer Streets and a race. This time I attempted to do two races on Sunday and it didn’t work out AT ALL. I wanted to do the France Run, a 5 miler in Central Park at 8, and then scoot out to Williamsburg (in Brooklyn, for all my international readers! This Wsburg is in BK, not Colonial Pennsylvania, as I had to be told a few times in my first years in NYC coming from Philly!!!) (where was I?) then scoot out to Williamsburg to race the Brooklyn Mile. My heat was at 9:30 am. Possible?? Not really. What was I thinking? Not only David and I run France Run as slow as we possibly could without bursting into a walk spider-crawl, BUT we then proceeded to be extra stooopid fun after we finished and pretend talk in French and rename everything. We then also decided, while it rained, to taste and eat all the French things they had… chocolate, financiers, it was good… oooops, it’s 9:30! CRAP. And the truth is, I wasn’t in any shape to race a mile. My knee agreed (probably).

The last weekend of August (am I missing one???) it was a doubleheader. I did the Percy Sutton 5K in Harlem on Saturday and the Henry Isola 4 Mile XC in Van Cortlandt, Bronx, on Sunday. Who knew I could handle it? The knee was stoopid all week so I run to the 5K with Kettia and David SUPER slow, like 11 pace and was thinking to maybe cheer. I felt 100% pain-free so I decided to race. It was slow (23:06 It think, 7:24 pace) well, yes, I haven’t done anything hard in 2 months so I couldn’t expect much more but I felt good and that is all I cared about. Plus it was fun. We met lots of people, Frankie run me in, we had an hour-long stop on the run back… it was all shit and giggles, the way a race morning should be (to me, don’t judge!).

We run back. I ended up with like 10 miles… then… the next day, cause I felt ok… (who feels ok the day after a 5k?) I decided to run to the Bronx to run the Henry Isola 4 miler. It’s in the trails and it’s cross country. Ummmmmmm I was an XC virgin and had NO IDEA what I was doing. I didn’t even know why my age and gender was on my bib! Or how we all run on the grass and not the path…? it was all so weird. So, I’ve done trail races, like ultras, or like Bear Mountain 50K, or stuff like that. But this was SOOO DIFFERENT. Fast but also trails, crazy. Anyway, I run to the Bronx, got there at 8 am, race was starting at 9 and it was SO BURNING HOT already… I started feeling all the heatnessticity before we even started. It’s a smaller race than the typical NYRR race, like a LOT smaller. 40% of it were we out of the trails and in THE SUN. The last loop was hard and I won’t admit this to myself but there’s a chance I didn’t negative split this race. It was still great though (if can call walking up Cemetery Hill twice because your legs can’t run up, then yes it was great).

I think you can tell how HOT it was. Maybe by the sun situation, or my sweat situation, or maybe becase my hair is fried. I didn’t run back home. At all. I tried. But no.

DATA DOWNLOAD

Total Miles: 157, biggest mileage month so far this year. Just checked and my biggest month was 187 miles in October 2016. 

Races: Four. Two were miserable/slow. One was ok, one was awesome.

Ups: UM, HELLO, SUMMER STREETS. Did you forget already??? Also, that’s the most miles I run in a month this year. Catching up.

Downs: THIS STOOOOPID KNEE. Sorry, sorry, I still need love you knee, please don’t hurt me, anymore, prettyplease?

Balance: I wanna feel un-pain again and run hard, and do speedwork and I hate this crap. 

July

I barely remember July already and it was just now. My parents were still visiting so we kept touristing around and we had an amazing Fourth of July with all the official NYC fireworks on the East River. Epic. I did two races, with meh performances. The first one was the NYRR

hair working hard for the picture, post-Retro 4 Miler

 Retro 4 Miler, and I was really lame to not dress up, or back?  I seriously will wear any costume but just like happens every single Thanksgiving Halloween, I don’t care enough to remember more than 1 minute ahead of time. Every year I tell myself I am totally going to dress up next year and then I forget. Then every year, when the costumey event happens, I tell myself I am gonna set a reminder in the calendar for a month BEFORE Halloween/race/etc so I can plan ahead… but I am a snooze-hitter with things I don’t really want to bother with (NOT the alarm, you KNOW I wake up before the alarm even goes off!), and I use my go-to motto: if I didn’t bother doing it so far, no chance in hell this is gonna get done ever. Just like with the emails at the bottom of my inbox. If it’s been 2-3 days, there’s a high chance they won’t get opened/read/replied to… AAAANYWAY, I didn’t wear a costume for the Retro Run because I am lame. But people do, and it’s SUPER fun and I really really really always wish I did. mooooving on. Ah, so, the race. Wasn’t feeling it. I met with Courtney to do about 4 or 5 miles before and I kept wanting to go home. I was THIS close. Does that ever happen to you?

Then, I also did the NYRR R U N 5K in Central Park last week. Also wasn’t fast or anything special. It was a bit like hell hot so I decided to hold it in a bit. I managed to not kill myself. It was meh, but I love that course, it’s pretty fast with just one hill. Saw like a million people I knew, which was fun as always to catch up and chit chat and all those things with lots of chs in them. cha cha cha.

If anything else exciting, fun, amazing happened, I either don’t remember or it’s totally private or NSFW! HAAA, got you thinking!!!

DATA DOWNLOAD

exciting huh? I am behind on my mileage… been behind since,… January??? I am lazy or having too much fun, you decide.

Total Miles: 152, not bad, not bad… not amazing but the most this year. July is a good month to run!

Races: 2. LAME!!!! Last month I had 6… so… AH THAT’S WHY MY MILEAGE IS UP!!!

Ups: I heart running in the summer. LOVE IT. JULY NEEDS TO BE 325 DAYS PLEASE.

Downs: omg my hair in the weather. HELP. Send the firemen or the paramedics or Paolo Puttanesca asap.

Balance: I have no idea. ALL I CARE ABOUT RIGHT NOW IS SUMMER STREETS. SUMMER STREETS STARTS IN TWO DAYS. SUMMER STREETS IS THE BEST. SUMMER STREETS HERE I COME. SUMMER STREETS IS THE BEST. DID I TELL YOU I LOVE SUMMER STREETS?

can you tell I am melting?

June

was a great month. Let me break it down before I forget it all (photos and a super organized calendar really do help!). I often wondered if I should do these weekly… there is so much to say but then I forget. Anyway, JUNE was BUSY, My parents came to visit from Argentina, which is awesome, they come every other year, for about a month and it was amazing. We did everything, we went everywhere, I got myself them so tired every single day…. it was awesome and rough at the same time. We literally did it all in a month. We even went to Miami for a few days of untamable hair and sticky skin. I forgot how insanely hot Miami is in the summer. #protip, don’t effing go to Miami in the summer, ever. or really, at any other time but definitely NO in the summer.

Anyway, the month started with the Italy Run NYC, a 5-mile race in Central Park, sponsored by Ferrero where I proceeded to smear Nutella all over me post-race, best celebration possible, correct? Before you ask, there are no pictures of that because it’s a LIE. Race was good; my performance… meh (actually, I don’t remember anymore!).

Literally 3 days later, I did another race, the Summer Series 5K in Prospect Park. It’s on Wednesdays at 7 pm, which REALLY messes up my sleep AND my Thursday morning run with my Flyers friends, BUT…I kinda love showing up because:

I see lots of friends I don’t see every day in Central Park

I cherish (and also hate) racing in a different course than the ones I did one million times in CP (though it’s also harder)

Love the small race ambiance

Also, don’t remember much I think (given there is a picture of my holding a medal, duh) that I placed and I got a medal. Oh, and I totally remember I got something like 71% AG. YEAH, nbd.

And… 3 days right after this one, I had the 3rd race in 6 days… can you imagine how that one is gonna go???? So, Saturday morning was a Mini10K, which is a mega party, so I wasn’t going to miss it. BUT, I also wasn’t going to miss the other mega party Friday night… So come Saturday morning I was a MESS… my feet hurt (from the heels or dancing, who knows!) and I was sleeeeeeepy, SO SLEEEEEPY. I have no idea why, NOT ONLY I SHOWED UP TO THE RACE, BUT I also met Elizabeth (she is real, I promise) to do 4 miles before the race. MENTAL.

But, it was all worth it. I run it, EASY, with 3 friends, and it was a frigging BLAST. I regret nothing. #noregerts.

Told you it was FUN! Yeah, I was physically miserable but no one remembers that… smh. So then my parents arrived and we started the daily tour of all the food and all the things we don’t tell the tourists about. AND the World Cup. June was literally mental. Somehow I managed to get to Queens the next weekend, early, to run the Queens 10K. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to make the trek because Argentina was playing at 9 am against Iceland and I’d miss the first half, but so happy I went… Not only I had tons of fun at the race, I SOMEHOW (…miraculously) managed to do OK. Noooo, not a PR or even close but I got up to 69% AG, I was just one minute off from my PR, which is from frigggggging 2013! Does that even count anymore? I say NO.

I am a sucker for high-fives!

Then, wait for this because the madness doesn’t stop there…. I did TWO races the next weekend!!!! YEAH, again, NBD! Crazy, right? I agree. It’s good that I am a biomechanics coach and I know what I am doing because otherwise my leggies would have fallen off by then… Saturday was the Pride Run and OMG I WAS NOT GONNA MISS THAT. I always race the Achilles Hope and Possibility race (which was going to the next day), so I decided to take the Pride Run easy and save my legs for Sunday. Only… I didn’t quite do that. I ended up with a lot of fun AND 12 miles… oooops. #mischiefmanaged (for you all PotterHeads!)

Jackie, Mary, Michael and I run the whole thing chatting from start to end. And the outfits were ON POINT.

Sunday I woke up to do a few miles before the Achilles Hope and Possibility race and I was wishing I had raced the day before… It was muggy, humid, gross and I was tired. You do what you can.

David and Patricia (and corrals B,C,D,E and F) smoked me but I was happy. My parents had come to spectate and it was AWESOME. They came both days. They LOVED IT. Those two races and really something. REALLY REALLY something.

The next weekend was a wash because I was out of town, and back just on July 1st to watch the husband race the NYC TRI, with the parents and my cheering crew along. TRIATHLETES ARE CRAZY, just saying. But he’s so cute, it evens out.

DATA DOWNLOAD

Total Miles: 139, eeeeeek. too much racing makes the mileage go puff!

Races: SIX. 6 races in month. That’s probably maybe a PR, at least this year… ha, I have 12 races this year, 6 in ONE MONTH. 

Ups: All the fun things I did with the parents…!!! The Nutella at the Italy Run was HEAVEN. The Mini10K was SO FUN. Queens was a MEGA REVELATION. Pride and Achilles get me teary every time…

Downs: Mileage was yuk and I am behind my yearly goal. Tapering before races and how sore I am sometimes after…

Balance: ALL AWESOME!!!! I can’t believe I did all those races with all the other stuff I had going on…!

May

May was a whirlwind!! So much happened, and so many races also! I remember I started the month with something we had planned since September last year: Harry Potter and the Cursed Child!

Call me a Potterhead, That was awesome! Twelve hours later, I was up early for the Newport 10K, just over the Hudson, one of my favourite 10Ks, because 1, it’s flat, 2, the finish line bagels (and I don’t really like bagels!). The race was a blast as usual: I’ve run it a few times and it always delivers! It’s usually hot but I love the vibe and the views!

Of course, as usual, there were many runs and stairs workouts sprinkled through the month:

And then there was the Japan Run. I remembered being tired from something but then, at the start, I met with Brian and Nick and Jackie, and we all decided to run together and pace Jackie. Those are my favorite types of races!

Way too much fun was had!! The next weekend, just so I wouldn’t fall off the wagon, I run the NYPD Memorial Run 5K. It was HOT and humid but I rallied and for the first time in months, I did OK. I measure my race performances by AG and I feel I do ok when I get close or over the 70% AG mark. Lately, I had been around 64% to 69%, and in this race I went back up to 70% wohoooo. Also, it was super fun to run on the West Side Highway. I really like how wide it is there.

Then, three days later, after a brutal stairs workout and speedwork, we raced the Prospect Park Summer Series 5K: no biggie. The course was slower (as there is a hill in Prospect Park) but I managed very similar results! Just like 10 or 20 seconds off. I find it so weird to race at night (well, 7 pm), that I find it quite amusing to try to figure out what to eat, how much, when, etc. Of course, then I slept like crap after because I was so wired!

That was a lot of racing…!

DATA DOWNLOAD:

  Total Miles: 147, coming back up, but it’s hard with those short races because I feel like I need a good taper before and then my legs are thrashed for a few days…

Races: FOUR, here we go. Racing season is upon us!

Ups: the NYPD and the Summer Series 5K were definitely a surprise! I wasn’t expecting to do so well (NOT IN PR SHAPE YET THOUGH, ok?) and even though I don’t feel as strong as I used to, feeling in control of the situation really helps! One more thing: Central Park blossoming is the BEST!

Downs: how tired my legs feel two days after any short race! YUK

Balance: VERY HAPPY

So, I need to race more. Even if I am not in fighting shape or without any kind of expectations, I really enjoy it. The fewer expectations I have, the more fun I have, and so I go out there controlled and just let the race happen. I’ve actually started measuring races and performance by the amount of time it takes me to get back home, aka “how much fun I have”. For example, the NYPD Memorial Run was at 9 am and I got home at 4 pm: THAT is a successful race in my eyes now. The truth is I am not always (or ever again!) be as fast as I used to be or as I would like to be or as I would expect to be, so what should I do? Stay home until I feel I am in shape? HECK NO. To me, races are not a test of my fitness or “what I get from the work I put in” but a chance to enjoy with the community of friends who like to get out and enjoy the park with one foot in front of another trying to stay healthy. Yes, I’ll push hard here and there, but if one day I don’t feel like it or I decide to stick with a friend, it’ll be no different: it just HAS to be fun. 

April

We started the month in Argentina, which was great because it was WARM and hey, it was vacations. Got to see the fam and a few touristy things of course, and yeah, a few runs with Juan. Oh and of course I ate my face away. Lots of asado and steaks but also a lot of nikkei, my favourite non-native cuisine while in Argentina (my favourite non-native in the US is Japanese and French, you always gotta know where to get what!). I got back, I did a 4 miler in Central Park, the Run as One… it was so long ago, I can barely remember, or maybe it’s because I’ve been racing a lot the last two months! Oh yeah, I remember I got really hot (I was overdressed) and started way too fast or something, here is one picture!

I obviously spent some time running around, exhibit A:

or working:

or with Juan, usually eating crap:

and/or usually with friends, running or not!!!

DATA DOWNLOAD:

Total Miles: 119. Ooops. That’s low. I really vacationed in Argentina… IT HAPPENS, OKAY?

Races: just one but it was more like a tempo, wasn’t expecting to go all out.

Ups: the fun runs!

Downs: didn’t get a lot done!

Balance: it was good -> lots of blossoming happening all over NYC made it amazingly beautiful!

March

March is always a good month because it is my birthday!!! HA. I started the month with a race, the NYRR Washington Heights Salsa, Blues and Shamrocks 5K (there is a post there), which wasn’t great time wise but it was fun. See proof here:

There was a lot of running, maybe not tons of miles, because it was still cold as hell Alaska? ok Alaska, but it got done. 

And the United NYC Half happened. I saw so many of you there. That was an intense week and I was REALLY just a bit jealous of everyone running the new course. I got to run parts of it last year and was on one of the Pro lead trucks on race day and it looked amazing!! and everyone looked SO happy at the finish line… Really jelly So happy for you all!!!

We then went to San Antonio for a few quiet days of pulled pork and warmer weather. For my bday. We ate a LOT.  We run a bunch too:

DATA DOWNLOAD:

Total Miles: 151, it’s starting to pick up

Races: one. and I was so not wanting to race!

Ups: I did a lot of really great runs

Downs: still not feeling my best.

Balance: not letting it get to me. Let’s hope the nicer weather brings better running!

Also, one more thing I forgot to report on this whole year. A few friends and I have been doing monthly challenges. January was squats, February was pushups, March was planks. We usually just grab one from popsugar.com. Basically it tells you how many to do every day and each day is a bit more. It’s interesting. Maybe you’d want to try it with a few friends? we all text each other to make sure we’re all doing them EVERY DAY… Protip: it works better with a reward at the end of the month!!!!!!!!!!

February

was weird. I happened so quick I barely noticed. Instead of ice-fest, we had a few meltdowns (all kinds of meltdowns!) and even one day in the 70s… OH OH what are people going to use now to discredit “””global warming“””? I feel so bad for those polar bears, and hey, we won’t be moving to Venice anytime soon. Glad I live in a 2nd floor too, but I digress… Anyway, my body decided also to have a meltdown and I had a couple of stooopid issues (my hormones have decided they need more attention than any Kardashian!) and even some very very easy runs where my heart rate was about 50 over the usual… anyway, I was signed up for the NYRR Al Gordon Brooklyn 4M, and I was literally too tired to get up. Of course, I ended up running 11 miles in Central Park instead but my pace was 10:00 and my heart rate was at 82%. Insane. You just can’t win them all, can you? About two weeks ago, I spent the husband and I spent two hours shopping for half marathons for me… I came up with not a lot. If you have any ideas, let me know. Also, my running is so up and down I’ve started questioning if I should try to take some weeks/months off so my body doesn’t feel pressured and maybe that would help?

ha, I was just kidding! I’d be super hyper and way too annoying after just two days and waaaaay unhappy. So, let me just slow down, do it when my body is ok with it, and just enjoy it with no pressure. Deal?

So, I had a few awesome runs, still.

  Plus it was Valentine’s Day and who thinks we’d let any reason to celebrate pass by? any excuse works!

Also, I got to spend some quality time at work (at NYRR) with some people you might know… Meb and Jenny. Do you even need last names? Don’t think so! Meb is now a Team for Kids Ambassador and Jenny is a Rising NYRR Ambassador and both were in town to run the Virtual For the Kids 5K race. If you haven’t check NYRR’s Virtual Races, you should.

  Anyway, it all went waaay too fast!

DATA DOWNLOAD

Total Miles: 124, emmm, got lazy a bit!

Races: big old zero for the year

Ups: weather got surprisingly “hot”. 40s and some 50s even.

Downs: not feeling my best.

Balance: i am getting a bit frustrated. cause, wtf.

January

was really cold. The first two weeks we set cold weather records. It was awful. Running was awful. I started the year working at the midnight run and it was really really cold. I wore everything and it was still crazy cold. But it’s a super fun race!

It was so cold that the races on the second weekend of January got canceled. I managed to run both Saturday and Sunday but it was insanely cold. Everyone kept asking me what I was training for, as most people assumed I had to get the miles in for some marathon or something. I am not really training for anything, just trying to not let the winter win. I can’t say I loved it, but I got out there.

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As you can see there was a couple of blizzards in there, snow, ice, and all the layers. Luckily we had planned a trip to Mexico for mid-January to escape the cold. The vacation part was uneventful but we had a few epic runs with Juan (the husband!).

First night in the hotel, a guy who worked there came up to talk to Juan as he was wearing his 2017 TCS New York City Marathon shirt, to ask him if he had run the marathon. Turned out that Armando, our new friend at the hotel, was a runner too and invited us to his team’s workout the next morning. So, at 6:30 am we went out to meet up the Red Runners, who were having a special run as one of their teammates had passed that week. There was a half an hour of a warm-up, everyone in a circle, probably around 130 people, and the coach had a microphone and big speakers. Before we headed out, we all got one white rose to carry for the memorial. We all run together to a gorgeous lighthouse I never would have seen, we got there with the sunrise, there were speeches, even a triathlete pastor, there were prayers, and we run back with the boombox in tow. Everyone was together. It was very moving. And everyone was so welcome to this stranger. It was very special.

  When I travel, to me, the best thing EVER is to hang with the locals. Nothing could have beat that run.

Juan and I did have a few osom runs. The day after the run with Red Runners, there was a race in town, which we didn’t sign up for because registration was miles and miles away but we run to the start and finish to cheer/spectate. Funnest part: Kukulcan road (the main drag) had no traffic for the race. Quite FUN!

  The next few days we did great. We did a tempo together and we run back to the lighthouse so Juan could see it. We managed to get the sunrise too.

  And like that, we were back and the month was over!

DATA DOWNLOAD!

Total Miles: 140

Races: not even one. But we spectated at one..!

Ups: the runs in Mexico!

Downs: running in the sub 10 temperatures (which is like minus 20 in Celsius). NOT FUN. WITH WIND!

Balance: can it be June now? I really miss racing a LOT.

August 2018 – the month that was well, August is always a good month because of SUMMER STREETS, literally, I should be hired by the Summer Streets People because I feel like a community evangelizer.