#- for context the shower we had in the house I grew up in didn’t have hot water. the fucked up the plumbing when they built it

[freckleslikestars]

Okay, someone please settle this argument I’m having with my dad:

Someone has hung a basket of their things (in this case face cloths and scrubbies) with those Command removable hook things (you use a double sided sticky thing and it gives a really strong hold) in the shared bathroom. Because you take longer and hotter than average showers, one of the hooks keeps falling off and so the basket falls down. Do you:

A) inform the person whose basket it is that it’s fallen down and the hook needs replacing, but other than removing the basket from the other hook so it doesn’t fall and damage the sink it’s over, do nothing else to interfere

B) inform the person that it’s fallen down and offer to rehang it if desired, but if you can’t remember how it was hung/don’t think you can do an appropriately satisfactory job at rehanging it, you don’t touch it and leave it to them

C) don’t say anything and rehang it incorrectly and wonkily, and then when the other person points out that you did it wrong and you should have just left it to them, kick off and insist that the other person is being ungrateful.

[litoria-caerulea]

“I didn’t even know it was bothering me until it was gone” hit me so hard. I just moved into the first of what I consider ‘home’.

Moving out at 17 meant I had to put up with a house where power went out several times in the winter (luckily not for very long), there was an untreated mouse problem, several break-ins due to the area, a shower that had pipes almost explode because the ‘landlord’ hadn’t fixed the attic and the cold air traveled down a crawl space. I had to shower at campus rec for almost two weeks before the pipes got warm enough to work again. This isn’t even close to all of the issues, never mind the fact that it wasn’t even a legal rental, just some dude living in his basement renting out the rooms without a license. But it was all my roommates and I could afford.

Obviously I could see this was a horrible living situation, but I had no idea of the things I had missed. Trying to explain to someone that you suddenly feel rich because you have a gas range stove and a shower that works made me realize I had just never had context for how a house/rental SHOULD be. But even this wasn’t what made me fully realize what was happening.

Almost immediately after I moved, the shift in my mental health changed drastically, to the point that I walked into a room and my social worker and teachers both immediately said I looked like a completely new person, both different instances. I didn’t realize I hated my job because I was working in the same bad area and not only experiencing that, but constantly watching everyone around me live on the streets, the constant hopelessness of the level of suffering. I see people live their lives in literal garbage and shit. As in human feces. Currently our city is experiencing a homelessness crisis and where I spent almost all of my time at home and work is one of the hardest hit areas. School and the library was my only escape every day.

I strongly believe in not looking away, but also being completely engulfed in the problem was more than anyone would be able to take. Suddenly I realized that I love my job, I just had no space to compartmentalize and escape from that level of hopelessness. I love being able to notice the difference in the streets, knowing the amount of dirty needles and hazards we remove. I love being outside, talking with coworkers who understand my experience and are just as angry and change focused. I can now go home and feel completely safe for the first time in my life.

I had put up a pride flag over my window without a second thought, before realizing I had never been able to do that, and not just because I grew up in homophobia. My old roommates were both queer as well, it’s just that we couldn’t do anything that would make us even more of a target in that area. I had never realized these levels of anxiety until they were gone.

Anyways I’m doing great now and currently living my best life so yeah :)

I think something a lot of other people can relate to is the way that you get so conditioned to discomfort that you stop registering it.

I remember sitting at the table with my family, eating dinner as a child. I’d try to eat, because of course I was hungry. But sometimes the flavor or texture was so repugnant that it moved into a category of Not Food.

“Two more bites before you can leave the table.”

“I can’t,” I’d say, trying to explain the impossibility.

But because I was a child they heard, “I won’t,” and made me sit at the table. I’d sit in dull agonized silence, bored and hungry for hours until bedtime when they’d give up. I’d hate myself for not eating and my parents for forcing me to sit there. The few forcefeeding moments ended in vomit.

They’d say, “If you don’t eat this you can’t eat a snack later,” and I moved past trying to communicate my discomfort into accepting that I’d just be hungry.

That state of affairs didn’t last, because my parents realized nothing could force me to eat so they catered to my palate, worrying they’d starve me. But the message stuck. If you can’t do anything about a situation, just accept the suffering.

A few years later my mother called me off the playground to ask, “Are you limping?”

I shrugged. My feet had hurt for a long time, but that was just the way things were now. My mom pulled my socks and shoes off and gasped. The soles of my feet were covered in huge painful planters warts.

“Why didn’t you say anything?!” She demanded but I could only shrug at her. I’d learned a long time ago that saying things about my discomfort didn’t matter, so now I had no words. Sometimes things hurt and sometimes they don’t. I simply accepted and did my best.

Now as an adult trying to learn to improve my own conditions can be hard. If I make food that I can’t eat I’ll force myself to sit at the counter still, full of guilt and self loathing, trying to will myself to eat it.

At first I needed my betrothed to gently take it away to present me with something I could eat. Now on my own I can usually admit that it’s not happening before too long and get something else, but I still feel guilty.

Laying in bed at night waiting for my betrothed to finish getting ready I let out a huge sigh of relief when they turned the lights off.

“Why didn’t you turn them off if they bothered you?” they asked the first time it happened.

“I didn’t even know it was bothering me until it was gone.”

Assessing my physical state now to see if I can improve it is something I’m still relearning but I’m relieved to finally have the space and support to do it.

[yesimwriting]

Final Girl (part 4)

(the scenes in this is what inspired the series so ig technically could be read as a stand alone and still make sense but the previous chapters obviously add context lol) Part 4 to - Final Girl Series Masterlist (currently updated parts 1 - 9 and extras)

A/n fun fact there are two alternate versions of part 4 in my drafts, if anyone wants a bonus scene of Billy and Stu having a full conversation with Gloria, and/or a short scene of Y/n and Gloria getting ready together (which shows. a little bit more of their dynamic) it’s basically done and would only need a little bit of editing lol

also!! thinking about doing a lil billy & stu blurb night or sleepover thing,, any thoughts on that lol (prob saturday afternoon, when i’ll be tipsy 😭,, tipsy writing is fun) 

my favorite thing about this chapter is how they’re all cute for 3 minutes and then get violently toxic 😭 duality ig?? 

Warning: i broke and put the first touch of smut into this 😭 everything before the switch in POV is pretty PG (very toxic vibes tho!!), so if you don’t want to read anything sexual just skip over the part at the end that’s in narrator’s POV!! (pls be nice, writing smut scares me, i’ve had very few sexual experiences and have enjoyed none of them lmao)

Series Summary: Y/n can’t believe that she has to leave the only home she’s ever known just because her mom’s latest boyfriend has a house in some town in California. Just as she’s starting to think that Woodsboro might not be that bad, something life altering happens after she agrees to sleep over at the Becker’s house. Now her name is practically synonymous with Ghostface’s. 

Chapter Summary: Due to a family emergency, Y/n is left home alone for the first time since what happened to Casey. Luckily, her good friends Billy and Stu show up to surprise her just as she’s starting to feel paranoid. 

---- 

You’d think that someone that grew up with one parent would be used to being alone, but I have very few memories of total solitude. The few times my mom hasn’t been around, there’s always been someone.

Tonight, though, it’s just me. And I’m not alone in my childhood home--I’m alone in Wells’ house. My mom says that I don’t need to think too much about the fact that we moved into his family’s home, but sometimes I still feel like a stranger here. A guest.

Ugh, I shake the thought off with a roll of my shoulders. I’m freaking myself out for no reason, and I promised my mom I’d be fine.

She didn’t want to leave me, and I can’t blame her for her hesitance, but a family emergency is a family emergency.

I would have gone with her in a heartbeat, but I had the SAT this morning. My mom offered to have Wells stay behind, but honestly, the thought of being alone with her boyfriend for days made me more uncomfortable than the thought of being alone. At least it did at the time. But now that it’s dark out, I’m starting to think it might have been a bad idea to send away the trained police officer. 

I could always call Sidney or Tatum. My mom said I could have people over, or maybe even sleepover at someone’s house. She actually wanted me to stay with a friend, but after my last sleepover, the thought of spending the night at someone’s house turns my stomach. 

Now I’m alone, and it’s almost 9:00, and I’m really upset that most of my comfort movies are horror. The last thing I need is to make myself more para--

The sound of the home phone ringing snaps me out of my thoughts. It could be my mom, but we had just talked. She called me right before I got into the shower to give me an update. I guess it wouldn’t be that weird for her to call me again. She’s nervous about leaving me alone. 

“Hi?” 

There are no words, just soft breathing. “Hey, squirt.” 

Nerves and embarrassing excitement roll in my stomach. I’m so shocked I almost forget that I’m on the phone and I need to reply. “H-hi, dad.” I sit up a little straighter. “It’s you, you’re calling.” 

“Yep,” he breathes, popping the ‘p’ and breezing past my awkwardness, “Just checking in. I just heard what happened. Your mom called, but I’m in Europe on business, and because of the timezone difference it went to voicemail. My secretary somehow missed it. I am so sorry I didn’t call sooner, are you okay?” 

My lips part, a strange amount of emotions twisting in my stomach, “I uh--I’m doing better. I wasn’t the one that was really hurt.” The thought of Casey strikes me in the chest. I cross my legs beneath me. “I-um--I missed some school because I had a concussion. A friend of mine had to convince me to go to the doctor, actually.” 

He laughs lightly, “That sounds like you.” After a second, he continues, “You still want to do the whole Princeton thing?” 

“Yeah, I-I’d like to. I’m trying to. Even took the SAT for the first time today.” 

I can hear him shuffling. “Wow, squirt, the S-A-T,” he hums each letter, “You and Charlotte are really growing up.” 

When I was at that age where kids are obsessed with princesses, I used to imagine that Charlotte was my evil step sister. She was the perfect girl in front of our parents, but there was something about the way she treated me that I couldn’t support. Her and her mother, Alice, always made it clear that my mother and I weren’t the real members of the family. 

My mom was more open about my step sister than I was, and I can imagine how hard that was. She waited around for my dad for years, and he didn’t get his life together until grandfather told him to. She stood by him through addiction and through scandal, but once grandfather said dad had to grow up, he listened. He went to Princeton for undergrad and Yale for his masters and he married the woman Grandfather set him up with.

My dad’s only defense is that my mom sent him away. What he never seems to mention is that my mom’s breaking point was him leaving me alone at some dealer’s house when I was a baby. 

“Charlotte,” I repeat, trying to hide the way the name stings, “How is she?”  

“Oh, she’s good, she just heard back from Princeton because of their rolling admission policy, she’s in.” 

Oh. Charlotte is one year older than me, so I knew that it was possible that I’d have to hear about her getting into dream schools soon. What I didn’t expect was to hear that she got into Princeton, and I didn’t expect it now. “That’s really great, dad.” 

“Yeah, she’ll get the lay of the land, and once you’re in, she’ll be able to show you around.” 

“Yeah,” I mumble, “That’d be nice.” 

Another voice steals my dad’s attention. Likely his secretary. “Hey, squirt, I gotta go. Meeting.” 

“Oh, y-yeah, dad. Talk to you later.” 

“Yes, I’ll make sure to call soon.” He pauses before tacking on, “Oh, I sent you a get well soon present this morning. It might take a few days, but I hope you like it.” 

My nails dig into the palm of my hand, “Oh, thanks, dad. Bye.” 

With that the line goes flat. I place the phone back on my bedside table before grabbing a pillow that’s by my side. Settling the pillow onto my lap, I drop my face into it. “Ugh.” The groan is strangled and dramatic, but I don’t care. 

I cannot wait to call my mom and tell her about how little miss perfect Charlotte is going to Princeton. Princeton is mine, it’s been mine my entire life. There’s a freaking poster of it in my room.

“You’re in a good mood.” 

The words make me jump out of my skin. In a second, i’m on my feet, my hands reaching for the first thing I can find. It happens to be my bedside lamp. I blink, eyes wide as my head snaps towards my window. There’s a large figure sitting on the window sill. 

“Billy! Stu!” Adrenaline is still running through me. “I could--I could have hurt you guys!” 

Billy leans against my window’s frame comfortably, lips turning upwards. “With your fuzzy lamp?” 

“Do not make fun of me.” 

“He’s not,” Stu says, “You’re super threatening. I’m shaking so much I might fall off this ledge.”

I roll my eyes, shifting awkwardly. It’s not like Stu and I haven’t talked since my little blow up in the hallway, but things haven’t been the same. I don’t know if he’s waiting for something from me or if most of it is in my head because I feel a little bad. I never thought I’d miss Stu regularly jokingly hitting on me, but I think I’m starting to.

“Haha,” I mumble after a second too long of silence. Because I need an excuse to not look at them, I turn to set my lamp back down. “What are you guys doing here anyway?” 

Billy shrugs, twisting to place his feet on the floor of my room. “Stu talked me into renting The Craft.” He stands, giving Stu the space he needs to also come into my room. “It made us think of you.” 

“You two watched The Craft?” 

“We got halfway through,” Stu admits, reaching into the black backpack he came in with, “Not my best pick.” He walks into my room casually, like climbing in through my second floor window is a regular Saturday night occurrence. “Seems like the kind of thing you’d like, though. Brought it in case you wanted something to do later.” 

He tosses the tape casually onto my bed. I stare at it for a long second, hating the fact that he knows me so well. I remember seeing trailers for The Craft and wanting to watch it. Some joke about how he’s implying that he thinks I have bad taste tries to come out, but I can’t seem to form the words. 

I don’t know if it’s the casual gesture or the fact that they showed up when I didn’t want to be alone, but an emotion I don’t really get threatens to overwhelm me. Maybe this reaction is the result of the phone call with my dad.

Stu must notice my stillness because he asks, “You okay?” 

I take large steps, moving around my bed in order to reach him. My hug must surprise him, but Stu doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around me. “I’m sorry.” 

“Sorry?” 

“Tuesday,” I mumble, “I was moody and defensive and things have felt kinda weird since then and I just want things to be normal again.” This might be a total mistake, it feels like revealing an open wound. “You’re like one of my best friends.” 

He squeezes me tighter, “One of?” 

Tilting my head up to look at him, I reply, “Don’t get greedy.” 

“Fine,” Stu mumbles after a second of pretend contemplation. 

I should pull away now, but there’s something comforting about the position we’re in. Stu’s hugs are underrated, but his ego is big enough without me telling him that. “Do you have anything you want to say to me?” 

“Mm...” He hums for a long second. “Nope, not really.” Well, getting along with him was nice while it lasted. I pull away sharply, shoving his chest when he reaches out to me. “I’m kidding,” Stu laughs, “Kidding.” I glare, trying to escape his hold. “I’m sorry, angel. I should have known that you were moody because of your head.” 

The nickname takes me by surprise. I remember it from my hazy night at the hospital. I didn’t think twice of it then. Should I think about it now? It’s not particularly weirder than any other of the other nicknames Stu’s always calling me, and they’re all the same level of flirty except maybe bug, which is only really used when he wants his way.

“My head’s hurting a lot less.” I straighten slightly, arms dropping casually as I take a step back. Stu lets me. “I even took the SAT this morning. Totally not ideal with a concussion by the way, if my scores come back and they’re bad I’m so blaming the killer.” 

“I remember your reaction at the doctor’s office.”

I turn towards Billy, who’s casually sitting on my bed like he lives here. “Yeah, not my best moment.” I scratch the back of my arm. “Thank you for making me go to the doctor, by the way. The first thing my mom said when I got home was that you must be some kind of saint to have put up with me like that. She’s always telling me that I’m a total monster when I’m sick in any capacity.”

Billy almost smiles, “So your mom likes me now?” 

“You’re making progress.” Basically a lie. My mom won’t like any boys I’m friends with until I’m a college graduate. It’s shocking enough that she tolerates them. 

“Really?” 

I shrug, slightly unsure. Stu moves to sit across from me. “You can tell your mom I’m willing to do whatever to get in her good graces.” 

Cringing, I grab a pillow from behind me and throw it at Stu. He barely manages to block it with his forearm. “She’s my mom!” 

“And she’s a total babe.” 

“You’re getting kicked out.” 

Stu holds his hands up in defense, “Don’t worry, you’re still my girl.” 

I roll my eyes, pulling my legs beneath me. “Mhm, I’ll mention that to Tatum next time she calls.”

Stu props the backpack up against the side of my bed. The way he dramatically falls across my bed is almost enough to get me to break character. He places a hand on his chest like he’s wounded. “Don’t turn this into something ugly. You know I love you both, just in different ways.” 

“I’m glad you two felt the need to sneak in through my window to tell me that.” The comment makes me think about something that they practically made me forget about. “Why did you guys come here through the window anyway?” 

“We missed you,” Billy answers with no hesitation. His tone is just a little too sweet to be genuine. When I give him a look, he tilts his head before actually answering the question, “We wanted to check in. It had been a few days, and you didn’t come back to school. You stopped answering calls. Sid told me the last two times she called you, your mom picked up and said you weren’t up for conversation.” 

Normally, the thought of people looking out for me makes me nervous. Especially when it’s a guy. I know that past friendships and family issues aren’t the kinds of things I should push onto them. They’ve been good friends. Maybe it’s okay to let people in a little more than I have in the past. Besides, they’re just worried about their high strung friend that was attacked by a murderer and then had a melt down at school, it’s not like they’re crazy for being concerned. 

“That’s nice of you guys. I’m doing better, I’ve just been...kinda disconnected lately. And honestly, I’ve been spending a lot more time doing makeup work than I’d like to admit.” My posture relaxes slightly. “You don’t need to worry.” 

“There’s also a killer on the loose, and you don’t lock your window.” 

Billy has a tiny bit of a point. In scary movies, I always get frustrated when characters are dumb. It’s the small, careless things that distinguish those that die and those that make it to the sequel. “My room’s on the second floor, I thought that’d count for something.”

“Not when the world’s easiest to climb tree is in your backyard,” Stu adds, “I thought you’d think twice about things like that.” He turns his head so that he’s staring straight up at the ceiling. “You’re always reading mystery books and the only thing you care about in movies is that there’s a final girl.” 

Great, now Stu’s right, too. “That’s not the only thing I care about.” He’s quiet, watching me with a strange level of focus. He’s weirdly calm...almost dazed. I blink, gaze shifting to watch Billy from the corner of my eye. He’s also seems a little weird. “Are you guys drunk or something?” 

Stu lets out a mock gasp. “Wow. You think that little of us?” 

My eyes narrow, focusing on the backpack I so quickly dismissed earlier. “I think that if I opened that bag I’d find beer.” 

With a wounded sigh, Stu sits up. He grabs his backpack, unzipping it casually. He reaches into it before pulling out a tall bottle. The liquid inside of it is as clear as the glass containing it. “Not exactly.” Stu unscrews the lid, taking an easy sip. He doesn’t wince as the liquid goes down his throat. “Here.” Billy shifts, reaching forward to take the bottle. “Ah--c’mon, Billy boy, let her have some. We’re being rude.” 

“It’s okay,” I interrupt quickly, “I’m good.” 

Stu frowns, extending his arm a little more. “Come on, angel, just a tiny sip. Less than a shot.” I don’t move, but my attention does shift to the bottle that’s hanging just a little too loosely from his fingers. “I won’t even tell on you to your mom.” 

I roll my eyes at what he’s so clearly implying. “I think she’d be more focused on the fact that you chose to come in through the window.” Scratching the back of my wrist, I admit, “Plus, she’s not downstairs, so you can’t tattle on me anyways.” I watch him take in the words, a part of me regretting bringing that up. “Why’d you guys come in this way anyways? I would’ve come to the door.” 

“You’ve been ignoring everyone’s calls.” Stu props his head up on his elbow. 

I look at him and then at Billy. “So this is an ambush.” 

Billy drops one of his bent legs just enough to bump his knee into mine. “A wellness check in.” 

Tamping down a grin, I roll my eyes.  “Right. Silly of me not to realize.” 

“If your mom’s not here, where is she?” 

Stu’s blatant nosiness should have been expected. “Why? You actually here for her?” 

“Jealous?” 

Pressing my back into a pillow, I fake gag.”She’s my mom, Stu.” 

He rolls his eyes at my theatrics before laying back down. I know that they must have noticed the way I ignored the question, but telling them that my mom’s not home and that she’s not going to be home for days feels a little like tempting fate now that I know they’re at least tipsy.

Billy lazily reaches for the bottle again. Stu lets him take it this time. 

“She’s in Texas, anyways.” Please tell me my voice sounds casual and not at all nervous. “That must be so sad for you.” 

I’m waiting for some kind of joke about blue balls or being heartbroken. Instead, Stu props his head up again. “So she’s not here not here?” 

The distinction sends nerves straight to my stomach and I’m not sure why. My confusion is more uncomfortable than what I’m feeling. “Yeah,” I mumble, sitting up a little straighter, “Family emergency thing. My godmother is like super pregnant with twins and just got put on bed rest. Her husband’s out of town for work this weekend, so my mom flew there to take care of her.” 

Billy’s head turns in my direction, “So it’s just you and good old step dad.” 

His lips turn upwards at my glare. “No, Wells is with her.” I shift uncomfortably at the thought of being alone with Wells with no buffer for that long. “I would’ve gone with them, but I already had the SAT scheduled and their flight was early.” 

Stu breaks the unexpected silence, “So they left you alone with a killer on the loose?” 

Shrugging, I drop my gaze to the floral pattern of my bedsheets. “It’s not like that. My godmother’s miscarried before, she’s freaked out.” My pointer finger traces the dainty pink petals sewn into the fabric. “And I just calmed myself down, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bring that stuff up.” 

“Relax, angel,” Stu mumbles absentmindedly, “You can stay at my place if you want. My parents aren’t home either, so it’s just me and Billy tonight.” `

Yeah, I’ve done a lot of pathetic things recently, and I don’t need to add crashing Billy and Stu’s sleepover to the list. Plus I don’t think I need to know what goes on at boys sleepovers. Living with a grown man for the first time was enough of a culture shock. “I appreciate the offer, but last time I stayed over at someone’s house kind of...” 

“We could stay here.” Stu’s offer comes out so casual, so without a second thought, I nearly get whiplash. I stare at him, waiting for him to grin or do anything that indicates that he’s joking. He does neither, instead he just looks at Billy like he’s asking him if they’re staying here. Not me.

Billy tilts the bottle in my direction, silently offering it to me. “We could hang out, make sure you fall asleep okay.” He relaxes enough to let his free hand fall. His fingertips ghost my forearm. “Pretend all you want, but I know that staying by yourself has to be bothering you a little.” 

Ugh. I hate when he’s right. Maybe a drink isn’t the worst idea right now. It might give me the confidence I need to seem okay with being home alone. I take the bottle, cautiously bringing it up to my lips with the intention of only taking a sip. The bottle tilts upwards with no warning. The unexpected amount of extra alcohol leaves me nearly sputtering. I’m forced to down two large mouthfuls to avoid spilling it all over my bed.

When I finally get the bottle away from me, the sound of laughter and the rush of straight vodka leave me flushed. “Stu!” I’m trying to yell at him, but his name is barely sputtered out between coughs. 

“What? This isn’t even 40 proof.” 

Billy glares in Stu’s direction before he sits up a little more. I let him tilt my chin up softly. His touch is feather light as he wipes excess liquid up my chin and across my bottom lip. The motion is slow, the nail of his thumb pressing into the edge of my lip, pulling it just enough for me to notice. He’s looking at me with such deliberation my stomach drops. 

Wow, I really cannot handle my alcohol. I pull away, hand gripping the side of my bed as cautiously as possible. “You suck, you know how I get when I drink.” 

I’ve only been drunk in front of them once. The entire group was together and after my first beer, I spent the rest of the night holding Tatum’s hand and whining whenever Stu tried to steal her away. He was starting to actually get annoyed with me, but I ended up getting super nauseous before he could actually get mad. The next day, he teased me to no end about being an extremely touchy lightweight. 

“You weren’t that bad,” Stu lies, hand casually reaching forward to catch my ankle. “Just touchy. Thought you and Tay were getting ready to put on a show.”

“Shut up.”

He yanks my foot towards him, placing my calf on his lap. “Make me.” 

I roll my eyes, nerves that I don’t understand rising up my chest at the silence that follows. I could laugh, but he doesn’t need that kind of encouragement, so instead I kick the foot he pulled towards him. The movement is light, more of an attempt to shake him off than anything else. Stu doesn’t take it that way. His hand moves up past my calf, fingers harshly pressing into my skin. 

I’m reminded of that night in the hospital. The way Stu gripped my thigh. Small bruises that I thought about more than I’d ever admit lingered there for days. He was joking then, and he’s joking now, but his touch feels different. More (or maybe less?) restrained. There’s also something about the way he’s looking at me. 

My head turns in Billy’s direction. “Think I could take him?” 

Billy looks at Stu and then at me. “You’d kick his ass.”

I grin openly, glad for the break from tension. Stu’s hold on my leg loosens. He’s no longer gripping onto me, but his touch is persistent as he draws patterns against my skin. The change doesn’t exactly ease me, but I’m worried trying to pull away will make things worse. Something tells me he won’t take it seriously, he’ll think I’m challenging him as a joke or something. 

“You wanna kick my ass?” Stu drags his fingers up my leg, stopping at my knee before slowly moving back down.

I shrug, “Not sure yet.” 

Stu rolls his eyes before extending the hand holding the bottle. “Decide after another sip.” When I dramatically glare at him, Stu smiles slightly. “I promise not to do anything this time. I’m still not convinced, and it doesn’t entirely have to do with Stu. I’m not sure I want to drink anymore, I’m already finding it hard to focus. “Tell her, Billy.” 

“I can’t help that she’s not an idiot.” 

Billy’s response isn’t even that funny, but I laugh freely anyways. Stu pouts at my reaction, pulling the bottle back towards him. “Fine, don’t trust me.” 

I’ve dealt with Stu’s coldness for days and he’s just starting to act normal again. The last thing I want is for there to be another fight, even if it’s just a petty one. With a roll of my eyes, I lean forward and grab the bottle. “Don’t be so dramatic,” I bring the bottle to my lips and take a quick drink. The liquid burns as it goes down. “See, I trust you.” 

Stu doesn’t relax. He just stares at me. Are his eyes darker than they were earlier or is the alcohol starting to get to me? I need an excuse to break eye contact. I raise the bottle again, taking another sip.

Billy’s touch on my back is easing, which is nice because the buzz is starting to kick in a lot stronger than I expected it to. There’s no way Stu was telling the truth when he said that the vodka’s less than 40 proof. “Have you had anything to eat?” He’s moving his hand in circles like he did when he found me in the bathroom. It’s more soothing than it should be. “Last time you didn’t you got sick.” 

His words are so calm I find myself giggling. “That’s very motherly of you.” Billy throws me a slightly irritated look. “I didn’t mean it as a bad thing, it’s nice.” My head tilts forward, the motion more drastic than I intended it to be. Billy places a hand on my cheek, stabilizing me. “I um--I ate. Ordered Pizza earlier. There’s still some in the kitchen if you guys are hungry. Or I could--could get you something to drink. My mom would be mad if she knew you guys were here, but she’d kill me if she knew I had people over and didn’t offer then anything to eat.”

Billy tilts his head downwards, a strand of hair falling forward. The urge to push it back into place leaves my fingers itching. “Does that mean you’re letting us stay?” 

What does that mean? They’ve been staying. It takes me a second to realize that he’s asking me if they’re staying the night. “It’s--” 

“Come on,” his voice is soft, his breath warm against my jaw, “We just want to help.” 

My thoughts are mush, and I’m not sure that’s just because of the alcohol. I lean back in hopes of creating some distance. “You guys can hang out,” I mumble, “But I don’t think you should stay too late. I’m kind of spacey and a little tipsy and tired. Think it’d be good for me to stay by myself tonight.” The answer feels awkward, maybe even a little risky. My eyes focus on the Princeton banner in the corner of the room. His silence is beginning to crawl under my skin. “Billy?” 

When I finally find the courage to look at him again, there’s something eerie about the blankness in his expression. His hand drops from my face. “It is getting late.” He glances at Stu, nodding his head once in the direction of the window. “Wouldn’t want to overstay our welcome.” 

I settle the bottle in my lap before wiping at my face with both hands. I should have known better. He takes things like that more personally than one would expect. Memories of the time Billy asked me if I wanted to study for our History test together after school leave me frozen in place. I had already promised to help Randy study for a math test. Billy was cold towards me for a week. 

“Billy.” He doesn’t look back at me. I scoot to the edge of my bed, placing the bottle on my nightstand. “Stu.” Stu glances at me, but says nothing. “Don’t go.” I can’t look at them. My nails dig into my bedsheets. “Come on, I-I need you guys.” 

God, I’m never drinking again. The admission is so embarrassing I can feel blood rush to my face. I don’t look up until fingers press in to the skin beneath my chin. My head is tilted upwards before I can make any kind of decision. 

“Need us?” Billy’s voice is low and unbearably patient. 

I blink up at him, unsure on how to proceed. I learned early on in our friendship that it takes little to trigger some kind of power trip in them, and that that tends to lead to meanness. But every part of that’s lost to the buzzed feeling of the alcohol doesn’t care. I nod slowly. 

I’d consider the slight uptilt of the corner of his mouth a smile if it wasn’t for the strange look behind his eye. He’s so hard to read sometimes and that just makes me resent the fact that I’ve always been an open book. He knew about my concussion before I did. “A little bit of alcohol is all it takes with you, huh?” 

His tone is so patronizing I’d pull away if I was any less fuzzy. “More than a little.” 

Billy lets out a partially amused breath. “To you.” 

“Remember how you got after two beers?” Stu sits next to me, so close our knees touch.

I shift back, forcing my eyes to stay on my lap. “That’s why I didn’t want to drink a lot, but some asshole tilted the bottle with no warning.” 

“Mean of them,” Stu agrees, shockingly amicable as he takes my hand from my lap. I watch as he messes with my fingers, curling and uncurling them like a child would with a toy. “Let us stay, bug. We’ll have fun, watch movies, I’ll go downstairs for you if you get thirsty in the middle of the night.” 

The specificness of that last part leaves me confused. I tilt my head in his direction, but Stu pays no mind to it. Billy half huffs, “I’d get you the water, Stu’s too selfish when he’s tired.” 

“Fuck you,” Stu protests, squeezing my hand once, “Maybe I’d do for it Y/n. Maybe I like her more than I like you.”

Billy barely justifies that response with a look in Stu’s direction. He then turns towards me, eyes softening slightly as he shakes his head once. Despite myself, I smile fondly. “It’s not that I don’t want you guys to stay, it’s that I don’t know if it’s okay.” 

Of course Stu’s the one to ask, “Why wouldn’t it be okay?” 

Even in my state, I know he knows exactly what I’m implying. He’s fighting a grin, enjoying the prospect of me having to say it a little too much. For once, I can’t use my mom as an excuse. There’s literally zero possibility of her finding out, she won’t be in the same state as us until Tuesday. The only way she’d find out is if I tell her and if I admit that I’m scared of letting it slip out, the mommy’s girl jokes will never end. 

“You know why,” I begin, watching Stu trace the line of my palms. “Don’t think Sid and Tatum would love the idea of their boyfriends...” He’s really going to make me say it. I resist the urge to pull my hand back into my lap and curl into myself. “...Having sleepovers with me.” 

The words are barely out of my mouth before Stu laughs. “You and Tay get up to a lot at your sleepovers?” 

The alcohol’s really getting to me because it takes me a second to understand the joke. My delayed eye roll is definitely noticed. “That’s not--it’s--” I pull my hand away, crossing my arms over my chest. “You know what I mean. It’s different.” 

“Why’s it so different?” 

That’s the kind of question I expect from Stu, but from Billy, it’s not as easy to dismiss with an eye roll and halfhearted shove. “It’d-it’d seem weird,” I whisper, “Tate and Sid--” 

“Would be happy that we’re keeping you safe. They love you.” Billy places a hand on my shoulder, his thumb brushing against the strap of my tank top. I was too distracted before to think about what I’m wearing, but now I can’t help noticing that this is the skimpiest I’ve ever worn in front of them. 

It’s not like I’m naked--but my old, elastic pajama shorts are the kind of thing I can’t wear around Wells. My tank top isn’t scandalous, but I’m too aware of the fact that I’m not wearing a bra. I also don’t love being seen in clothes like this. Two different types of insecurity strike at the same time.  

“Sid would kill me if I let anything happen to you,” Billy continues, his thumb moving up and down my skin. “C’mon.” 

This was always a losing fight. It’s kind of hard to put your foot down when it comes to something that you don’t really want. I know that my points are valid, or at least, I think they’re valid.

Maybe I am being a little dramatic. It’s not like we’re doing anything bad. Even if they didn’t have girlfriends, I really doubt either of them would see me like that. And is it so bad that I don’t want to be completely alone in this house? We’re friends, friends have sleepovers. Plus it is nighttime and they’ve been drinking, sending them to walk home could lead to something happening to them.

“Okay,” I give in, “But best behavior. My mom will kill me if she thinks you guys stayed over.”

“Aw,” Stu says, moving to rest his head on my shoulder, “Willing to keep a secret from your mom for us.” 

Instead of shaking Stu off, I rest my head against his. “Guess I like you guys.” 

“You’re cute when you’re sleepy.” 

I frown, “I’m not sleepy.” 

“Then let’s go watch a movie.” I pout when Stu moves away, “Come on, I brought options.”

Moving to sit closer to the edge of the bed, I wipe my eyes with the back of my palm tiredly. Stu brought more movies? For a spontaneous, tipsy visit, Stu seems remarkably prepared. He grabs the bottle off of my nightstand. The implications of that makes me sigh loudly. 

Billy reaches forward, grabbing my hand. “It’s easier to go along with it.” I let him help me to my feet. When I sway, Billy’s hand is quick to find my hip. “I’ll help you down the stairs.” 

I don’t protest. It’s probably for the best, anyways. Tipsy me isn’t exactly known for her coordination. 

True to his word, Billy’s hand stays on my hip as as we walk to the living room. Once we’re down the stairs, Billy’s hold on me doesn’t loosen. Stu’s already messing with the VCR by the time I’m sitting on the couch. I consider offering him some help, but decide against it. I’m comfortable, and probably too out of it to be useful.

Watching a movie feels like a good thing. Knowing them, it’s probably something scary, and they take their horror movies seriously. It’ll consume their attention, which means I’ll be able to recover from the alcohol in peace.

Stu must figure out the VCR because he stands up and walks towards us. He sits down next to me, stretching an arm over the back of the couch. “What’d you put on?”

"The Shining.” 

“Finished the book recently.” 

“Hm,” Stu hums in acknowledgement, already turning his full attention to the movie. 

The movie playing lets me relax. There’s no need to worry about doing anything stupid or embarrassing because the two of them are going to be immersed in what’s on the screen. 

Only a few minutes into the movie, Stu takes a sip from the bottle of alcohol. I almost forgot he brought that down with him. He then offers it to me without looking away from the TV. My hand wraps around the neck of the bottle. After a few sips, Billy takes it from me. He ignores the way I look at him, opting to drink even less than Stu did before setting the bottle down on the coffee table. 

I’ve watched The Shining before, and I’ve been meaning to rewatch it since finishing the book, but focusing isn’t coming easily to me right now. At least I know enough about to plot to not be confused as my thoughts tune in and out.

My head ends up on Billy’s shoulder. I don’t remember making the conscious choice to do so, but I’m comfortable and Billy doesn’t shake me off, he just brushes his knuckles up and down my leg absentmindedly. 

The longer the movie continues, the harder I find it to understand what’s going on. Maybe it’s because I’m tired, maybe it’s because the bottle somehow keeps making its way back to me.

I blink hard, trying to figure out what point of the movie we’re at. We’re not near the end, Jack Torrence hasn’t fully snapped yet, but his writer’s block is getting bad. A confident touch to my left knee snaps me out of my analysis. My head turns against Billy’s shoulder. Stu’s eyes are still trained on the movie, but his hand is on my leg, and not in a casual, mindless way, either. 

He squeezes my knee as the little boy rides his tricycle past room 237. “Stu.” His fingertips trail up my inner thigh slowly, lingering where my shorts end. I shift, unintentionally pressing myself more into Billy. Stu presses his hand down in order to keep my leg in place. “Stu.” What’s meant to be a scolding comes out too sleepy and slurred. It practically sounds like a whine.  “’M serious.” 

Stu’s nails drag up my skin. My breath catches in my throat oddly, a tiny sound slipping out. “Serious about what?” My lips part, but no words are ready to come out. “You’re okay,” he whispers, “Just watch the movie, angel.” I’m too buzzed to do anything but nod. “Want more to drink?” 

“She’s done,” Billy squeezes my forearm, “Anymore and she’ll get sick.”

The thought of drinking anymore does twist my stomach. Sometimes the way Billy reads people is a tiny bit eerie. I nod against his arm, squeezing his hand. Stu shrugs, turning back to the movie without moving his hand from my thigh.

By the time the movie’s ending, the fact that I’m aware of anything is a miracle. I only fell asleep once and woke up to the feeling of Stu squeezing my thigh. The fact that my initial reaction wasn’t to try to get him to knock it off, but to pretend to still be asleep scared me so much I didn’t let myself relax for the rest of the movie. 

"She asleep?” Stu’s voice is barely louder than the sound of still rolling credits. 

I shift against Billy in a sad attempt to sit up fully with no support. “Still awake,” my voice is too drowsy, I try a little harder to sit up before wiping my eyes. “’M up.”

Billy keeps a hand on my arm in an attempt to help stabilize me. “Clearly.” I try throwing a sarcastic look in his direction, but it feels kind of pathetic. “Let’s get you to bed.” 

Stu grabs my hand, pulling on my arm before I can respond. They help me stand and stay up. They’re attentive as we move up the stairs, pausing and holding me a little tighter each time I threaten to sway or stumble. I’m barely there by the time we get to my room.

The second I see my bed, I abandon them both in favor of finding my mattress. I stumble, pulling back my sheets before laying down. Billy sits down on the other side of the bed. I roll onto my stomach in order to reach for him. My hand falls short, but Billy moves to compensate for my lethargy. 

I can barely lift my head off of the mattress, “Hi.” 

His hand is on my back, moving in small circles. “Hi,” he echoes. I smile at nothing in particular as I try to keep my eyes open. “You need sleep.” 

With a laugh, I turn onto my back. Billy moves his hand away, looking at me sternly as I continue to giggle. “Astute observation.” I lazily try to wipe the sleep from my eyes. “Weird word, huh?” Using the last of my energy to sit up, I laugh again. The sound gets cut short by a yawn. “Never really thought about it before the SAT.” 

“Uh-huh,” Stu starts, placing a hand on my shoulder, “You spent who knows how long with your nose in an SAT prep book, we get it. Now go to sleep.” 

My head lulls to the side, mainly subconscious protest must be visible on my face because Stu pushes against my shoulder and that’s all it takes for my back to fall flat against my bed. My eyes go wide in surprise. I shift like I want to sit up, but then decide to just roll onto my side. “That wasn’t nice.” 

He sits next to me, “I’ll make it up to you in the morning.” My eyes are now shut but I can hear his movements. The feel of a hand brushing against my side should alarm me more. I open my eyes just enough to see Stu lying next to me. “Promise.” 

I hum vaguely in agreement, nodding my head more into my sheets than anything else. I’m so close to sleep I barely register the feeling of Billy’s hand against my back, moving in the same circular motions as before.

The last thing I register before falling fully asleep is the light getting turned off and long fingers brushing against my neck. I’m in a state that’s more dream than reality when something oddly sharp--but not painful--quickly brushes against my neck. Before I can think about it, I’m pulled under. 

----

Narrator’s POV

Stu can’t help it. He’s been trying to keep it together all night, trying to pace himself and hold onto the way he’s supposed to act, but it’s been getting increasingly harder around you. Especially tonight.

The urge to break character, in a sense, isn’t his fault. Not really. How is he supposed to focus and play best friend’s boyfriend when you’re everywhere? The postures and pictures on your wall, the overflowing, well loved bookshelf in the corner, and your sheets. The dainty floral pattern, the softness of the cotton, and the way that they smell so much like you. He can’t stop imagining what it’d feel like to press your face into them as you took him from behind. 

He thought being in your room would be easy. It’s not like he’s never checked it out before, but only while you weren’t home. But being here with you? A drunk, touchy, needy you? Almost impossible. He’s been trying to hide how hard he is all night. 

But now you’re asleep, and the alcohol he kept getting you to drink is guaranteed to keep you that way until late morning. His hands have been all over you since he first realized that your breathing evened out. He moves one hand to palm himself over his pants. His free hand trails down your side, squeezing your hip. 

“Go to sleep.” Billy’s voice isn’t tired, just a little flat, and maybe a tiny bit annoyed.

 Stu recognizes the lack of demand in Billy’s tone and decides that his words are more of a ‘knock it off’ than a serious ‘stop’. “Like you’re not hard.” Stu’s fingers brush against the hem of your shorts. “Y/n said she needed us and then spent two and a half hours basically laying on top of you.” Stu slips his hand beneath the waistband of his pajama pants, knowing that with a few more words he could finally get some release. “Remember yesterday?” Stu groans, his hand moving down his length. “You came to the thought of that.” 

Billy stays still, ignoring a feeling he’s been in control of since early in the night. “It’s too soon.” He glances at you, so tired and so needy. “We push anymore tonight and we won’t be able to blame it on drinking.” Your breath flutters slightly, your chest expanding a bit more than usual. “If she thinks anything’s up she won’t talk to us anymore. She’s still too close to Sidney and Tatum.” 

“Relax,” Stu sighs, his hand moving a little bit faster, “Sh-she drank enough to keep her knocked out until tomorrow. Fuck.” Stu turns his head at the sound of Billy moving. He frowns dramatically when he realizes that the movement was just Billy brushing his knuckles over your cheek in order to sooth you and make sure you’re still sleeping comfortably. “You’re babying her, we should just talk her into it already.” Stu likes the thought of that more than he can put into words. The three of you, like it should be. “Should’ve felt her when my hand was on her thigh. She--fuck--she was shaking, pretending to be asleep.” 

Billy lets out a breath, reaching over for Stu lazily. You don’t even shift at the motion. “You think I’m babying her, but she’s the one that has you wrapped around her finger.” 

Stu parts his lips to protest, but Billy pushes his hand beneath the waistband of Stu’s pants before he can get the words out. “Shit,” Stu’s breath hitches, “Fuck you, Y/n lets me do whatever I wan-want.” Billy moves his hand at a pace that’s agonizing. “She wouldn’t stop me if I-” 

Stu cuts himself off with a groan. Billy finishes the sentence for him, “If you spread her legs apart, pulled those tiny shorts to the side, and ate her out until she’s crying.” With each word, Billy picks up his pace, indifferent to Stu’s whines. “You want to do that?” 

“Yes,” Stu doesn’t hesitate, “Fuck, yes.” 

“She’d squirm under you like before.” God, Stu’s practically seeing stars. “She’d let us fuck her like a whore.” 

Stu bites his tongue to suppress a whine, his fingertips digging into your hip. “Shit, I’m close.” 

Billy moves his hand up, pulling it away from Stu slowly. He ignores Stu’s whine. “Go to sleep.”

----

Taglist: @cole22ann @womenarecannibals @fand0mskullfa1ry @princessleah129

[otp-holic]

The one place (where something happened) (A03)

“In your life there are a few places, or maybe only the one place, where something happened, and then there are all the other places.” Alice Munro. (or the one where they receive a letter from a familiar name and we go into 4Ks of fluff around a lost afternoon in France)

4K. Lamely explicit at one point. Fanfic + Pictures Inside. Trigger for FLUFF as the main plot. Part of the Never let us lose what we have gained series (AO3)

This was supposed to be a manip with 200 words of bantering and it's now 4Ks of fluff with a few pictures. I've decided to leave them inside the cut because I feel they work better with its context there. I'm sorry for the hassle, but I really hope you give this a chance... unless you have cavities, only like fics with amazing plots or are allergic to shameless fluff.

Please do not repost the pictures, I know this is futile, but… I try :)

DAGUERROTYPE, France 1944 Private Collection.

Steve is cooling down from his very early run, enjoying the feeling of the pink sunrise looming over the awakening Brooklyn streets as he walks the last couple of blocks on the way home, when his phone beeps.

“Check your actual mailbox, we dropped something for you there. I think you should appreciate us making it old-fashioned just for you, grandpas!”

Steve smiles at Sam’s text and as soon as he arrives at their building he snaps a picture of the very common and flat envelope with “Barnes&Rogers” scribbled on top of a Stark Logo, to send along his response.

“Nice try, but this is inaccurate. A letter would have never made its way to us without an address or stamp. We’ll send you a proper thank you card to show you how it’s done.”

He can’t help but chuckle at his own joke rereading the text while he opens the door, and when he looks up from his phone and into the kitchen, he is received by a sleepy Bucky looking at the coffee machine like he looks at Steve during their most soft and embarrassingly cheesy moments.

“You love that thing more than you love me, confess it.”

“In the mornings? Yes. I don’t even like you in the mornings most of the time,” he answers matter of factly. “Want some?”

Steve playfully wiggles an eyebrow.

“No way. Your sweaty self is tempting, but coffee smells better. I might join you in the shower later.” Bucky offers him one of the two cups he has poured and he notices the envelope Steve is holding. “What is that?”

“We’ve got mail!” He hands it to Bucky. “I have no idea what's on it, but Sam texted me to say they had something delivered to our mailbox and there it was. Open it.”

Bucky leaves the cup on the counter, face sparked with a curiosity that makes him look twenty-one (and Steve weak on the knees), and goes for it.

The content is a bit underwhelming at first glance: Another envelope, white, no Stark logo, but topped with a bright green post-it with a note on Pepper’s script.

“This got to me via PR. We analyzed it and checked with the source (no peeking, I swear) and it seems legit. With that return address, it’s likely to arouse your interest. Love, P.”

Bucky tears off the post-it and the letter is revealed to be addressed to Steve Rogers at the Stark Tower, but it is when they turn it around when everything goes still for a second.

The return address is some street in Marseille, but what has Steve’s mouth dry and Bucky’s hand trembling just a bit is the combination of the place and the name written on top: Emmanuelle Jaques Dernier.

“Boom?”, Bucky says, trying to cut through their heavy hearts and taking Steve’s hand. It’s a terrible terrible joke, but Dernier would have loved it and he grins.

“That’s a terrible terrible joke,” Steve verbalizes, “but I think at least we’ve reached the same conclusion.”

“Elementary, my dear Steve,” Bucky answers as he opens the second envelope, only to reveal a folded letter and yet another envelope. “It’s a fucking vault of paper!”

Steve takes the letter from him, unfolds it, and quickly scans it (normal office paper, printed, hand-signed) before he starts reading it out loud to Bucky’s undivided attention.

“Dear Mr. Rogers,

My name is Emmanuelle Dernier and I am the great-grandson of Jaques Dernier of the Howling Commandos.

First, let me tell you that we all in our family grew up with amazing stories and praise for you, Sergeant Barnes, and the rest of the team. I never got to meet my great-grandfather or any of them (you), but I’ve always felt like I did.

In fact, that’s the ultimate reason behind this letter: I ached to honor him and I’ve been putting in order all his remaining letters, pictures, and memories so they don’t get lost forever, and there are many things I’m discovering through this journey. So many pictures and tiny details… and amongst them, you and the rest of the Commandos appear at the most random and memorable moments. Nothing that’s going to make it into history books, more like the stories my grandpa used to share with us over and over again, those important tidbits that make him more human.

Anyway, I was going through the pictures he kept when I came across some war photos that didn’t seem to match the 40s timeframe. Typical daguerreotypes from the 20s in a very bad state, probably taken with a camera from the era in 1944 and developed on a later date by somebody who clearly didn’t master the technique.

They were in a very bad state and hidden inside an envelope that said “Terribly drunk soldiers in France making idiots of ourselves in unique and creative ways. Fun evening, horrible hangover. About 20 miles west of the Maginot Line. Autumn ‘44”. I’m attaching a photocopy of that, I hope you can understand my decision to keep the original.

After restoring the daguerreotypes with some experts, all I got were five very bad pictures with silhouettes of people apparently having fun…. but there was one that got a lot better in the cleaning process that feels important somehow. I’m sending the original, as well as the restored version I got.

I, of course, don’t have the whole context, but I hope it brings back a good memory. My great-grandpa might be in the picture, but I don’t think this one belongs to my family or to a museum.

Thank you for your service, I really hope this letter finds its way to you.

E.Dernier.”

“I can’t believe… Steve, most days I’m convinced that day and that place are a figment of my imagination,” Bucky smiles, remembering. “When I think of a moment of pure joy during the war, I think about that afternoon in France, and it always feels unreal. A bubble of air and laughter while we were so surrounded by death.”

Steve nods, reminiscing about that warm and humid September morning when they arrived at yet another abandoned and destroyed little village, this one about twenty miles west of the Maginot Line. They had orders to lie low and wait for twenty-four hours before they started the maneuver to wipe another Hydra base off the map, and that little town was perfect for that.

Among bomb debris and fallen walls, they found one small building miraculously standing next to the remains of the church, so they decided to set camp under a roof for a change since the weather was being a little flickery with the rain, and they had the rare luxury of time.

The inside of the tiny house was as unusual as the outside: nothing was destroyed beyond being dusty and worn by time, and everything they found (furniture, kitchenware, and even fabrics) belonged more to Steve and Bucky’s early childhoods than to 1944, a living museum frozen in time.

Only it was not a museum, but the parish house left untouched and non-raided: old-fashioned clothes, outdated church books, yellowing clergy collars, and, of course, the wine cellar. Oh, that wine cellar… the havoc it unleashed.

“I remember the absolute excitement when Falsworth found all those bottles of old unscathed mass wine from the parish,” Steve brings his memory to words, looking at Bucky, “I’m still a little convinced that we are going to hell for drinking them.”

“Not for that, probably, but it was a wonder nobody died on the spot of wine poisoning, it tasted like sweet vinegar, ugh.”

“But it did his part, right? Took our minds off things; got us drunk, bold and silly.” Steve answers.

“Apparently not all of us,” Bucky says very seriously, looking at Steve.

“Technicalities… I got drunk by proxy. Seeing you all so happy made me giddy and tipsy, too.”

“I came and went… I remember being a little surprised at the clarity of my thoughts at some moments there when some of the guys were basically drooling on the floor. Now I understand, of course.”

Steve squeezes his hand, not much to be said there.

They were already way too drunk by the early afternoon, drinking to the sound of a sudden rainstorm pouring outside. All of them scattered across the small dusty living room and its adjoining kitchen while they went through all the bottles of wine they had been able to find. Cheering for the foregone priest every time somebody raised a glass, and laughing as if there were no ruins or war on the other side; just silly men (boys, really) laughing their hearts out.

“Earth to Steve… I don’t know about you, but I’m dying to see what the hell that envelope is hiding. Especially now that we know about its time stamp.”

“I’m sorry, me too! Gabe drunkenly handling that old camera and those glass plaques the way he did? I’m honestly impressed that he was able to take any pictures at all,” he muses. “Shit, is it weird that I’m nervous?”

“I’m gonna save us the bantering because I’m nervous, too,” Bucky answers in all sincerity. “Truth is, Steve, I remember everything about that day.”

It’s a new admission, a newly opened door for them because for some reason, they have never talked about that peaceful surreal afternoon, and Steve nods in recognition as he silently goes for the envelope one-handed, not wanting to let go of Bucky’s hand because his surface is way cooler than his wrenching insides. Maybe the picture is an overexposed french wall but maybe…

The photo he extracts from the envelope is clearly the original and damaged one Emmanuelle specified in his letter. Anybody else looking at it would see nothing beyond Dernier’s blurry profile, but since Steve and Bucky were there when this was taken, they know exactly what moment Steve is holding in his hand.

“Buck,…” is all Steve can say, struck by the blurry keepsake.

Later in the afternoon when they had already consumed most of the wine and there was not a single coherent thought left in the room, one of the guys took the parish books and besottedly announced that there was a wedding set for today… thirty years ago. Alcohol fueled a goofy idea that escalated at the speed of light, with Morita saying they were going to a wedding because they deserved a celebration, Dernier confessing that he had once considered becoming a priest, and Dum-dum bringing out all the old fashioned clothes from the wardrobe and deciding they were getting nice and clean for the festivities.

“That’s clearly Dernier in the picture killing it in his priest role, right?” Bucky says, half smiling and interrupting Steve’s thoughts. “You know, I went all-in with that fake wedding party. I was laughing to tears when I saw you put on that ridiculously long and ill-fitting jacket from the 10s, feeling weightless and silly for the first time since sailing off, and God knows we all deserved that. And it was all safe and light-hearted until fucking Morita decided you had to be the groom, and...”

“Were you jealous because I won the dashing groom competition?”

Steve’s attempt at a joke is weak, but there’s truth behind it: Morita chose Steve as the groom (“Cap, you are the most dashing and the least drunk”) to a chorus of excited voices cheering for him. Somebody else, most likely Dum-Dum, chose the rest of the roles (Sarge, best man duty; Jones, camera; Morita, keep the wine flowing; the rest of you, misbehave!) and in the blink of an eye, they were all going outside laughing under a light rain, and about to celebrate Steve’s fictional wedding to nobody.

“How could I be jealous?” Bucky cuts in. “Do you remember all you said to me that afternoon? During World War II and in front of a battalion of men?”

“I was drunk.”

“Fuck you!” Bucky disentangles his hand from Steve’s to use both of them to hold Steve’s face and kiss him with violence. “Tell me. Do you remember what you said?”

As if he could ever forget. He can recall every step he took from the house to the makeshift wedding spot amidst the trees where his best man (looking dapper even in that ludicrous jacket) was laughing along Dernier. He can still smell the petrichor, can still sense the blush coloring his cheeks while hoping nobody noticed and can still hear the beating of his heart when Bucky handed him a battered umbrella (“You don’t deserve to get rained on your wedding day, punk”) and a fucking ring made out his shoelaces (“You’ll have to buy something a little more permanent.”). And then…

“Dernier started the ceremony and he wanted to know if I had somebody in mind and I said ‘of course’.” He replays, his voice barely a whisper. “I said I’d had my eyes on a brown-haired Brooklynite since before I could remember. I said that I was pretty sure those blue eyes were set on mine too and that hopefully those eyes would be set enough to want to marry me even if I had never dared to ask.”

He’s been holding Bucky’s gaze the whole time, and he’s far from over yet, but he needs to fucking breathe before he goes on. Neither of them has moved a muscle for the past minute.

“Then he asked me to repeat the wedding vows after him and…”

“And you said Buck, right?”, Bucky interrupts, voice winded. “You fucking whispered I take you, Buck, as my lawful wedded husband till the end of the line. I heard, Steve. Even if the rest of the world didn’t, I did. But you never said anything, so I always deemed it impossible, a product of the corniest nook of my mind trying to outweigh all those bad things, because not even you could be as bold, reckless, and mushy as to do that,…it’s my fucking fault, I should have known better!”

“Not completely reckless, pal. I was scared shitless as I said those words, but what else could I do? You were right by my side about to put a ring on my finger as my “best man”, everyone, including you, supposedly drunk past recollection, and everybody else too far away to hear my whispers. It was such an easy choice in the end because truth should always win over fear. And those vows were. The truth.”

“You have always been too honest for your own good, Rogers,” Bucky is breathless and exasperated and goes for his mouth again, bringing in all he (they) couldn’t in 1944. “You destroyed me, Steve. My knees were as weak as a teenager’s in front of his first crush. I wanted to kiss you so badly when I heard you say all that there in the open… and I couldn’t even acknowledge it.”

“I know. And for what it's worth, I really thought you didn’t remember.”

It is too much. Is it normal to feel this much? Steve would blame it on the serum enhancements, but he was already overwhelmed at 16, so that’s clearly not the answer.

He craves, no, he needs touching, grounding, closer. Bucky. There’s too much space between them even if they are back to kissing like they would have that day in 44, and at any other time if their own lives wouldn’t have stolen those moments from them.

“It happened.” Bucky whimpers, biting on Steve’s lip who abandons his own stool to straddle him, both of them gasping in sync at the feeling of their cocks, hard against each other’s through their soft pants.

Bucky soon ups the stakes by carding his metal hand through Steve’s hair pulling his head backwards to help himself into that spot on his neck.

“Same two moles as when you were tiny, as when we were at that war... Your cute vampire bite. Favorite spot.” He licks on them with the tip of his tongue. Steve growls on cue and Bucky giggles. “Favorite chain reaction.”

“Buck, you cheater, you know what that does to me!” Steve cries out followed by Bucky’s evil chuckle.”Bed, couch, countertop,…I don’t care, but naked. Now. Stained pants due to heavy petting are too much of a trip down memory lane for me. Let me keep a bit of my dignity.”

Steve stands up liberating Bucky from his grip but aching at the loss of contact.

They are naked and making out in the middle of the kitchen in no time; Bucky steadily pushing him against the refrigerator while fiercely grinding against his crotch.

“Hey, ‘teve,” Bucky pants. “The way this is going, it’s my dignity now that's at risk. I don’t think I can make it further than the floor before I come.”

Steve groans into his mouth just at the thought and they start sliding to the floor the best they can until he’s a human blanket moving over Bucky. With no lube at hand, and no time, that’s their best option.

They kiss and kiss and kiss, his hands not leaving Bucky’s sweaty hair. Bucky’s hands on his ass, forcing their groins closer with one while he (almost absently) plays around his hole with the other, driving Steve crazy in the process. Dicks left to do their own thing through pressure and friction. Everything is working. And fast.

“Oh, fuck!” Bucky exclaims “Can you promise me all this stuff with the letter was real and not a long-con plan to assure your fragile masculinity that I love you more than I love that espresso machine?”

That. That silly unfunny excuse of a joke that screams Bucky all over is what pushes Steve all the way over the edge. He fucking laughs as he comes making absolutely embarrassing sounds, pressing their foreheads and noses together until it hurts, and shaking from head to toe without stoping his pressure on the stupid and smug man under him. His lover. His partner. His unofficial husband. His best friend.

His Buck.

“There’s still too much blood in your brain if you can play that dirty,” Steve states, placing one hand between them grabbing Bucky’s hard cock. “Let’s see if I can do anything about it.”

“Your hand, usually so helpful, but I was already following you after that sound you make when you come and laugh at the same time, shit, it always goes straight to my dick, I’m,…” he keeps talking with difficulty between breaths and moans until he leaves his speech unfinished coming all over Steve’s fist.

They kiss on the lips breathing into each other before Steve rolls over. They are sticky and panting in silence, spread on their kitchen’s floor, Steve’s shoulders crushed between Bucky’s and the dishwasher. Domestic bliss at its most literal.

One lavish fuck and two showers later they reemerge into the kitchen in search of something to eat: Bucky is in charge of the food today, while Steve cleans the mess they left a couple of hours ago.

He’s decluttering the counter when their damaged picture laying there puts a smile on his face but also reminds him of the restored version presumably still waiting inside the disregarded letter, so he grabs the envelope to retrieve its contents: one photocopy (from Dernier’s original writing), and the promised photo.

And it is restored. Everything is clear where it was blurry before: Dernier (so deep into his priest impersonation that he’s not even looking at them), the trees, the battered umbrella, the ridiculous jackets… and them.

“You had the nerve to call me reckless and mushy, Buck?” Steve laughs as he stares at the picture where a very young Bucky is about to put a ring on his finger with the least subtle lovestruck expression he’s ever seen (“and it’s for you”, his brain proudly reminds him) “Wow, you might as well be kissing me there, anything would be more subtle than this!”

“Don’t shame me, you punk, especially not when you were the one responsible for breaking my brain back then!” Bucky answers coming from behind and stealing the picture from his hands to scrutinize it. Goofy grin and raging blush quickly taking over his face. “But you’re one to talk, Cap. You are gazing at that shoelace’s ring as if I were handing you a diamond tiara!”

Steve laughs softly at that and moves his right hand to his pocket, feeling the weight of the little compass he had retrieved earlier from one of his drawers. He used to carry it with him everywhere for comfort, but he has a better option now.

“Didn't you know that shoelaces are forever?” He asks, taking the compass out of his pocket and holding it in both hands as he opens it, nudging Bucky with his elbow to get his attention.

Bucky is confused for an instant while he looks at his young face staring at them from inside the little box. Of course he knew that (he made fun of Steve for days and days) but Steve detects the change in his expression when he notices the other thing.

“Wow, you gigantic sap,” Bucky says, taking the compass out of his hands to double-check he is seeing what he thinks he’s seeing. “You saved my shoelace.”

He had. While they were all celebrating his wedding under the rain dancing to no music, he quietly slipped the little string off his finger and tied it to the most secure place he had back then.

“It’s not a shoelace, you jerk, it’s a symbol. A declaration.” He laughs, stealing the compass back to safely pocket it again.

“You are delusional,” Bucky snorts, kissing the top of his head. But he’s widely smiling and lost in thought as he goes back to their sandwiches.

Steve stays on the spot enjoying the peace in their silent companionship, his focus on the latest news showing up on his phone, the text he’s writing to Sam and the comforting sounds of Bucky moving around the kitchen.

“You might have married me, but I never actually married you.” Bucky blurts out of the blue a bit later, sitting by his side as he hands him a plate with a sandwich and some grilled greens on it. “Do you want mayo with that?”

“Uh?” Steve forgets all about the news and the text and looks at Bucky in confusion.

“Mayo, do you want some?” Bucky repeats nonchalantly.

“No mayo, thank you; but I was actually more interested in the other part, you know, that thing about marriage?”

Bucky looks him in the eye: earnest, blushing and with the same look of smug adoration he had on the picture.

“Oh, that part.” He jokes. “You apparently married me in 1944, but I never married you back. And I would like to.”

“Marry me?” Steve asks and Bucky visibly nods.

“I’m sorry for throwing the idea at you like this, books tell me I'm supposed to have candles, music, and a ring, but you showed me that restored picture and I couldn't stop thinking about it, about proof,” Bucky speaks uncharacteristically slow and very softly, voice trembling here and there while he claps his hand with Steve’s finger by finger for reassurance and as a distraction. “A single photo had the power to transform a moment that existed just as a made-up happy place inside my mind into something tangible and real. Something that would be tangible and real for anybody getting a hold on it and looking at our stupid faces.”

“So stealthy,” Steve says, and they both laugh together.

“Proof, Steve. I was slicing tomatoes and thinking how there’s so much evidence, thousands of files! out there proving that all the stuff that fuels my nightmares were real, but nothing solid about this. Us.” Bucky stops for a moment collecting his thoughts, still smiling even with the heavy subject he just dropped into the mix. “Sorry, I believe I put more time into these sandwiches than into thinking this all the way through so I’m…”

“Take your time, we’ve gone from mayo to marriage to nightmares in five minutes so don’t worry, you have me hooked here.”

Steve makes Bucky laugh again as he intended, and he feels their calloused laced fingers immediately squeezing closer.

“It’s stupid because it doesn’t change anything for us but,.. I don’t fucking know, Steve, I think that picture has messed up with my mind! I instantly found comfort in the idea of people finding facts beyond the nightmares now or in the future. An easy to understand, universal and oversimplified proof of how much I loved you and how much I was loved in return.” Bucky takes a breath and stares at him sporting a million-watt smile. “Marrying you,… I would really love that. And for real this time.”

“Ok, Buck.” Steve instantly replies, eagerness winning over thoughtful and heartfelt declarations. He tightens the grip on their joined hands to drive them to his lips and seals the easiest answer he’s ever had to give.

And it's done!Sorry for the cavities, for going on with the fic when it should have ended and for ending it where it might have had to keep going. It was painful and fun. I'm free!

[iamtrebleclefstories]

you belong with me 

DAY 1: FEARLESS - YOU BELONG WITH ME

(Am I a day late? Yes. Are we gonna ignore that fact? Also, yes.)

If you could see that I'm the one Who understands you Been here all along So, why can't you see? You belong with me

hi guys! my fearless fic was inspired by you belong with me :)

I'm very excited for you guys to read this. it is an au fic where jo was a part of the MAGIC class of interns and takes places somewhere around the early seasons of greys.

Also, I didn’t proofread this, but you know what I'm trying to say. 

@thejolexgroupchat​

You're on the phone with your girlfriend, she's upset

She's going off about something that you said

'Cause she doesn't get your humor like I do

I'm in the room, it's a typical Tuesday night

I'm listening to the kind of music she doesn't like

And she'll never know your story like I do

+++

“God dammit, Iz! Can’t you just let it go? I was trying to make my patient feel more comfortable in her dying moments. Why are you so hellbent on believing something that didn’t even happen?” Alex huffed as he laid down on the bed, cell phone by his ear.

“Because I know you, Alex. I know you and I wouldn’t put it above you to sleep with your patient’s mom,” Izzie’s accusing tone came through the phone.

“I wasn’t being serious. It was a joke,” Alex tried to explain the context once again. “Look, I'm not going to keep arguing with you. Besides, you’re on call. Shouldn’t you be taking care of patients instead of yelling at me?”

“I’m only hanging up because I’m tired of hearing your excuses,” Izzie huffed indignantly. “This conversation is not over.”

The line went quiet and Alex thanked whatever powers were above that Izzie decided to hang up the call. He’d had the longest day on Robbins’ service and had to break it to a single mother that her daughter most likely wouldn’t make it past the end of the week. The last thing he wanted was to spend his evening arguing on the phone with his girlfriend about something he said when all he wanted to do was shower and drink some beer.

“That sounded intense.”

A voice sounded from behind Alex. He’d been so caught up in his thoughts that he failed to notice that the music coming from Jo’s room had stopped. Alex sat up on his elbows to see Jo standing in his doorway, two bottles of beer in hand.

“Here,” Jo stretched out her arm to give him one of the unopened bottles. “You look like you need this.”

“You read my mind,” Alex took the beer from her gratefully. “How do you do that? Know what I need before I even know it?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just go with what I think I’d want in that situation,” Jo shrugged casually. “Don’t be too hard on Izzie. She doesn’t get it. She didn’t have to go through some of the things we went through, so she doesn’t understand that humor is how you cope.”

“Sometimes I wonder if I should just end it. Maybe we’re too different,” Alex’s face grew serious. “But then she does this thing with her nose when she’s concentrating really hard and I don't know… I guess I forget about all the bad stuff.”

“There’s nothing wrong with focusing on the good stuff,” Jo shook her head. “All that matters is that you love her and that you’re happy.”

“Yeah… I guess you’re right.”

+++

But she wears short skirts

I wear T-shirts

She's Cheer Captain, and I'm on the bleachers

Dreaming about the day when you wake up and find

That what you're looking for has been here the whole time

+++

“Wow, Iz you look fantastic,” Jo’s eyes widened as Izzie made her way inside the house. “You know this was supposed to be a casual thing right?”

“Aww thanks,” Izzie flipped her hair proudly. “Oh I know, but it’s New Years Eve and I had a crappy day at the hospital so I decided to make myself feel better by dressing up. I’m glad I still had this dress in my car.”

“Huh, yeah I guess that’s as good a reason as any,” Jo looked down at her own worn out Harvard t-shirt. “I just put on whatever is most comfortable so I can go straight to sleep at midnight.”

Hearing a commotion at the door, Alex peeked into the foyer, “Iz.” Alex’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as he took her in. “You look… wow.”

“That’s what I was just saying,” Jo’s lips curved up into a smile. “I can see how you booked all those modeling gigs back in the day.”

“Please,” Izzie scoffed playfully. “Jo could wear a paper bag and still look hot. I have to try to look this good. Alex, tell her. Jo looks great in everything.”

“You do,” Alex looked at Jo sincerely. Even in her old med school t-shirt, she looked beautiful. It was something Alex had noticed from the first time he met her and something he was reminded of everyday. “You always look great.”

Jo couldn’t stop the little flutter in her stomach at his words. But they slowly dissipated when Alex returned his focus to Izzie’s dressed up frame. Jo couldn’t help the pain that bubbled underneath her skin. For months now, she’d been fighting her feelings for Alex. She’d been doing a pretty good job of hiding it. That was made easier since Izzie was her friend and Jo would never dream of hurting her friend like that. It didn’t make the feelings go away, but it reminded Jo that all those nights she spent dreaming that Alex would wake up and realize that she had been the one he’d been looking for all this time were just that, dreams.

+++

Walk in the streets with you in your worn-out jeans

I can't help thinking this is how it ought to be

Laughing on a park bench thinking to myself

Hey, isn't this easy?

And you've got a smile

That can light up this whole town

I haven't seen it in a while

Since she brought you down

You say you're fine, I know you better than that

Hey, what you doing with a girl like that?

+++

“Shut up, no you didn’t!” Jo laughed as she and Alex walked towards the park near the hospital. “And Bailey didn’t threaten to murder you on-site?”

“Dude, she laughed. Bailey freaking laughed out loud and had to walk out the patient’s room so that the poor guy wouldn’t notice,” Alex recounted the story of that morning with amusement.

“Bailey laughed?” Jo’s eyebrows shot up. “At a joke you made about your patient?”

“Yup,” Alex chuckled again as he and Jo took a seat on one of the park benches to eat their lunch. “I swear, I didn’t do it on purpose. The comment just came flying out of me and I could stop it before it was too late. I thought she was going to kick me off the case, but even she had to laugh at how ridiculous it was. The guy had a literal stick up his ass. It perfed his colon.”

“God, I love this job,” Jo snorted.

“I know, me too,” Alex grinned brightly.

Jo stared at Alex for a few moments and admired the grin on his face. It was a surprising sight nowadays. Alex rarely smiled as is, but in the past few weeks the number of times Jo had seen him crack a smile had gone down and she hated it. As far as Jo was concerned, Alex’s real, genuine smile could light up whatever room he was in. Yet, he was increasingly grumpy and brooding, not at all like the jokester she’d fallen in love with over the past year and a half that they had known each other.

“Do I have food on my face?” Alex asked, breaking Jo out of her thoughts.

“Huh?”

“You’re staring at me all weird, is there something on my face?” Alex’s lips twitched as his teasing grin widened. “Or are you just admiring the view?”

“Oh, shut up,” Jo rolled her eyes and gave him an easy smile. “I was just thinking that it’s nice to see you smiling and laughing so much. I haven’t seen you this carefree and happy in a while.”

Alex’s smile faltered a bit and he let out a dismissive scoff, “I haven’t noticed.”

“Alex,” Jo’s eyes softened. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Alex’s statement sounded unconvincing even to his own ears.

“Come on, I know you better than that,” Jo set her food aside for a moment to give him her full attention. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Izzie. We’ve been having some issues lately, but then again, when aren’t we having issues?” Alex trailed off. “I don’t know. Sometimes I just feel like I’m not enough for her.”

“Alex, that’s bullshit. You are a great guy. You’re the best guy I know,” Jo placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “How could you not be enough?”

“I don’t know. It just always feels like she is trying to change me to be the guy she wants me to become instead of loving me for the guy I am,” Alex shook his head quietly. “I feel like I’m losing a part of myself to please her sometimes.

“Look, I’m going to say something and I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, because I care about Izzie and she’s my friend. I would never want to say something bad about her behind her back… but, why are you still with her?” Jo asked. “Why do you keep trying to make your relationship work when you deserve better?”

Because I can’t have you and if I thought for a second that you’d have me, I’d end it all. Alex thought. He couldn’t say that though. Admitting that he’d been in love with Jo practically since the first moment he saw her. So instead, Alex shrugged and answered simply, “Because I love her.”

Honestly though, Alex wasn’t sure if that was true anymore.

+++

She wears high heels

I wear sneakers

She's Cheer Captain, and I'm on the bleachers

Dreaming about the day when you wake up and find

That what you're looking for has been here the whole time

+++

“What’s that about?”

“What’s what about?” Izzie looked over to where George was motioning towards. “Jo and Alex?”

“Yeah,” George scrunched his eyebrows as he watched Jo and Alex continuously giggling about something while sitting on the couch. “I know they’ve always been close, but they've gotten really… touchy in the past few weeks. Aren’t you worried about it? ”

Izzie let out a laugh, “You’re kidding, right? It’s Jo. I have nothing to worry about.”

“What do you mean, it’s Jo? Iz, I know you’re a confident woman who’s used to being called pretty and all, but if you’re somehow trying to imply that Jo doesn't compare to you, you’d be wrong. Jo is hot and Alex is all over her,” George expressed his concern.

“I’m not saying Jo isn’t hot or that she’s less than me,” Izzie rolled her eyes. “We both know that’s not true. But it’s Jo… she’s simple and I don’t know…”

“You don’t know what?” George was still trying to understand Izzie’s nonchalant attitude towards the situation.

“Let me put it this way. If we were in high school right now, I’m the kind of girl who wears short skirts and high heels. Jo is the girl constantly in oversized t-shirts and sneakers,” Izzie explained. “She’s one of the guys. So yes, she’s hot, but she doesn’t know she’s hot. She doesn’t do anything to emphasize it. And if I know one thing about Alex, is that he likes it when you emphasize it. So, no. I’m not worried about that. They’re best friends. He’s her person. It would be like me hooking up with you.”

Although he wasn’t convinced, George decided to keep his mouth shut, “Whatever you say, Iz.”

+++

If you could see that I'm the one

Who understands you

Been here all along

So, why can't you see?

You belong with me

Standing by and waiting at your backdoor

All this time how could you not know, baby?

You belong with me

You belong with me

+++

“Can’t sleep?”

Jo jumped up in surprise at Meredith’s voice, “Oh my God. Mer, you scared the crap out of me.”

“Sorry,” Meredith smiled sheepishly and made her way around the counter to pour herself a cup of the tea Jo had prepared. “They’ve been going at it for a while now. Any idea what happened?”

“I’m not sure. I just keep catching bits and pieces of it,” Jo shrugged as she tried to continue deciphering the yelling match currently unfolding upstairs. “It started with Izzie criticizing something Alex did and then it escalated when George called.”

“This can’t keep happening,” Meredith frowned and leaned against the kitchen island. “They aren’t good for each other. All they do is fight and make each other upset.”

“She’s trying to change him into her idea of the perfect man and it’s obviously not working,” Jo crossed her arms in annoyance. “Alex doesn’t need to change. He’s perfectly fine the way he is. If she doesn’t like it, then she should find someone else that actually meets her standards. Or is okay with being walked all over.”

Meredith was about to open her mouth in response when they caught a part of the conversation going on between the bickering couple.

“I’m not fucking other people because I got bored!” Alex shouted.

Jo and Meredith exchanged a look of confusion. They continued listening as the volume of the argument increased.

“Please. Don’t go acting like a saint. You went and slept with Olivia when we first started dating!” Izzie countered.

“Yeah, and so what? You act as if we were exclusive back then. We went out on a couple of dates and then you met Denny and called me trash! You told me that I wasn’t good enough for you or anyone.” Alex yelled angrily. “You treated me horribly for weeks and what do you do? YOU SLEPT WITH O’MALLEY! You slept with a married man!”

Both Meredith and Jo froze in shock at the revelation. Out of all the things they had predicted, the reality of the situation had definitely not been one of them. After that, the conversation didn’t last much longer. Before either one of them knew it, Izzie was storming out of the house angrily with an overnight bag and her hospital badge in her hands, breezing past them without saying a word.

“Do you want to go talk to him or should I?” Meredith pointed upstairs.

“I’ll go,” Jo stood up from her stool. “You should try to get some sleep.”

Jo made her way up the stairs and walked cautiously towards Alex’s door. Taking a deep breath, she knocked quietly, “Alex? It’s me. Jo. I know you probably don’t want to talk to anyone right now, but I just want you to know that I’m here for you if you need me. I’m always here for you.”

She waited outside his door for a few moments. After some time, Jo figured that he wanted to be alone. She turned on her heel and was about to walk away when she heard the door open behind her. Jo stopped and looked back at Alex who was sporting red eyes and a pained expression on his face. He moved aside and let her step into the room before shutting the door. She felt her heart crack in half at the hurt in his eyes and didn’t hesitate to envelop him in a hug.

Alex gratefully accepted the gesture and held onto her tightly, allowing some more tears to fall. He sniffled into her neck, “I ended things with Izzie.”

“I heard,” Jo ran her hands through his hair in a comforting manner. “I’m sorry.”

Alex straightened and sat down on the bed. He took one of Jo’s hands in his and started to play with her fingers absentmindedly, “I know this is probably weird, but could you stay? I just… I need a friend tonight.”

“Of course,” Jo cupped his cheek. “I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”

+++

I'm the one who makes you laugh

When you know you're 'bout to cry

And I know your favorite songs

And you tell me 'bout your dreams

Think I know where you belong

Think I know it's with me

+++

“Dude, grow a pair and ask her out already,” Cristina groaned. “I’m tired of seeing you pining for her from afar. It’s disgusting and annoying.”

Alex glared at Cristina from across the nurses’ station. Jo had just left to scrub in on a meningioma resection with Shepherd, leaving Cristina, Alex, and Meredith alone as they went over charts. “Shut up. I’m not pining over her.”

“Yeah and the earth is the center of the universe,” Cristina smirked. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought we were listing things that weren’t true. Because it’s obvious to anyone with a pair of eyes that you’re in love with her.”

“I’m not pining over Jo. Tell her, Mer.”

Meredith raised an eyebrow, “I know you say that there is nothing going on between you and Jo, but maybe there should be.”

“Oh come on,” Alex scoffed. “You can’t be serious can you.”

“As a heart attack,” Cristina deadpanned. “You can’t tell me that you haven’t thought about it.”

“Of course I’ve thought about it,” Alex sighed. “But she’s my best friend and I don’t want to lose her if something were to go wrong. Not to mention that it doesn’t matter how I think or feel if she doesn’t feel the same about me.”

“Wait? You think Jo doesn’t feel the same way about you?” Cristina put down the chart in her hands. “God, you really are an idiot.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Alex, Jo is in love with you,” Meredith revealed. “I know it because she told us. She’s been in love with you since you guys got into that darts competition at the bar a few months into our intern year and you both mopped the floor with those guys. She wanted to ask you out, but she was too scared and you started dating Izzie soon after that.”

“She what?” Alex couldn’t believe what he was hearing. There was no way that Jo had been in love with him. “No. No. Jo could do so much better than me. She deserves better than me. There’s no way that she’d go for a guy like me when she could have anyone she wants.”

“She wants you, you moron,” Cristina slapped Alex on the arm. “Don’t ask me why, because I don’t understand it. But she wants you.”

“Of course she wants you. You’re her best friend,” Meredith smiled. “You are Jo’s favorite person on the planet. You are the only person she really trusts. You know how hard that is for her. But she did it anyway. She loves you.”

Alex stared dumbfounded at the chart in his hands. In the months since he had broken up with Izzie, he’d spent even more time with Jo than he had before and his feelings for Jo increased exponentially. There were so many moments while they were hanging out on the couch or her room or the resident’s lounge or the park where he was tempted to throw caution out the window and just kiss her. But every time, he stopped himself, afraid of what would happen to their friendship if she didn’t feel the same way.

“I’ve gotta go,” Alex put down the papers in his hands.

“Hey! Where are you going?” Meredith called out behind him.

“I’m sorry, I—I gotta find Jo. I’ll finish this later,” Alex continued down the hall.

“You better not come back until you’ve made progress with Wilson!” Cristina shouted so that he could hear.

Typically, Alex would have shot back at Cristina, but he had more important things to do at the moment. Namely, catching Jo before she scrubbed in on that surgery. He searched the OR board to check on the status of the operation and was pleased to see that it had been pushed back an hour. He paged her to one of the quieter supply closets on the floor and waited patiently until she showed up.

“Hey, why did you page me to a closet? Do you need help bringing something somewhere?” Jo asked as she walked in the room.

“You’re the only one who can make me laugh when I’m about to cry,” Alex blurted out.

Jo stared at him in confusion, “What?”

“Just let me get this out,” Alex took a breath to steady himself and he placed his hands on her shoulders. “You’re the one person who turns a bad day into a good day. You know my favorite songs and that when I’m in the car I like to blast them really loud. You’re the only person I can talk to about my dreams. When I came here, I thought I wanted to be a plastic surgeon. But you listened when I started hanging out with Robbins and told you that I wanted to go into peds. You didn’t laugh at me or make me feel stupid for wanting it. You just smiled and hugged me because I found the thing that I want to do for the rest of my life. You are the person who’s supported me every step of the way, even when everyone hated me and if I didn’t really deserve it. You’ve been there. And I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to realize it, but somewhere along the way, you became my favorite person. You’re my best friend, but you’re also the woman that I’m in love with. And maybe I’m wrong, but I think you feel the same way too. I think we have something here and I’d be an idiot if I let another second pass without saying anything. So, I guess what I’m trying to say is that I wanna be with you.”

Jo didn’t know what to say. She was utterly speechless. For years she’d hoped that one day something like this would happen, but she’d given up on it long before Alex and Izzie even got together. She had resigned herself to the fact that she’d have to move on and figure out a way to get over Alex so as not to ruin their friendship with something as messy as feelings.

She must’ve been quiet for too long, because Alex pulled away and put his head down in embarrassment, “I-I’m sorry. I should’ve just kept my mouth shut and not said anything. Just forget it-”

“Alex,” Jo reached for him. She cradled his face and pressed her forehead against his. And although she had no words at the moment, she knew she could show him and leaned in for a kiss.

+++

Three years later...

“Do you, Alexander Michael Karev, take Josephine Brooke Wilson to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” Alex’s face shined as he nodded emphatically at the priest’s question.

The priest smiled at Alex’s enthusiasm and turned to look at Jo, “And do you Josephine Brooke Wilson, take Alexander Michael Karev to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, as long as you both shall live?”

“I super do,” Jo beamed as she answered without hesitation.

Laughing lightly, the priest grinned, “Well, then by the power vested in me. I now pronounce you, husband and wife. What God has brought together, let no man separate. You may kiss the bride.”

+++

Have you ever thought just maybe

You belong with me?

You belong with me

[whats-in-the-canister]

Taina “Caveira” Pereira x Fem!Reader - Closets

Summary: Taina is a good adoptive mother, despite her unconventional methods.

tags; parenting, sfw, reference to Caveria’s anti social personality disorder, wlw relationship, you’re a parent now, beta read by : @cosmiccutie18 , ily, not spellchecked tho I don’t do that here

Taina is a complicated woman. You’re into that.

That’s what you tell most people when they ask why you, of all people, share a wedding band with Rainbow’s residential interrogator. She was strong in places you weren’t, and you were soft in places she wasn’t. After a month of knowing eachother, you both had quickly noticed how in tune you were. You knew you loved eachother after three. Then after that, about a year later, you both knew you wanted to spend the rest of your possibly short lives (due to your job) together.

Your coworkers were a bit shocked, to say the least. They say opposites attract but no one was expecting you two to come together. However, after a drunken vent to Thermite at a after mission party, practically everyone at Hereford knew in the next hour. There were mixed responses. Some thought it was just a joke, asking you if you were pulling your April’s Fools nonsense early this year. Others believed it was dangerous, that she might be hurting you, or likewise you might be hurting her. Luckily, most congratulated you after you told them it was completely serious.

:read more:

On days where her past caught up to her, and she couldn’t bring herself to speak in public, you were there to drag her away from the crowds. You would whisk her away to a private section of the gym, so she could work out her problems. You would lay nearby and listen to her break sand. Whether it was her brothers driving her mad, Doc making her beyond livid, or God forbid Harry trying to make her go to counseling, you were there. She was glad you understood what she needed, as most people couldn’t read her.

On days where you couldn’t stand the sound of your own voice, or the sight of your own face, she would be there to break a mirror and put on a movie. She would be there to find the problem and fix it as soon as possible. On days where you would dispute with coworkers, she would be there behind your back, daring anyone to try to land a hand on her Coração. You appreciated her head and her heart alike, knowing both of her sides were always with you.

Suffice to say, you loved eachother. Then one day, you both decided to share that love.

Despite what people say, Taina is a sweetheart. You knew this when she would insist on feeding a stray outside the apartment, or donating an extra few cents at the store. The day you found her privately reading adoption articles online, you decided to have a talk.

At work, she had talked to a few of the other ops during a break from training. Alexsander and James were bragging about their daughters. Despite seeming uninterested, she couldn’t help but snoop.

She explained she had no interest in having her own children, as did you. However, she couldn’t help but feel like she was missing something. She told you about all the kids she knew while working for BOPE. The children she contacted on the streets for inside information, and how they never got a chance to grow up. How they never knew what family looked like, only what they didn’t have. It broke her heart at first, and she tried to convince herself she could desensitize herself to it.

Short story: it didn’t work.

So, you two came to an agreement. You would adopt, if you could manage leave from Hereford.

At first, you wanted a baby. Then you both considered how many older kids are looked over in adoption. You suggested a teenager, but she said she wanted younger. You agreed on a child around ten. Sex didn’t matter, neither did appearance. And no matter what they had been through, you were going to protect and care for them. They were going to be your child, after all.

After going through so many checks and forms, you were allowed to adopt a year later.

Taina cried when you met her, the first time you ever saw her do so in public. That night, she carried your child home, the little one refusing to let go of the broad woman.

A year later, your daughter had become comfortable around you both. Her name was Rose. Nine years old, put into the system at seven. She reminded you of Taina, with her quietness and little fidgets. You took care of her as your own, swearing to be there for her and your little family. While you were busy raising her, Taina was busy spoiling her rotten. You accepted not being the fun mom, but you could deal with it, seeing them both smile so brightly. Due to reasons beyond your understanding, you weren’t given context behind her adoption. Most likely for the best.

However, you could infer. From her reactions to Taina appearing in silence, she was always on edge. Your child couldn’t sleep at night, and rarely spoke. Despite what pain it brought to you, you knew she had been through something she wouldn’t be ready to address in a long time. It tore Taina apart. The woman knew what her bebê was going through. Growing up in poverty, never knowing if her family was going to be safe or not, she could relate to her on another level that went by you.

Rose’s problems continued, through emotional outbursts, sleeping trouble, and even moments of panic that seemed to come out of nowhere. At lunch, one moment she could be halfway through a meal, then another she would be red with tears eyes. She would cry uncontrollably, only being able to point at what was bothering her. You would hold her, comforting her through her fits. Unfortunately, they started while Taina was on a mission.

After a particularly bad fit, you had called Caveira when Rose was put to sleep. The woman answered instantly, wondering how you were and how Rose was as well. After expressing her woes and explaining her job this round, you broke the news to her. She paused, visually worried, and told you she’d be back soon to help through a stammer. She didn’t know what to do either, but she knew she was going to have to do something.

About a week later, your love was home. Rose ran down the stairs once she heard the door, almost tripping over her own feet to meet Taina. The woman didn’t bother to take off her vest or even put down her bags. She was just content with holding Rose up to her chest, carrying her around the house practically the entire later half of the day. She only let go when dinner was finished, but still then, she wanted to be near Taina or in her lap.

That night, when you were putting her to bed, she didn’t want to let go of Taina’s arm. She cried, trying to pull her mama down into her little bed. You stroked her hair, asking her what was wrong. She was quiet, an aura of fear surrounding her. All she could do was tear up and point to the other side of the room. After a few minutes, you were able to calm her down and she fell asleep...only to wake up screaming halfway into the night.

You and Taina were fast on your feet, running to her room, fearing the worse, only to be encountered with the same problem. A glazed look of fear and a gesture to the other side of the room. You relented, bringing her into your room for that night. She slept well after that, until the next night.

Rose stayed with you again that night, only to wake up halfway through it once more, clinging onto you for her life. Taina scanned the room, trying to find the problem, only to be met with the same pointer finger again. She followed her daughter’s lead, eyes landing on your closet. She stood up, trudging across the room, fist raised as she ran into the closet. The door slammed against the wall, showing it as empty, aside from your clothes and gear.

Your daughter grew quiet, smiling. Taina smiled back, giving you both a kiss before falling back to sleep, Rose quick behind her. You sighed in relief, following.

You thought this was the last of it, but you were wrong. The night afterwards, Rose slept in her own room. You had finished cleaning up for the day as Taina came out of the shower. You were switching into your pajamas as she wandered into your shared room, smiling.

“Aren’t you in a good mood?” You grinned, happy to see her so content.

“She’s made it a few good hours. I think we fixed the problem.” She laughed leaning her head onto your shoulder, resting her eyes. “What has she been through to scare her like that?”

Your hand fell onto her jaw as you contemplated the words. “We will know one day. I don’t like to think of it too much, but she will heal on her time, no matter what happened. Did she ever tell you about her dreams?”

“No, never. I think she’s ashamed of talking about them with me. I hate it.”

You sighed, laying down with her. You fixed the pillows and sheets as you sank down into your bed. “Someone’s always there trying to ‘get her’. Like the ones you have, but I think she’s reliving some sort of event.” You shivered, thinking about the words she spoke to you after you finished her schooling for the day. The tremble in her voice, the fear in her eyes. Beside you, Taina raised to put a hand on your shoulder, still. She was quiet and unfazed, by you knew what she was thinking.

“I think it’s best to not think about it.” You muttered as you wife nodded in agreement. Eventually, you nodded off into sleep, with Taina’s arm behind your pillow.

The room was pitch dark, with only one sound waking you up. Rose screaming. Much louder than you were used to. She was yelling hysterically, pleading in the language she shared with her other mother. It didn’t just sound like a nightmare this time. You and Taina moved in a flash, sprinting down the hallway. Your feet slammed against the floor as you swung Rose’s door open, Caveira was behind you, the knife she kept at your bedside in her hand.

Your daughter was alone, pointing at her closet again, that had no signs of being opened. Rose was swelling with tears, panting through gulps of air, if she had a sob choked down. Taina took only a second to act, rushing over to your daughter. “Rose, what’s wrong?”

Rose spewed a bunch of words, not understandable to you. A mix of syllables neither of you understood. You gently layed a hand on her back, petting her slowly. “It’s alright, we’re here. I’m here. Mami is here. You don’t have to say anything...” Taina was quiet beside you, eyes fixed on your child’s closet. Taking another gulp of air, Rose managed to speak and point. “He’s back, but you... you just don’t see him. He’s hiding and I can’t find him.”

Taina turned her head, looking your daughter in her eyes. “Bebê, who?” You interrupted, “He—“ Taina spoke louder, realizing something you didn’t. “No, you don’t have to say, where does he hide?” Your daughter calmed down for a second, raising a hand to point at her closet. Taina turned to the closet, raising her blade, a look of sternness coming over her face.

You recognized her stance.

Caveira raised her leg, before striking the door with the bottom of her foot. It flew off its hinges, sounding off as it crashed into the back of the closet. A hole was left where the hinges tore themselves off the wall. Rose blinked beside you at her destroyed room. It grew quiet, aside from your daughter’s soft breath.

Taina turned to her, “He’s not in here. Want me to check the rest of the house?”

Rose nodded, leaning into your chest as you picked her up. You left her room, heading to yours. Taina led the way, silent as a mouse as she turned the corner with her knife. Her body language mimicked what you recognized as her prowl during missions. Your daughter could tell she wasn’t fooling around.

Your bedroom’s closet was soon demolished, the blinds on it soon cracked into splinters. Your daughter watched her other mother in amazement. Taina cleared the large closet, knife still raised blade up.

Soon, you all stalked downstairs. Eventually, your daughter let you put her down. She followed behind Taina, mimicking her moves. The living room was next. Taina peaked around the corner, clearing the section in her line of sight. She crept her way towards the closet where you kept the extra tables and blankets. The wooden door was thin, easy to break, but no light could leak through its cracks. You pr daughter hid behind you, only tilting her head out from the corner of the doorframe.

Taina wasted no time wasting it either, with no mercy. It was soon left shattered, on the ground. Your heart pained thinking of the costs, but your daughter’s soft smile was worth it. Taina crept back over, in a whisper. She muttered to her daughter, “C’mon, we still need to check the pantry and bathrooms.” Rose nodded, taking her mother’s hand.

Taina made quick work of the pantry, letting your daughter check it for herself afterwards. The guest bathroom was destroyed. The shower curtains were torn down and the little closet for shampoos and towels was layed on the floor in waste. Eventually, only the last bathroom was left. Rose was walking with confidence now.

Taina looked at you, gesturing you forward. You knew what she was trying to say. You took a step forward, biting your lip. You weren’t jui jitsu artist like Caveira, but you had boxed with Craig a couple of times. You sized up the door, planting yourself, before knocking it down with a crash. The last closet in the house was demolished. All was now quiet and your daughter was beaming.

Rose looked up at Taina. Your daughter quickly dried her tears, amazed by your wife. There wasn’t a trace of fear on her little face.

She kneeled down, talking to her daughter. “He can’t hide from us now, bebê. He’ll have to show up in person. If he does, I’ll show him what those doors went through. And worse. No one will hurt you while momma and I are here.”

That morning, you all slept in. In your own rooms, with no nightmares. The next day, you did the same thing. Then the week after that. After the week after that one, Rose asked mami to teach her how to kick like you two.

[dreamypeaches]

the lucky ones | pope heyward x reader

summary: after finally confessing his feelings to you, his childhood best friend, you and pope get a surprise. 

warnings: pregnancy, cursing, tiny bit of angst, mostly pure fluff

word count: 1.7k

a/n: here’s some good old childhood friends to lovers, unexpected pregnancy, and dad!pope goodness. this is literally just my dream, so pope heyward, if you’re out there, hmu. 

“So…”

“Yeah.”

“This is real?”

“No, it’s cake.”

“Fuck you.”  

Pope looks down at the two pink lines before staring back up at you. From your place across the couch, you’re chewing on the inside of your thumb, eyes filled with anxiety, unable to read the expression on your best friend’s face. Except, he wasn’t just your best friend anymore. Though you hadn’t labeled it, whatever new level your relationship was on was far from platonic. Not after the way he kissed you and held you that night. Not after you moaned his name in the most sinful of ways. And especially not now, with the weight of reality falling onto your backs.

“What do you want to do?” Pope questions, staring back down to focus on the positive sign, still not fully comprehending the impact such a simple picture could have on his life.

“Well, obviously we can’t keep it,” you comment, not even questioning your words until Pope’s eyes widen, eyebrows coming together as he stands up.

“What do you mean we can’t keep it?” He asks. It’s you’re turn to be shocked, shooting his a confused look as he crouches in front of you, gaze falling onto your torso that was currently growing a little piece of you and him.

“Pope, how could we take care of a baby? You’re about to start medical school and that’s going to be insane! You don’t want to deal with being a father on top of that. And what am I going to do?”

He’s quiet for a moment, fingers reaching out hesitantly, landing on your stomach.

“Yeah, it is going to be insane. But…I love you. I’m completely in love with you and have been forever. There is no one else I’d rather have a life with, have a family with. So why don’t we start now?”

The look on his face is so hopeful you almost want to lie to him. It breaks your heart to have to speak the truth with tears in your eyes.

“You can’t say that, Pope. Sure, we’ve been friends forever, but that’s nothing like being in a relationship, like being parents! What if we don’t work well like that? What if we hate each other? Pope, I never want to hate you.” You start to sob, falling forward into his open arms. He clutches you tightly, wishing just his touch could make everything better.

He’d never expected to be able to touch you like this. You were his best friend since diapers, and he’d been in love with you since he discovered what love was. When he came home for the summer after graduating college, he’d made a decision. He wasn’t the same anxiety-ridden, awkward teenage boy you had grown up with. He was a man and he was accomplished and he had missed you like crazy, only seeing you on holidays and over the summer for the last four years. He’d planned it all out, bringing you to your favorite place when you were kids, a little nook in your backyard you called you’re happy place.

Talking an laughing like old times, Pope held you close before thinking screw it and asking if he could kiss you. Of course you said yes and one kiss turned into a full on make out which led to your bedroom which led to where you were now, sobbing into Pope’s arms as you tried to come to terms with the fact that nothing would be the same.

“We’ll figure it out, love. We don’t have to keep it if you don’t want to. It’s your choice and I will support you no matter what. Just tell me what you need.” Pope whispers against your neck, holding you like his life depended on it. You take a deep breath, your sobs subsiding as you allow Pope’s words to cover you in a comforting blanket.

“I just want to lay down.”

Pope nodded, standing with you in your arms and carrying you to the bedroom. You curled up in his side, whispering to him to turn the tv on. He did as you asked, putting on your favorite show and allowing you to escape for a while. You spent the rest of the day like that, intertwined with each other, not speaking despite the thousands of thoughts running through your heads. Exhaustion overtook you eventually, the emotional weight of the day washing over you and forcing you into unconsciousness, but not before you made a decision.  

When you woke, it was early the next day. Pope, of course, was already up, always an early riser. He still had an arm wrapped around you scrolling through his phone before dropping it to the side as you stirred beside him.

“Good morning, love,” He says, shooting you a smile. You smile back up, your thoughts before falling asleep coming back to you, making your smile light up.

“Let’s do this, Pope,” You say. His brow furrow for a moment, not understanding the context of your statement. “Let’s have a baby. I love you, I want this with you. We can do it.”

Pope’s look of confusion bursts into one of pure happiness, his arms gripping you in a bear hug and pulling you onto his chest as he peppered your face with kisses. The joy was contagious, giggles falling from your lips as Pope started to list off all the ways you could make it work, and you couldn’t help but believe him. You looked into the future and you knew it would be okay.

1 year and 9 months later

Your phone buzzed for the millionth time that morning as you prepared breakfast. The smile that had yet to leave your face only grew as you read the message from Kie.

Tell Sylus happy birthday from his favorite auntie! Can’t wait to see you tomorrow!

You turn to now one year old, happily eating cheerios and blueberries in his high chair.

“Sy, Auntie Kie says happy birthday!” You say.

“Kie! Kie!” Sylus exclaims, grin showing off his two new bottom teeth.

“What about Kie?” Pope asks, walking into the kitchen in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, hair still damp from the shower.

“She just texted, wishing Sy a happy birthday. I’ve been blowing up all morning, not that any of the messages are for me. I swear, everyone we know loves our child more than us.”

Pope chuckles, arm encasing your waist as he pecks you on the cheek.

“Who can blame them, he is the cutest child in the universe. Aren’t you, Sy? Aren’t you the cutest little chunky money?” Pope’s baby voice comes out and he moves over to his son, fingers tickling his chubby belly as the now one year old giggled.

“Anyways, not everyone is focused on Sy. JJ texted me this morning congratulating me on getting laid a year and nine months ago,” Pope says. You scoff.

“Of course he did.” You turn the stove off and scoop the eggs onto a plate, adding some toast, fruit, and bacon and laying it in front of Pope. Filling your own plate, you sit on the other side of Sylus, picking up his milk that had fallen to the ground.

“So, what’s the plan for today, love?” Pope asked. The both of you had been lucky enough to get the whole weekend off. Today was Sylus’ actual birthday, tomorrow you’d be making the short trip to the Outer Banks for the grand party both your and Pope’s parents were putting together. It was times like these that made Pope getting into med school at Chapel Hill all the better.

“I was thinking we spend some time at home, maybe open up that new present we got him and let him try it out while we finish packing. Then we can stop at the aquarium on our way to the Outer Banks, you know how much he loves it there. Then we get to your parents house and spend at least an hour watching your mom and my mom gush over out little angel and shower him with an unnecessary amount of gifts. Sy is asleep by 8:30 and we’re in bed by 10.”

Pope nods along, eyes moving from his son to you as you spoke.

“Sounds like a plan.”

The day had gone just according to that plan. You were getting ready for bed, brushing your teeth and washing your face as Pope put Sy down. That clearly wasn’t happening when Pope walked into the bathroom, a pajama clad Sylus in his arms.

“Is he giving you trouble?” You ask with a smile.

“No, actually, there is one last gift for the day. Can you give it to mommy, Sy Sy?” Pope coos at the child, who is playing with a small box in his hands. After asking him once more, Sylus sticks his pudgy arm out, stretching across the space to hand you the box.

“I know it’s Sy’s birthday, but I thought it was the perfect time to give you this.”

You smile, giving Pope a confused look before lifting the lid. Your smile falls, eyes filling with tears as you lift the simple ring from the box.

“Pope…” Is all you’re able to say as your eyes are trained on the shiny object.

“I love you, Y/N. I know we didn’t really do things in the right order, but that’s okay. I love the life we’ve created and I love our son and I love you and I’m ready for this next step. So, will you marry me?”

“Mama cry? Mama cry?” Sylus says, reaching towards you as tears fall from your eyes, racing down and over your smiling lips. You take Sylus into your arms, kissing him on the forehead before looking back at Pope.

“Of course I’ll marry you.” Pope crashes his lips to yours, reducing his passion slightly so you wouldn’t drop Sylus. He takes the ring from you and slips it on to your finger, kissing the skin around it before grinning up at you. Sylus points to the rings and babbles, clearly interested in the bright item. You and Pope just laugh, walking together to Pope’s childhood bedroom. Laying Sylus down in his crib, Pope pulls you against him on the bed as you admire the jewelry on your finger.

“I can’t believe I get to have this. I’m marrying Y/N Y/L/N. I must be the luckiest man in the world.” You giggle, pressing a sweet kiss to his smiling lips. Looking back at the sleeping boy beside the bed, you sigh in content.

“I think we’re both the lucky ones, my love.”

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[deathsmallcaps]

@boopboopboopbadoop

April’s Story

Shrek premiered 20 years ago this month! So I decided to honor it with my own illustrated version of the movie for my Win A Commission Contest! If you’d like to see the illustrations in context with the text, please

Once upon a time, there was a lovely Princess

But she had an enchantment upon her of an awful sort, that could only be broken by True Love's First Kiss

She was Locked away in a tower, guarded by a terrible fire-breathing Dragon

Many brave Knights had attempted to free from this dreadful prison, but none prevailed

She waited in the Dragon's keep, in the tallest room of the tallest tower. Where she waited for her True Love and True Love's First Kiss...

A large green hand ripped a page from the Book and revealed another part involving the whole kingdom celebrating on the Princess and her True Love's wedding day, laughing heartily as he slammed it shut.

"Like that's ever gonna happen!" A Scottish voice said dismissively. "What a load of-" A flush of a Toilet drowned out the last part of the sentence.

We look and see an outhouse. It was made of white birch wood, lashed together with a rope for a handle and a black crescent moon facing the right. There was some hanging moss on the tilted roof growing and a pathway of stones, weeds crowding in between. It was set right in front of a thick wood, facing towards a house. The strange thing about all of this is that the outhouse had plumbing with a flushing toilet.

The door slammed open, revealing no Prince Charming nor a Frog, but an Unlikely Hero: an Ogre. Yawning and stretching out before fixing his wedgie, he shook off a ripped page that was sticking to his shoe and stared at his house.

He lived in a giant, white, hollowed out mangrove tree, the trunk thinning out into a perfect chimney. Moss, ivy and weeds grew all around or on top of it, and there was a crude door and some small windows set into the side.

The Ogre breathed in and left the outhouse with the door slamming behind him as he began his day.

Using a bucket and scraping up some mud, he carried it over to a branch. The ogre undressed and pulled on a rope, causing the mud to pour onto him. He made an “Oof!” sound when it first hit him, but continued scrubbing himself with the mud like it was soap. He drank the last dregs of the mud and then spat it out, ending the shower.

Then the Ogre brushed his teeth. He grabbed a red caterpillar, and squeezing it like a tube of toothpaste, pushed its innards onto a bone. He scrubbed well, getting the insides of his teeth, then the outsides. It turned his already unhealthy teeth greener, and the putrid goo shown in his hideous smile caused his mirror to shatter and fall onto the floor.

Next, he plunged himself into a lake and made a huge splash, turning himself right and getting ready; the Ogre let out a loud, horrendous and terrible gaseous fart that bubbled behind him. Feeling relieved and making an “innocent” pose with his finger to his lip, he turned to see that there was not one, not two but three red salmon floating up to the surface; murdered by the deadliness of the stench that continued to plague the rest of the underwater native wildlife. He grabbed the one next to him and proceeded to leave.

Later army crawling into a hollowed husk of a fallen tree, pointing diagonally skywards, the Ogre pushed out a ton of mud as he climbed his way forward like a commando in the trenches of a battlefield. The final mud slopped out as his stained face popped out.

He smiled as he found a green slug right outside the tree trunk. The Ogre grabbed it and the slug squirmed in alarm as it was picked up by a giant green hand, leaving the small maggots once underneath the slug exposed to the air.

Closer to sunset, near a lake with verdant hills in the distance, the Ogre began painting a new sign. Having picked out a broken off- plank of moldy wood form his outhouse, he didn’t bother with a base coat of white. He spent several hours painting. Once he finished, the Ogre placed his palette down, took a good look at his newest masterpiece, and out of sheer joy of satisfaction he kissed the ogre in the picture on the lips. It left red paint all across his lips as he posted it next to an older sign that said, "STAY OUT". It was a rather hideous portrayal of his face with red eyes and red writing that stated, “BEWARE OGRE".

After The Ogre had ate his fishy and sluggy dinner and had lit a fire with the strength of his belch, he sat back on the crocodile flesh recliner. Just as he was settling in, the Ogre's tiny trumpet ears picked up a disturbance in the Swamp.

It was the sounds of people trespassing. With a groan he lurched to his feet and glanced out his window, spotting a group of Ogre Hunters in the far distance, mostly visible due to their torches. Within moments, the Ogre snuck outside his home and was tiptoeing behind them.

The Ogre Hunters, dressed mostly in green and sporting crappy haircuts, pushed aside the tall grass and foliage as they watched the Swamp House, lit from within by The Ogre’s Belch-Fire.

"Think it's in there?" The one with a bowl cut asked

"Alright... let's get it!" The one in the a tall hat declared, holding a torch and about to make a charge forward before he was stopped short by the one with the mustache next to him.

"Hold on, you know what that thing could do to you?" the mustached one said with fear.

"Yeah, it'll grind your bones for it's bread!" The one with the bowl cut told him.

They all froze when a loud chuckle echoed behind them.

Turning around, they saw the Ogre towering over them. He spoke in an almost friendly manner, but what he said was the opposite of friendly. “Ha, yes, well actually; that would be a giant!" He exclaimed, causing the men to back off. The Ogre stepped forward each time they stepped back. "Now Ogres, oh.. they're much worse! They'll make a suit from your freshly peeled skin!"

"No!" A man was horrified

"They'll shave your livers!"

“No!”

"And squeeze the jelly from your eyes!" The Ogre Hunters were cornered as the Ogre added, thoughtfully, "Actually it's quite good on toast."

The bearded Ogre Hunter swung torch at The Ogre’s face. "Back! Back, beast! Back! I warn ya!"

The Ogre simply raised an eyebrow before calmly licking his fingers and putting out his torch with a pinch and a smile.

"Right..." the Ogre Hunter dropped the extinguished torch.

The Ogre let loose an horrible and fearsome ear bursting roar directly into the faces of the cowering Ogre Hunters. Spit flew in their faces as their hair and hats were thrown back. They screamed in response as their torches extinguished as the roar continued. After a long moment, he stopped and wiped his mouth, but the Hunters continued to scream; when they finally stopped they looked like their wits had long been scared out of them.

The Ogre leaned in and whispered to them as the crickets and other hidden wildlife in the night went on in the silence. "This is the part where you run away..."

With a yelp they immediately dropped all their pitchforks and weapons and bolted out of the swamp as the Ogre chortled to himself. The bowl cut Ogre Hunter tripped but kept running in desperation.

The Ogre laughed whole heartily and yelled after the retreating party. "And stay out!"

A piece of paper they must’ve left behind caught his attention. He picked it up, and saw that it had the face of a solemn elf with a green leaf hat and white beard. There were bags of gold drawn around it, but no explicit price was given, just the word, “Reward” written in red. Above it he read, "Wanted: Fairy Tale Creatures...".

He realized they had wanted to capture him for the reward money. He looked towards the fleeing villagers in disgust and shook his head, throwing the paper to the ground as he went back inside to spend the rest of the night in peace.

The next day, as part of his new plan to get people to leave him alone, The Ogre set up some new new signs, even farther from his home. Just as he was setting up his last one (it had a green skull with the words ‘Keep Out!’ in the pupils), something ran into his butt.

The Ogre turned around to face what appeared to be a terrified mini-donkey.

Someone yelled, "He's getting away! Get him!" and the sounds of guards in armor scared the little donkey into hiding behind The Ogre. "This way! Turn!"

The local Captain of the Guard and his men ran up, stopping when they all saw the tall Ogre who stood before them. "You there... Ogre" The Captain grabbed a scroll his waist

"Aye?" Was The Ogre’s reply, hands on his hips and now seemingly irritated that his day was once again involving contact with humans.

"By the order of Lord Farquaad... I am authorized to place you both under arrest and transport you to a designated resettlement... facility...?" The Captain's voice was shaking and nervous due to the face that the Ogre was walking towards him slowly, now standing right in front of him as a deafening silence fell.

"Oh really?" He asked, leaning down so he was face to face with the Captain. "You and what army?" He asked as his teeth glittered with a smile, glancing behind him.

The Captain turned around to see what was once left of his men as their halberds fell down and a shield spun around onto the ground like a coin. He turned back to the Ogre; the mini-donkey smiled as the Captain took his men's example and made a run for it.

Now that confrontation is over with, the Ogre shook his head and walked away; but the mini-donkey had nowhere else to go and decided to follow his accidental savior. He trotted behind him.

"Can I say something to you?" He asked with the Ogre walking on. "Listen, you were really, really, really somethin' back here. Incredible!"

Now fully irritated, The Ogre turned around. "Are you talkin' to..." The Ogre saw no one else, just the ground lit by the sunlight within the forest of the tall trees. The voice was clearly gone. "Me?" He blinked and shrugged, turning before giving out a startled yell as the Donkey now stood before him.

"Yes I was talkin' to you. Can I tell you that you was great back here? Those guards! They thought they were all of that. Then you showed up and bam!" The little donkey caught up to The Ogre before getting up onto his hoofs in front of The Ogre and made a martial arts move with his right hoof, stopping him again. "They were trippin' over themselves like babes in the wood. I loved seeing that, made me feel happy seeing that"

"Oh, that's great. Really." The Ogre sarcastically replied

"Man, it's good to be free!" The burrito declared as the Ogre turned to him.

"Now, why don't you go celebrate your freedom with own friends? Hmm?" He suggested, leaning down to the little donkey, before walking off again.

"But... I don't have any friends, and I'm NOT going out there by myself!" Exclaimed the creature. A flash of inspiration came to him. "Hey wait a minute, I got a great idea! I'll stick with you" Donkey returned happily to the Ogre, deaf to his annoyance. "You're a mean green fighting machine! With you, we'll scare the spit out of anybody who crosses us!"

The Ogre halted and regarded Donkey for a moment. Then seemingly out of the blue, he fully turned and gave off an all might roar right into the animal’s face; hoping this would scare him.

The mini-donkey just stared, now with an impressed look drawn on his face. "Oh, wow! That was really scary!"

The Ogre just frowned and stomped away.

"Now if that doesn’t work, your breath will certainly get the job done, 'cause you definitely need some Tic Tacs or something 'cause your breath STINKS!"

The Ogre continued walking, but then looked back when he didn’t hear the none-stop chatterbox for about five seconds, to his relief and hope that he lost the annoyance.

To his irritation and surprise, the donkey appeared looking down at him from above; atop of a fallen tree over The Ogre’s path.

"You almost burned the hair outta my nose, just like the time..."

The Ogre covered the donkey's mouth, muffling his little obnoxious tale. The donkey still did not shut up as he kept it held there; continuing to talk either way; The Ogre removed his hand. "Then I ate some berries, man I had some strong gasses leaking out of my butt that day!"

"WHY are you following me?!" The Ogre asked, losing patience; nothing could shut this donkey up and he just needed to get away right now.

"I'll tell you why!" The animal leaped off the tree as he followed the Ogre, before breaking out into obnoxious song. "Cause I'm all alone, there's no here beside meeeee." He stopped in front of the Ogre as he wiggled his butt, the Ogre's right eye was half closed and his left eye was twitching in madness as the mini-donkey continued. "My problems have all gone, there's no one to deride me... but you gotta have faith-"

"Stop singing!" The Ogre yelled, he grabbed the burrito by the ears and tail as he moved him out of his way. "It's no wonder you don't have any friends!"

"Wow, only a true friend would be that truly honest!" The small donkey claimed.

The Ogre only groaned "Listen, little donkey. Take a look at me: What am I?" He held out his arms and stood tall before him.

The burrito looked from the Ogre's shoes to his head, whose face looked irritated while he thought to himself. "Really tall?" was his first guess. The mini-donkey wasn’t sure what The Ogre was asking.

"No! I'm an Ogre, you know. ‘Grab your torch and Pitchforks!’ Doesn't that bother you?" He imitated an Ogre Hunter before asking.

Donkey shook his head

"Nope." came the response

"Really?" The Ogre was a bit surprised.

"Really, really" The creature happily assured.

"Oh," The Ogre was not too sure on what to say next.

"Man, I like you, what's your name?"

The Ogre looked a little surprised. For all his time living alone in the Swamp, no one had ever asked him of his name. He had always been The Ogre, not a true individual to the people around him.

"Uhh... Shrek." He replied after a moment, before continuing his walk home.

"Shrek?" Th little donkey echoed, seeing if he got it right before following the now and forever named Ogre himself. "Well, you know what I like about you Shrek? You got that kind of I-don't-care-what-nobody-thinks-of-me-thing I like that. I respect that Shrek. You all right."

He continued to follow Shrek up the hill as they came overhead across a small grassy meadow hill above that overlooked Shrek's Swamp. Donkey (for that was his name) stared looked at the scene before him.

"Whoa! Look at that. Who'd want to live in a place a like that?" He asked with a hint of disgust, mostly discomfort, in his voice.

"That... would be my home" Shrek claimed, his hands on his hips before heading down the other side of the hill.

Donkey could only blink in response, he had really put his hoof in it now. "Oh! And it is lovely! Just beautiful. You know you are quite a decorator. It's amazing what you've done with such a modest budget!"

Shrek only shook his head as he continued downwards.

"I like that boulder, that is a nice boulder." Donkey followed him down. He continued after Shrek once again and stopped in front of the three signs: "BEWARE OGRE", "STAY OUT" and "DANGER". Donkey took a look at each of them all and asked,"I guess you don't uh.. entertain that much do you?"

"I like my privacy." Shrek claimed as he kept walking to his front door, Donkey trotting after him.

"You know, I do too. That's another thing we have in common. Like I hate it when you got somebody in your face. You've trying to give them a hint and they won't leave. Then there's that big awkward silence you know?"

Shrek turned to face him, silently willing Donkey to understand that the creature had just described their exact situation.

"Can I stay with you?" Clearly Donkey did not receive the hint.

"Uh, what?"

"Can I stay with you, please?" He added in the magic word.

"Of course!" Shrek declared lightheartedly as he smiled.

"Really?" Donkey asked.

"No." Shrek bluntly denied.

"PLEASE! I don't wanna go back there! You know what it's like to be living like a freak!" Donkey reconsidered for a moment as he looked at the large green humanoid before him as he pushed Shrek onto his front door with his hooves. "Well, maybe you do. But that's why we gotta stick together! You gotta let me stay, please, please!" Donkey was getting hysterical.

"OKAY! Okay..." Donkey dropped to the floor as Shrek opened his door inwards as he gave his one little stipulation. "But one night only." He was about to enter before Donkey bolted in.

"Ah! Thank you!"

"What are you...?" Donkey leapt onto Shrek's crocodile skin recliner. "No, no!"

"This is gonna be fun! We can stay up late, swappin' manly stories and in the mornin," He trotted around on the chair before sitting down as he finished with: "I'm makin' waffles!"

"Oh!" Shrek groaned as he held his hands out, as though he was planning to strangle the noisy intruder.

Donkey looked around and asked him. "Where do, uh... I sleep?"

"Outside!" Shrek screamed irritably.

Donkey's ears drooped upon hearing that response. "Oh, well, I guess that's cool. I mean, I don't know you and you don't know me, so I guess outside is best, you know. Here I go." He sniffled as got off his recliner and walked out sadly,"Goodnight..." He told him as Shrek slammed the door on him.

The mini-donkey kept talking, of course. "You know, I do like the outdoors. I'm a Donkey. I was born outside. I'll just be sitting by myself outside, I guess, you know. By myself, outside!"

Shrek looked out before shaking his head and sighing to himself, walking away from the door to enjoy himself for the rest of the day as Donkey began singing the same annoyingsong again; although more sorrowfully.

"I'm all alone, there's no one here besides me..."

That night, as the cauldron hanging by chains over the firepit bubbled solemnly; Shrek was enjoying himself with a nice dinner while Donkey was locked outside of his home. He dropped a eye on a stick into his martini glass and slurped it down as he looked at his dinner before him. There was a slug with orange eyes, what appeared to be green grapes, a jar of eyes, spice, worm stuffed pumpkin and a nice large piece of cooked skinless meat on his plate.

These were the times he enjoyed the most out of his solitary life, he was home, nice and warm and he wasn't bothered by anyone at all. Though he had to pause and glance at his front door. Shrek had ... mixed feelings about his new acquaintance. He talked WAY too much, but he was also the first person in a very long time to actually treat Shrek like a person.

He shook his head and sighed, scooting in further to his table as he felt that there was just something missing from the layout of the table. The man he figured out what ir was. He brought his hand to his ear and started to pull hard and painfully as the earwax built up came out like a spear and placed it atop a candle platform; lighting the wick made of ear hair afterwards with a match. Now he can enjoy his meal alone.

The same could not be said for Donkey, who peeked sadly into the window before making his way back to the front door. He laid down as he smiled bittersweetly and went to sleep at his new friend's doorstep.

Shrek continued to eat and enjoy his meal until the sound of his door creaking interrupted his silence.

He put his fork and knife on the table as he got up. "I thought I told you to stay outside." He was hoping to shove Donkey back outside, if that was what had come in.

"I am outside." Donkey’s voice came from the window.

In confusion, Shrek turned and saw a shadow move across the wall. Who was now moving around near his table? He returned and observed it. Everything was normal underneath the table, but then he heard voices from above.

"Well, gents, it's a farcry from the farm, but what choice do we have?" A blind mouse asked, tripping over Shrek's fork.

"It's not home, but it'll do just fine!" The second of the blind mice knocked over the jar full of eyeballs, spilling out the contents.

"What a lovely bed" The third of the blind mice was bouncing on the Slug, Shrek immediately caught him.

"Got ya!" However it escaped his grasp.

"I found some cheese" the third mouse said, biting Shrek's left ear.

"OW!" He cried in pain, grabbing at the mouse again who was now on his other shoulder.

"Blah! Awful stuff!" The tiny rodent jumped down onto the spoon and inadvertently launched a piece of gravy towards Shrek's left eye, which he wiped away immediately.

"Is that you Gordon?" One of them asked.

"How did you know?" A different one asked back.

"Enough!" Shrek grabbed all three of them by the tail, flipping the wooden spoon off the left side of the table as he turned his back and demanded angrily.

"What are you doing in my house?" The dinner on his table was then violently shoved off and Shrek's back was hit with an gold and glass fashioned coffin, labeled, ‘Here lies Snow White, under the curse by the Poison Apple infected by the Sleeping Death curse’.

"Hey!" He turned and saw the Seven Dwarves, one of the waved at Shrek.

"Oh, no, no, no. Dead broad OFF the table!" He shoved her coffin back to the Dwarves

"Where are we supposed to put her? The Bed's taken!" They shoved the coffin back to him.

"Huh?" Shrek stopped short. He hurried to his bed and opened the curtain separating the rooms and gasped. There laid comfortably and in grandmother's clothing, was a wolf of all creatures.

"What?" The Wolf asked irritably.

Shrek was now on the verge of rage, he dragged the Wolf out of bed and held him in the air through his house as the Seven Dwarves made themselves comfortable.

"I live in a swamp, I put up signs! I'm a terrifying Ogre!" He shoved his door open outwards. "What do I have to do to get a little privacy?!" He screamed as he threw the Wolf out of his house.

Then he saw a sight that would haunt him forever. "Oh no... oh no!" Shrek bellowed.

His Swamp. His lovely, silent, peaceful Swamp was no longer the way he intended it to be. It was now swarming with many, many Fairytale Creatures; many, many beings now living in his precious Swamp. Even the old woman brought her entire shoe to his Swamp, with many children running around. Tents were set up, fairies roamed around in the air, Pinocchio and a short yellow elf with a cone shaped hat were arguing and many people were conversing with each other.

“No!" A witch flew past him. "NO!" He screamed out, three more witches came zooming past him and Shrek had to jump for cover as they came flying down with elves helping them land.

"Wha?" Shrek turned his head to the side with the old woman hanging her clothes with a child and two other children pushing each other.

"Hey, don't push!" A girl in the blue shrieked.

The Pied Piper in red was calling over rats with his flute while many other Fairytale Creatures were waiting in line towards Shrek's Outhouse.

In the meantime, Papa and Baby Bear were sitting by the fire, the latter upset and being comforted by his father; no Mama Bear in sight, as many other Fairytale Creatures warmed themselves up by the fire before them. Elves, Lepricons, Dwarves, Fairies, Witches, Pigs, Wolves, a Unicorn and any Fairytale Creature you can think of were all there in Shrek's Swamp; shattering his peace.

"What are you doing in my Swamp?!" Shrek roared out as he got up, his voice echoed all over the sound of his Swamp; everyone and everything came an abrupt half as it was followed by screams and gasps. The Dwarves who held bowls to be fed with soup from the cauldron by the witch dropped them, the three fairies of Sleeping Beauty flew in the tent to hide and two Dwarves ducked out of sight and appeared holding each other out of fear behind a branch.

Shrek wasn't going to have all this; he eyed everyone and began to walk to some Elves and Dwarves. "Alright, get out of here. All of you, move it! Come on! Let's go! Hapaya! Hapaya! Hey! Quickly, come on!" He shooed them all backwards but some of the Dwarves and fairies ran into his home as Shrek turned back. "No, no! No, no. Not there, not there!" He ran after them as they slammed the door on him and a little green fairy, the door now unable to open despite his best efforts.

He stopped and turned to face the large group before them, especially on Donkey.

"Hey don't look at me, I didn't invite them!" Donkey replied.

"Oh, gosh, no one invited us" Pinocchio confirmed.

"What?!" Shrek came over, demanding to know what happened.

"We were forced to come here" He told the Ogre.

"By who?" He was flabbergasted until one of the Three Pigs told him.

“Lord Farquaad. He huffed and he puffed and he... signed an eviction notice." His brothers nodded in agreement.

"Alright. Who knows where this Farquaad guy is?" Shrek asked.

Everyone looked around at each other with no answer, until Donkey answered. "Oh, I do. I know where he is!"

"Does anybody ELSE know where to find him? Anyone at all?" Shrek was desperate to not to go with Donkey of all people.

"Me! Me!" Donkey tried to get his attention, jumping comically into the air. Baby Bear held his paw up, but was stopped by his father.

"Anyone?" Big Bad Wolf and a Green Wizard pointed to each other while Donkey continued

"Oh! Oh, pick me! Oh, I know! I know! Me, me!"

"Okay... fine." He reigned himself to being annoyed; Shrek knew that he would either go with Donkey or risk asking a human. "Attention, all Fairytale... things. Do not get comfortable, your welcome is officially worn out. In fact, I'm going to see this guy Farquaad right now and get you all off my land and back where you came from!" He pointed to the left before the entire crowd went wild.

Shrek shook his head and groaned before walking, four birds draping him in a flower cloak. "Doh!" He swatted them away as he sharply pointed directly at Donkey. "You. You're comin' with me" He told him darkly as he shoved the cape off him and started walking, the birds returning and dropping a flower crown on his head.

"Alright, that's what I like to hear man: Shrek and Donkey, two stalwart friends, off on a whirlwind big-city adventure. I love it!" Donkey rushed after the ogre.

Shrek tried to grab torch from a Dwarf while walking. He refused to let go, so Shrek simply shook him and then dropped the dwarf into the water where the dwarf resurfaced moments later.

"On the road again, sing it with me, Shrek. I can't to get on the road again!"

“What did I say about singing?" Shrek sharply turned to Donkey and grabbed his flower crown before throwing it off of him. They crossed a log that bridged the area between Shrek’s little island and the rest of the swamp.

"Can I whistle?" Donkey asked.

"No."

"Can I hum it?"

"Alright, hum it."

Donkey continued to hum ‘On the Road Again’ while Shrek

focused on the road ahead.

The two heroes marched off into the woodlands while being waved off by all creatures.

Art Explanation

So, it’s obvious I copied the title from the movie! It sure did make my life easier!

And I used a lot of references for my pictures. I hoped to make them true to the movie as possible.

The second picture is possibly my favorite, although I didn’t enjoy drawing all the scenery. It isn’t my specialty.

The third picture was fun! I remember being very jealous of Shrek’s belch power when I was little, lol.

To be honest, the fourth picture was my least favorite. It felt too busy.

The fifth picture is my other favorite, because it has Donkey!

The last picture was hard, for sure. I wanted to ge their reflections right, and not make the background look too crappy. It’s hard to adapt things from such a dark scene. But I think it turned out alright, although the scaling is a little funny :).

So, I was hoping to not have to write out these scenes myself, because it’s ten whole minutes of a movie and let me tell you, it’s hard to do from scratch. Luckily, I found a version, which I’ve left a link for below. I just polished it a bit.

Anyways, I hope you’ve enjoyed!

SOURCE

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/450448/1/Shrek-Adaptation

[iplaymatchmaker]

(2) my mbti is infp-t and the last time i did the pottermore test i got a ravenclaw, so there's that! oh and i'm also quite introverted so you won't find me in rowdy places like a party or concert. i don't do great with people who force me out of my comfort zone, people who aren't decisive and aren't the communicative type (i get anxious trying to guess what they mean and overthink). for the prompts i'd like bonding and fairytale au for cinderella! thank you so much! o(≧▽≦)o -juice

Hello, thanks again for requesting Juice! Once again, sorry for the delay. This is the ikerev part of your ask. I’m sorry in advance for the rushed ending of the second prompt, I didn’t want to take even longer writing an entire fic and thought this was a good place to leave it. I hope you like it!

I match you with

Sirius!

When you first arrive in Cradle you are wary of the army officers, but the warm environment makes it easy to relax and be yourself. You quickly grow close with the Queen, Sirius. Your friendship begins when you catch him watering the flowers in the courtyard. You are surprised at first, considering your first impression of him, but that is quickly forgotten as he rambles to you about the importance of maintaining the garden, even with a war in the horizon.

Despite his busy schedule, the two of you spend a lot of time together, and it quickly becomes apparent that you are compatible. The black army headquarters has always been a lively place, curtsey of Fenrir and Seth, but Sirius is glad to have another cheerful voice around, especially when it’s paired with your friendly chatter.

While you dislike showcasing your worries and insecurities, Sirius is always quick to read you and tries his best to lift your spirits without pressuring you to talk when you’re not ready.

You spend a lot of time exploring each other’s interests, as he introduces you to the ways of Cradle and you teach about him about the Land Reason. At first he tries to blame this on simple curiosity, but the reality of it is, he enjoys listening to you talk about the things you’re passionate about, sometimes wishing he could make your eyes light up the same way they do when you discuss your favorite books, although he won’t tell you that.

You finally confess your feelings, moments before the full moon rises and the portal back to your world appears. Until that moment, when Sirius’ hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks, you thought he didn’t return your feelings. It wasn’t until then that he expressed to you how much he wanted you to stay. “I know it’s selfish, but I want you to stay by my side!” All the pieces fell into place as he wrapped his arms around you, your bodies so close you could feel his pounding heart, realizing he must’ve run to catch up with you. “I will.”

Prompt: Bonding

It was hard to contain your excitement as you walked the narrow streets of Cradle, your hand not leaving Sirius’ as you looked at the shop windows.

“Look at that dress!” You pulled him along, hearing him chuckle behind you, not daring to complain as you dragged him inside the store.

You had agreed on this shopping trip a few days ago, on one of the rare days Sirius was staying in your room instead of the opposite. Your attention had been solely focused on your book for about an hour when he spoke up.

“We should go out on Saturday.” While he was always thoughtful, he didn’t often suggest outings, considering his packed schedule.

“Aren’t you on patrol with Fenrir on Saturday?” you couldn’t deny your excitement at the prospect of spending time with Sirius, but you didn’t want to burden him,

“I have already spoken with him. With Amon gone, there isn’t too much work for us during patrol. He can handle it on his own. So what do you say?”

“Okay!” You nodded, pulling him closer as you set your book aside.

While you enjoyed your time trying new clothes and browsing the bookshelves around the shops, you couldn’t help but feel guilty that Sirius was spending his day off following you doing things you enjoyed, despite his reassuring words.

“Don’t worry about me, I can keep up.”

You decided to take a break at one of the nearby cafes for much needed rest. You tried your best to read him but you had difficulty guessing what he was thinking.

“So, are you having fun?” you were taken aback by his question, considering he was letting you take him around town to all the places you wanted to visit.

“Of course I am! The weather is wonderful today too.” You took a bite of your desert, hoping to successfully bury your worries where he couldn’t see them.

“I can tell when something is bothering you, you know.” It didn’t seem to fool him. You sighed before reaching out to cover his hand with yours.

“I just want you to enjoy today too. This is your day off, we should be doing something you enjoy.” He squeezed your hand, his smile not faltering.

“Seeing you having fun is more than enough joy for me.” You could tell there was something he wasn’t telling you but you decided to leave it alone, not wanting to ruin the day.

“Thanks Sirius.”

By the time you returned to headquarters the sun had set and both of you were exhausted. After a quick shower you found Sirius outside, carefully inspecting a batch of purple and white flowers in the garden.

“What’s that one?” You stand next to him, wrapping your overcoat tighter around yourself.

“Night Phlox. They’ve almost bloomed. They have a very strong but pleasant smell when you plant many of them near each other.” He smiled, wrapping his arms around you, shielding you from the cold.

“What do they mean?”

“They can mean all sorts of things, but the most widely accepted meaning is partnership, harmony and unity. Pretty spot on for the black army, don’t you think?’ you smiled, enjoying listening to him talk about something with such care.

“Yeah.” The sound of the wind against the leaves was the only thing breaking the silence until you spoke up.

“Hey Sirius, why were you so intent on making today all about me?” there was no accusation in your voice, a simple question spoken under the night sky, a time where people can be honest, without hiding their troubles.

“We spend a lot of time at headquarters because of my job, doing things that I’m comfortable with. I just wanted to spend a day bonding over something you enjoy doing.” He tightened your arms around him, placing a quick kiss on his lips.

“You know I love spending time with you, no matter what we’re doing.”

“And I love seeing you happy.” Your eyes locked and an overwhelming feeling of joy spread through you.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Prompt: Cinderella AU

It was becoming increasingly difficult to mask your disdain as ambitious men reached out every few minutes, attempting to make conversation. You could offer them more than a smile and a kind word, knowing that everyone there had an ulterior motive.

“An organized ball where the goal is to woo me isn’t exactly a romantic story now isn’t it?” you didn’t want to deny your father’s wishes, knowing there was pressure as he grew older for you to find a husband, but it was still hard to accept that you would never have the chance to live a fairytale-love story, like those you read about in books.

“What you need is a secure future. This is for your own good.”

You knew that if you were to achieve that goal, you would need to interact with the men at the ball, but the context of the celebration made hard to relax, let alone do so in a room full of people.

“Daughter, this is a ball. Should you not be dancing?” your father’s voice was full of concern, despite his previous incitement.

“Yes, I will do that, father.” Not wanting to upset him, you smiled before setting off towards the middle of the room as the band started playing a quick valse. You looked around for a partner when you felt strong arms around, pulling you along with the other dancers.

“I’m sorry if that was out of line, you looked a little lost.” When you looked up to see the face of your partner, your words died in your throat. He stood quite a bit taller than you and his eyes were a deep shade of purple, unlike anything you had seen before.

“U-um, yeah.” You tried not to forget the steps as the two of you moved along, not wanting to make a fool of yourself, tripping over your skirts.

“So, how come the princess herself finds a moment alone during a ball in her honor?” despite his teasing words, you could tell he felt out of place in the crowded room.

“I’m not sure I’d consider this an honor… “ concern imideately painted his features but you didn’t want to bother a guest with your own issue.

“So, where are you from? I don’t believe we have met before.” You run a mental list of acquaintances from the local noble houses but you didn’t remember seeing him before.

“I’m… “ his voice trailed off, leaving you with many burning questions.

“I’m Sirius, Sirius Oswald.” He smiled, the uncertainty from moments before replaced with a warm smile.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” You smiled at him, deciding not to pressure him for answers he didn’t want to give.

“You never answered my question” he spun you as the music sped up, taking you by surprise.

“You didn’t answer mine either.” A playful smile played on your lips.

“I suppose I can’t deny that.” Through the bur around you, you could see that the rest of the couple had left the dance floor, placing the two of at the center of the attention.

“Everyone is looking at us.” A faint blush appeared on your cheeks a you danced together.

“They are looking at you.” He smiled at you, his grip on your waist tightening.

“Are you ready?”

“For what?”

Before you could question him further, you were in the air, your dress spinning around you. Time seemed to slow down, a feeling of freedom flowing through you. From your position you could see the faces of the party-goers but in that moment it didn’t matter. It was just you and him, a scene right out of a fairytale.

When he set you down, your cheeks were flushed, heart pounding in your chest. You barely registered the music slowly fading away as they switched to a softer sound.

“Thank you for the dance.” His hand left yours, while his warmth sill lingered.

“My lady.’ He bowed before turning to leave.

“Wait! Could I see you again?” you resisted the urge to grab his hand, not wanting to make a scene.

“I’m not sure that would be the best idea.” You tried to speak up but your voice was drowned out by the surrounding noise, so you could only watch as he moved further and further away, before eventually disappearing in the crowd, leaving you alone, with only a brief memory to look back to.

Rumors of the charming man who danced with the princess could be heard all around town during the next few days. You tried to keep your head low as you walked around the stalls, looks for the right shop.

When you opened the door, a bell sounded, announcing your arrival.

“Hello. How could I help you?” A tall man stood at the back of the room, watering a patch of white flowers. You looked around the room to ensure you were alone before removing your hood, still unsure of whether this was a good idea.

“P-princess.” He fell into a quick bow, not daring to look at you.

“Hello Mr. Oswald.” He hesitantly raised his head, looking over the cloak covering your dress.

“Just call me Sirius. How did you find me?” an awkward smile appeared on his lips.

“I told you I wanted to see you again. Plus, after you told me your name, it wasn't very hard to find you.” You stepped closer, looking at the assortment of flowers around you.

“So this is where you’re from.” You were only teasing, but he seemed to have misunderstood.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you. I wanted to keep up the illusion but the you came here and..” you were taken aback by his genuine apology.

“N-no, I’m not disappointed!.”

“You aren’t?” You nodded, trying to express your feelings as best you could.

“No, I’m not. Why would I be?’ he run a hand through his hair, messing it up more than before.

“I’m just a commoner. And you’re a princess. There is no reason for you to be interested…” you shook your head firmly.

“I didn’t want to meet you again because I thought you were a noble. I just... I want to feel what I felt when we danced together again.” You were expecting him to laugh at you, but he only looked back in awe.

“W-was that odd? I apologize, I just-“ he didn’t allow you to finish.

“No! It’d not off, I’m just… surprised. I don’t have much to offer to a princess.” he fidgeted with the hem of his apron, eyes glued to the ground.

“Could you perhaps offer me some of your time? I would like to get to know you better.” A smile slowly formed on his face.

“Alright then. Who am I to say no to the princess after all?”

“Thank you.” You smiled at each other, excited to see where this would lead you.

You spent a lot of time together after that, slowly getting to know more about each other. When you introduced him to your father, he was admittedly hesitant at the idea of you not marrying a noble, but when he saw how happy the two of you were together, he couldn’t deny you your wishes.

“You have my blessing. You better take care of my daughter young man.”

“Always, sir. I love your daughter more than anything.” He placed a kiss on you hand, a promise of greater things to come.

“And I you.” Happiness overflowed you as your lips met in a light kiss, sealing the truth of your words.

[heartofsnark]

This is Love (Chapter Eight): Whispers of Wolves

Notes: Heyo, since A) I took a break and B) it’s friday the thirteenth, as it was when I posted the first chapter of this is love back in January, I decided to go ahead and post chapter 8 today. Chapter 9 is already done and I’ll be beginning work on chapter 10 soon, as this is my current hyper fixation. I hope you all enjoy. 

Word Count: 8671

Chapter Warnings: Oh boy we got some shit today my dudes! Stories/Reference of Past Child Abuse, Animal Death In the Context of Hunting, Homphobic Slurs/Homphobia towards lesbians, and referenced past anti-Semitism. Less important but there’s a pov change and like three different quotes in this chapter, from the Book of Joseph, and two different songs, which is probably a lot but I ain’t editing this shit anymore

For chapter one and the warnings about this fic’s overarching themes, please click here!

For the previous chapter; click here

Pain cracks through Joseph’s skull late that night, shooting across from each temple, seeming to split his head apart. He sits on the edge of his small bed, a modest bedroom in the back of his church. He knows what it means, he’s grown accustomed to the sharp ringing pain, visions always come with it. They’ve started to come more frequently since The Lamb arrived.

He grabs at his head, as if he could press hard enough to keep his skull together as pain racks him, an instinctual reaction. Pain strikes through and breaks the reality of the world around him, closed eyes starting to see visions of what could be, images of what may await him.

A world anew surrounds him; one changed by the Collapse and washed of sins. Lush and natural, even more beautiful than the world that came before it. Vibrant pink flowers decorate the earth, thick green moss covering trees. A soft pink flowered apple tree stands at the center of the compound, white buildings replaced with hand made little houses.

Men and women are all around, working around New Eden. Parents playing with their children, carrying their babies; loyal followers allowed to pass through the gates and grow their family. Some members bring back hunted animals to be prepared for meals and others tending to gardens.

And then he sees his brothers and sister.

A fact that changes time and time again as his visions come to him in waves. He’s seen New Eden with and without them. He’s seen each of his siblings die time and time again, old and young, premonitions of what will be or what could be.

In this version, this vision, he’s been allowed his siblings. Faith, Jacob, and John talk at a distance where Joseph can’t quite hear the words, only taken in the moment. Jacob and John’s ages showing more clearly in the gray just starting to pepper their hair.

A voice rises above all others, cutting through the mumbled conversation through the compound, and Joseph knows it’s calling towards him. The soft voice calls him a name similar in meaning to his title, but it cuts to his heart so differently.

“Papa!”

Through the eyes of his older self, he can only watch and take in what happens, no control as he turns to see the source.  A young boy of about five comes running towards Joseph, bright blue eyes and an even brighter smile. Joseph’s body moves of it’s own volition reaching out to hug his son, his son, but before he can feel the embrace of his child the world cracks apart again.

Pain splinters through the world and rips him from the moment, when he opens his eyes again he’s back in his room. And his hands itch to hold his son who’s yet to exist, instead he rubs at his temples, fingers knotting in his own hair as he attempts to soothe the agony within his own head. The only respite being what he hopes is a new promise from his creator. A chance for his family to not only walk with him to New Eden, but the chance to expand it.

He’ll have a son. The very idea soothes his pain and is like a salve to frayed nerves. Becoming an internal mantra as he eases himself back to sleep that night.

 Sweat coats Dahlia’s skin as she does another push up, her muscles aching at the workout. She shifts to lay on her back on the living room floor, t-shirt riding up her sweaty stomach. Her second day of no work has turned into an impromptu work out, push up and using doorways for chin-ups. She uses her shirt to wipe sweat off her forehead before grabbing her phone to check the time. Dahlia must have gotten her way through the day, it has to be late by now.

“Fucking hell.”

It’s noon, it’s only fucking noon.

“Ahhhhhhhhhh!” She screams into a pillow, how the fuck is it only noon? Dahlia looks at the mess of her coffee table, trying to consider what to do just to eat at her time, she could draw again. But her hand is still cramping. She read somewhere you’re suppose to do warm up for drawing, she’ll have to start doing that.

Then she sees the Book of Joseph, her drawing still sticking out of it. She’s burned through her backlog of manga on her phone and fuck, it’s something to do. Joseph seemed like a genuinely sweet man, maybe he has something interesting to say.  Music still blasting, because everything in her life requires a soundtrack, she opens the book.

 “Bless the name of those who have dealt you blows.

Be grateful to those who have caused you harm.

For it is these sufferings that have led you to me.”

 The first sermon in the book, she chews her lip, it’s not that much different from things Joseph told her yesterday, that he’s thankful her past led her to him. But, something rubs her wrong about the idea of being grateful for her abuse. Not for her, she plans on dying mad about it. She reads onward, an illustration of a flaming capital building surrounded by waves with someone drowning in the foreground. That’s…dramatic.

“If a person had been walking down the poorly maintained road out front of the Seed’s house on that afternoon in June and felt the strange urge to glance over, they would have witnessed a bizarre sight.

They would have seen a man dress in black pants and a white undershirt, frothing with anger, brandishing a comic book in one hand and a bible in the other at his son, a child of about ten. But no one had been down this in the poor suburb of Rome, Georgia, in a long time. Not ice cream trucks, not social service cars, not even police patrols.”

Dahlia stops almost three pages in as Joseph begins to write about a dying widow who once gave him and Jacob cakes before she grew sick. The picture he’s painted is far too clear and hits too close to home for her to continue, at least for the moment. A belligerent bible thumping drunk of a father who derided Joseph for loving Spiderman comics and beat Jacob’s back for the younger brother’s supposed misgivings.

Father Monroe, her stepfather, wasn’t quite the ruddy faced sloppy drunk that Old Man Seed was. But when Joseph describes Jacob offering his back up for a beating, she nearly feels the bite of leather against her own. Stripes for the backs of fools, is all she hears.

She wants to talk to Joseph, she realizes, thinking of both the beginning sermon passage and how their own pasts match up. Does he really bless the man who hurt him? Is he grateful for Old Man Seed? Maybe that kind of forgiveness and peace with it comes with age or is it just him? Ruth has a similar story as well, a little older than Dahlia, and she holds on to the same anger Dahlia does. Has Joseph managed to let it go? Does he still like Spiderman? Did his father beat the passion for comic books out of him or does he still enjoy them? Its hard to imagine, the intense Joseph Seed casually reading a comic book.

Less than three pages is a pathetic excuse for reading and didn’t pass much time, but it’s intense for her. So, she’d rather just…stare at the wall for a bit until she’s ready to tackle it again.

It’s Saturday night, Pratt and Hudson won’t be going to The Spread Eagle tonight, because no work. Meaning a rather mundane day with no interruptions. Other than a short walk, Dahlia spends the rest of it fucking around on her phone and watching shitty tv; passing out after downing an unevenly heated microwave meal.

Sunday morning rolls around, spent much like the last, Dahlia using her down time and excess energy to work out. It’s important to stay on top of exercising and staying in shape, given her profession, she makes a mental note to order some weights online. There’s not really a proper gym in the county and she doesn’t want to lose muscle.

She’s in the middle of another round of pushups when there’s a knock at her door; she jumps up from her position, skin still slick with sweat as she rushes towards the door. Finally, something to disrupt the monotony.

It’s Pratt standing on her porch, hazel eyes looking her over. She’s expecting a shitty comment on her appearance, dressed in shorts and a baggy shirt, hair mussed with sweat.

“You need something?” She asks him, slightly out of breath. Dahlia lifts the bottom of her shirt, using it to wipe sweat from her face, breeze skimming the bare skin of her stomach.

“What the hell has you sweating, Rook?” The older deputy chews his lip, avoiding eye contact for a moment.

“I was working out.”

“With a head injury? Seriously?”

“The fuck else am I suppose to do?”

“Figured you’d be bored out of your mind, reason I’m here,” he grins, “throw some clothes on and we can head out.”

“You mind if I shower first?” She asks, while she’s not sure where he plans on dragging her but she’d rather not stink like sweat while she’s there.

“Uh, yeah, sure that’s fine.”

“You wanna wait in here?”

He nods and Dahlia steps aside to let Pratt into her trailer, it’s not the most tidy of place because, well, she’s not the most tidy of people. She can feel the judgement starting to build up as Pratt looks around her messy living room. A pillow and blanket haphazardly on the couch; her duffle bag on the ground with clothes falling out of it. Her table has her sketchbook, thankfully closed, and the Book of Joseph is tucked under it. It’s a messy little nest, but it’s hers.

“Are you sleeping on your couch?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s just, I prefer it,” she explains with a shrug, not really sure how to elaborate on her weird feeling about sleeping in a bed.

“You have a bed, right?”

“Yes, I have a bed, I just, shut up. I don’t barge into your house and start judging how you live,” she pinches the bridge of her nose, “just sit down, I’ll be back in a minute.”

Dahlia grabs a change of clothes, hearing the couch springs creak as Pratt sits down. It’s weird seeing someone in her trailer. The closest she’s had to visitors have stayed on her porch. Pratt is the first person to be in her actual trailer, he looks immensely out of place and judging by his eyes glancing around, he seems to feel that way too. She tries not to think too hard about it, making a beeline to her bathroom.

She tries to keep her shower short, not wanting to make Pratt wait too long and not wanting him to snoop while he’s left alone. That doesn’t stop her from playing music as she showers, just limiting herself to two songs before she jumps out. A quick dry off and she tugs on her clothes, towel still on her damp hair as she walks back out to her living room.

Pratt, sure enough, has found something to snoop through. Dahlia grimaces at the sight of him picking through her little jewelry box of photos. Was he rifling through her dufflebag? She clears her throat, smirking when he jumps up.

“I was just-”

“Snooping,” she cuts him off, ruffling the towel over her hair.

“It fell out of your bag.”

“No it didn’t.”

“It did...after I kicked it a little, but it did fall out.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she snatches the little wooden box off the table, Lloyd and Caroline’s photo booklet was on top, so at least she probably avoided him seeing baby photos.

“You, uh, don’t look much like your parents. You adopted or something?”

She can’t help but chuckle as she puts it away; she can’t blame him for thinking Lloyd and Caroline must be her parents. The pair are both about Whitehorse’s age and why else would she have so many photos with a couple that age. But, the couple absolutely look nothing like her. Both fairer skinned and blue eyed; Lloyd with dark strawberry blonde hair and Caroline with light honey blonde locks. Short of some shenanigans the chance of them producing an olive skinned, brown eyed brunette is slim. And while the couple have their share of adopted children; Dahlia isn’t one of them.

“No.”

“Oh, uh…” She can nearly see the gears turning in Pratt’s head,  her usual one word style of answering has put Caroline’s devotion in question and Dahlia won’t have that.

“They’re not my parents; legally or biologically.”

“Oh, you just hang out with old couples?”

“Maybe, maybe not, ain’t really any of your business,” she shrugs, “more importantly, where the hell are we supposed to be going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I don’t trust your surprises.”

“Would you rather sit here and twiddle your thumbs all day?”

“Fuck  no.”

“That’s what I thought, you ready to go then?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she throws the damp towel onto her laundry chair before shoving her feet into her boots, “lets get going.”

She locks up behind Pratt then follows him out to his car. Compared to the last time she was in his car, this is infinitely more relaxing. She hums along to the radio, resisting the urge to sing along. He probably already heard her yelling along to her music in the shower, she doesn’t need to blast his eardrums at close range. After one song ends and another shittier one begins she starts to fiddle with the radio setting.

“The driver is supposed to pick the music,” Pratt tells her as she flips through stations, trying to find a station playing something other than country.

“The driver needs to worry about the road, while I find something worth listening to.”

“Yeah, ‘cause your taste in music is so good.”

“I have excellent taste in music,” she turns to one station and it sounds like a choir.

Help me, Faith

Help me, Faith

Shield me from sorrow

From fear of tomorrow

“Turn that crap off, right now.”

“The hell is that?” It’s not a bad song like technically speaking, but it’s definitely a bit much.

“Peggie station, it's all crap, Eden’s Gate runs it. It’s all their choir music and sermons.”

“Gross, but the song ain’t that bad.”

“You might wanna have your head checked again.”

“Piss off.”

She finds something better, even if she doesn’t necessarily mind Eden’s Gate music, she’d rather listen to something without fear of a sermon coming up after. At the very least, Pratt doesn’t complain about her choice, a few more songs playing before they cross into Holland Valley.

“How’s your impromptu vacation been going?”

“Boring.”

“That’s what I thought,” he laughs, “figured you’d be going stir crazy by now.”

“So, you decided to come end my boredom?”

“No need to sound so excited,” Pratt rolls his eyes, not appreciating her lackluster response.

“Sorry, I, uh, do appreciate it,” she admits, looking out the windows, cheeks warming at it. It’s embarrassing to say that she is genuinely thankful. Hell she nearly jumped up and ran to the door like a dog when he knocked. Boredom is hell.

“Oh, it’s fine, I was bored too.”

They pull into the police station parking lot and she raises an eyebrow at him as he parks. He’s taken her to work? What on earth is he planning?

“Don’t look at me like that, you’re gonna enjoy this, c’mon.”

She follows him out and around the building to the helipad she noticed before, a black police grade helicopter on it.  He doesn’t hesitate to climb into the pilot's seat, telling her to get in. She listens, climbing into the seat next to him. It looks like a mess of buttons and controls to her, none of them making sense. But Pratt confidently starts turning switches, lights coming to life in front of her.  They’re going for a helicopter ride, holy shit.

“Pffft,” Pratt huffs out a laugh, “we’re not even in the air yet and you’re already grinning.”

“This is okay, right? Like, no one will mind.”

“I’m the only person at the station who can fly, so if they needed it, they’d be calling me anyway. Don’t worry.”

“I’m fine, I just wanted to know I can enjoy this guilt free.”

“And lift off,” Pratt says as he brings the chopper up off of the ground. The station grows smaller and smaller as they ascend up into the air.

���Wow…” Is all as can seem to say at first as the chopper kisses the sky.

They’re surrounded by a bright blue sky and puffy white clouds as Pratt flies across the county. Lush green forests and farms beneath them, mountains along the edges of the county. A top down view of animals running through, specks in their vision. She oohs and awes, unable to help acting like an excited child over the view. They fly along the county, Pratt is kind enough to answer her stupid questions about flying, what buttons and switches mean. She’s certain to a seasoned pilot her naïve question must be frustrating, but he grins with every answer. Before she knows it the sky around them has shifted to an awash of pinks and purples, the sun setting, before a midnight sky takes it place. Brilliant stars twinkling around them, feeling so close, like she could reach out and touch Andromeda.

Once it gets too late, Pratt lands back at the station, her cheeks ache from all the time smiling. He drives her back to the trailer park, the pair in comfortable silence as she hums along to the radio.  Her thoughts drifting off as they are so quick to do. Pratt and her butted heads a bit when they first met, but he’s quickly become her closest friend in the county. Their light-hearted bickering and shenanigans have become her favorite part of her days in Hope County.

He walks with her to her trailer, shoulders brushing occasionally as they move. She turns to look at him when they reach her door. Dahlia clenches and unclenches her hands searching for what she wants to say.

“Thanks, a lot, really.”

“You like flying that much?”

“Not just for that, not to be all mushy and crap, but coming out here, keeping me from going nuts, being my friend. It, uh, means a lot, seriously.”

“Eh,” he scratches at the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes, “just watching out for you, probie.”

“Well, I appreciate it, I, uh, know I’m not the easiest person to get along with.”

“No one in this county is.”

“Good to know I fit in, I guess.”

“Uhh, you’re getting there, once you start stinking like beer all day and have a house full of deer heads, we’ll call it good.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she grins, “night.”

“Night.” She waves Pratt off before going back to her trailer to settle in for the night.

Monday is spent showing up to the station just to play with Petunia behind the building; just laying on the ground while the fluffy opossum crawls on her. She scratches along the marsupial’s back as they nuzzle into her neck.

“Aren’t you supposed to be home relaxing or something?” Beau asks and Dahlia shifts her head back to look at him.

“I am relaxing, what are you doing?”

“Well, everyone asked me to go see what that weirdo deputy was doing, so here I am.”

“Oh no, you hear that Petunia,” she looks at her opossum friend, “people think I’m weird.”

“Yeah, talk to the ‘possum, that’ll really show ‘em.”

She sticks her tongue out at him and he just rolls his eyes, leaving her alone for the moment. Pratt and Hudson invite her out to The Spread Eagle once the sun starts to set, but a steady throbbing ache has built in her head, she skipped pain meds. And the idea of the jukebox booming in her skull makes her turn it down for the night, once she’s back to work she’ll treat them to a meal there, she decides on the quiet ride home.

Dahlia wakes up the next day and decides to finally take that hike, wanting to explore some of the mountains and woods that surround the county. The brunt of the trails seem to be within the Whitetail Mountain area up north, the mountains in the Henbane are mostly around that statue and as much as she likes Joseph more than before; the statue is still creepy.

She tucks her sketchpad, pencils, water, and her pain meds in the storage under her motorcycle seat before she drives up to the mountains; the north section of the county is colder, a chill from the air as she rides up. She stops in at an Old Sun Outfitters, buying a little black backpack to carry her stuff in when she hikes.

The woods around her get thicker and thicker as rides further into the mountains, land growing steeper with every minute, civilization sparser and sparser; buildings harder to find, just peeks of wood or cement through trees. The trees clear on her right as a turn of the road leads her to a large parking lot with little hutch and a sign that says, ��rest area’. The hutch says Valley View Overlook. It’s built at the top of a plateaued piece of land, not as towering as the mountains in the distance, but higher than the meager hills of the valley or river. She parks her motorcycle and packs the bag before taking in the view.

A small navel high fence, she imagines waist high for others, keep animals or children from just running off the side of the mountain. It’s a beautiful sight; she can see why the lot is named after it. She takes a deep breath of fresh mountain air looking out at the soft blue sky that meets the mountains in the horizon; the deep green forests further down. Air so clean and refreshing, but for some reason she finds herself pulling out a cigarette, to fill her lungs with smoke. Too much good needs a bad, she supposes. She watches the white clouds and birds flying through, as she lets smoke settle heavy in her lungs, only parting from the sight when her cigarette threatens to burn her fingers.

She follows along a little beaten trail through the woods, kicking up rocks and crushing grass underfoot as she lets the trees surround her. Grass rustles around where animals sneak through; deer running through, other hikers crossing her path, and hunters packing bucks back home with dogs sniffing along after them.

It doesn’t take long for her to go off the path, just walking in any direction that catches her interest. Deeper and deeper into the woods, following divots and drop offs, walking along the occasional stream of water that passes through the area.  Her feet and head start to ache as hours pass, the cool air no longer able to chill her body as exertion coats her skin in sweat.

A hunting stand, one of many, is within the woods. Gray metal built around a tree with a ladder leading up. It’s empty, but if a hunter really needs it, she’ll move along. She climbs up curling her legs under her on the stand as she pulls off her back pack and red flannel, the sleeves now sweaty after her walk. Dahlia ties it around her waist, feeling the cool air on her skin as she takes a deep breath.

She takes a deep swig of water and one of the pain killers. There’s a crush of grass and she looks up to see a group of deer a short distance from the stand. A fawn and what may be younger deer, with a buck among them. The buck’s fur grayer in color than the richer warmer brown of the others. Dahlia gets out her sketchpad and pencils, balancing them on her knee as she takes the drawing the creatures. A calm energy and flow falls over her as she draws, the only sound the animals rustling within the woods. She’s better at drawing people than animals, she realizes, when she can’t quite get the right slope of the buck’s muzzle, but she doesn’t stress herself over it. No one will ever see her wonky deer. She looks up; the buck has gotten much closer, shuffling near the stand.

Dahlia puts her sketchbook aside, half finished wonky deer abandoned, as she moves to lay on her belly over the edge of the hunter’s stand. She stretches her hand out, his antlers high enough for her fingers to just brush the velvety texture. But that’s not what she’s after, wanting to pet the stags head. Dahlia shifts to a knee and a foot, she forces the fingers of one hand into the grating to keep a solid grip on the stand. She leverages herself to lean further and further out, stretching a hand out and nearly hanging completely off the stand. Her fingers just centimeters away from touching the stag’s head.

The fuzz of fur brushes across her fingers and the soft brown eyes looking up at her go blank; blood spraying from the side of the buck’s head as it’s body goes limp to the ground. She can’t help but jump back and fall on her ass; gasping at the now dead deer in front of the stand, the rest of them have scattered at the sight.

Maybe she should have expected it, being in hunter territory, but the closeness of it still startles her. There’s a heavy thud of boots, steady consistent footfalls crushing branches and grass beneath them. Ginger hair with shaved down sides and an army jacket; Jacob Seed.

This is likely the only time she’ll ever be taller than him, watching him from the stand as he shifts a bright red rifle from his hands to on his back. It seems so vivid and ostentatious compared to his utilitarian style of dress.  There’s a childish urge to jump on his back and scare him. But, they don’t know each other well and he’s a veteran, so she can’t know how he’d react to the sort of thing. Maybe a boo would be okay, just something small?

“You enjoying the show, honey?”

Dahlia jolts, taken aback by the sudden acknowledgment. She tucks a strand of hair back behind her ear and chews her lip watching as he starts to gather up the slain deer; then he looks up at her, blue eyes sharp and harsh. All the masculine Seeds have blue eyes and intense stares; but Jacob’s gaze is colder than Joseph’s and more steady than John’s. Something almost predatory to it. 

“I was drawing him,” she says after a moment, looking down at the stag. 

“And I was hunting him.” 

“Still would have appreciated another minute or two,” she says as she grabs her bag, throwing the sketchbook back inside before she jumps off the stand. 

“So, you could flail around and try to pet him for another five minutes.” 

“Hey,” she pouts, she was caught hanging from a hunting stand like the child she is, but, “wait, you saw me?”

He gives a vague grumble of agreeance, more preoccupied with tying up the hooves of his latest hunt to make it easier to carry. 

“And you still shot? You could have shot my hand off.” Has this man never taken a gun safety course, she catches a glimpse of the scope on his rifle, there’s no way he didn’t see how close his shot was to her hand. He chuckles, dry and deep, mocking her. 

“Relax, if I wanted to shoot you, you’d be dead by now.” 

“Wow, that’s not comforting.” 

“Wasn’t trying to be,” he says, standing up and packing the giant deer over his shoulder, like it’s nothing.  

Dahlia reaches out to touch it, fingers brushing through soft fur, no warmth beneath it. She might as well be petting a rug. Jacob starts to walk off and she doesn’t know why, but she follows him. Hands clasped behind her back and walking heel to toe after him. Maybe it’s just because she’s curious about him. He’s the only one of the Seeds not to take a strange interest in her for whatever reason. 

He doesn’t say anything at first, allowing her to follow along after him. Leaves and grass crush under foot as she follows along behind him, curious as to where he’s going or doing. She’s not sure what she expects, but it’s something to do if nothing else. 

“You got somewhere to be?” 

“Not really, no.” She tries to crane her head around, trying to get a better look at his face to gauge his reaction, but their height difference is too big to truly do so. The man has to be around a foot and a half taller than her; he seems even taller than the sheriff.

“Well, I do, so get out of here.” Her smirk drops, she was hoping to see him get more agitated like the youngest Seed brother, but his voice doesn’t rise. Staying the same steady deep timbre.

“Where are you going?” 

“Nowhere you need to be, sweetheart.”

“The nicknames aren’t really necessary.” She can’t help but say, wrinkling her nose in annoyance, the condescending way he calls her sweetheart and honey make her nauseous.

 “Neither is following me like a lost puppy dog; but here you are.” 

“I’m bored.”

“Not my problem.”

“You killed my only entertainment, so it is now.”

He comes to a sudden stop and Dahlia has to stop herself from running into his back; she doesn’t particularly want deer corpse on her face. He turns to face her; expression still the same stern look he usually carries, and she misses his grin when he was talking to kids at the barbecue.

“Look here, deputy, sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong and irritating me isn’t a habit you want to form. Get out of here.”

“Oh no,” she rolls her eyes, “I’m really scared.”

“Keep pushing, sweetheart, won’t get you anywhere.”

“God, you’re no fun.”

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

“Jacob is something wrong,” a voice cuts through their conversation, rough and masculine. And Dahlia see the long-haired man and short haired girl from the barbecue; the ones who shot her dirty looks when she talked back to Jacob.

“Nothing you need to concern yourselves with.”

“What are you doing here?” The woman asks Dahlia directly.

“Standing.”

“Fallon,” Jacob says the woman’s name, stern tone making her posture snap straighter, “I said it’s none of your concern. Let’s go.”

The three of them start to leave down a path; Fallon and the long-haired man have heavy bucks they pack as well. A hunting trip for Jacob and his…friends? Are they friends? That didn’t seem like friendship, but Dahlia is far from an expert on the matter. She offers a goodbye wave; but Fallon just rolls her eyes. Their steady footfalls leaving the deputy behind.

Well, it staved off the boredom for a while she supposes.

Dahlia lets out a huffy sigh, blowing loose strands of hair from her face as she begins back down the path she came. The sun is setting by the time she’s back to the parking lot and climbing on top of her bike.

Her stomach is growling by the time she’s driving down a main road, she sees the sign for The Grill Steak as she reaches the intersection. Dahlia pulls in, letting her stomach guide her actions, as she’s one to do.

It’s a small restaurant packed with groups of people from friends to families; she can feel the heat of the grill radiating through, the smell of her making her stomach growl. She settles into a booth by herself, when she reads through it the menu is full of gamey meat burgers and steaks. No signs of beef or pork; it’s all bison and deer. She wonders if the cook hunts everything himself, it wouldn’t surprise her, given what she’s seen of the county. He can hear the cook yelling something she can’t understand from the kitchen. Dahlia settles on ordering a cola and a deer burger; thinking about the hunted stag she saw Jacob kill.  

As she waits on her food, the chatter of a group catches her ear. They’re not from Hope County; the different cadences of how they speak mingled with fancy latin technical terms tells her as much. Trying to be discreet; she glances at them over her shoulder. A group of four; two women and two men all around the same age. Dahlia’s not the brightest bulb in the pack by her own admission, but when she hears the words corvids and lupine, she realizes they’re talking about animals. It doesn’t shock her, given the abundance of wildlife in the county, certainly people would come to research them. 

The door to the restaurant swings open and a man comes walking in, shoulders back and footfalls confident. It reminds her clearly of Jacob, the walk of a soldier, though this man isn’t quite as intimidating a figure. Older than Dahlia, though most people are, with a full dark beard and long scraggly dark hair. He doesn’t bother to take a seat at a booth or look at a menu, only giving a single wave to the cook in the back as he makes a beeline to the group. Dahlia shifts a little further down into her booth, not that anyone could truly tell she’s eavesdropping, but it gives a little more secrecy to it. 

 “You the conservationists?” 

 “Yeah, we’re studying the wildlife here… And you are?” 

“Eli, not here to ‘cause trouble or anything like that, just wanted to give some friendly advice.” 

“Friendly advice?” 

“You need to watch yourselves out in those woods.”

“Pffft.” 

“We’re well aware of how dangerous the wildlife out here can be. You-” 

“No, you aren’t. There’s wolves-”

“And bears and mountain lions, oh my,” one of them jokes, “look, we know what we’re doing.” 

“You’re not listening, they’re not regular wolves. They’ve been trained to kill and hunt people down on sight. Even if you avoid ‘em, you get on the cult’s bad side and they’ll send ‘em after you. You gotta be careful out here.” 

“Okay, sure,” the eyeroll is nearly audible, “we’ll keep an eye out for killer cult wolves, don’t worry.” 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, alright.” 

The man, Eli walks away, and Dahlia considers stopping him. Admitting her nosiness and ask him some of the million questions going through her mind. Surely by cult, he means Eden’s Gate, right? Dahlia can’t imagine who else he could mean. They’re small and close knit, but they’re not a cult, right? Cults imply something more out there or intense; they’re just a little Christian church. Joseph may have his own book, but they still follow Christian ideas of sins and scripture.

And wolves? How could they possibly be training wolves? It’s all so ridiculous and asinine, making gears spin and churn in her head until they overheat, but it was said with such conviction. By the time she brings herself to make a noise, Eli has already left, and it’s probably for the best. It’s too crazy to be true. Maybe he’s a tinfoil hat wearing type of guy, a conspiracy theorist like the Zip guy who leaves a newsletter in every damn corner of the county, screaming about chemtrails and baby farms.

She fills her stomach, deciding to leave that as it is, finally returning to her trailer late that night. A restless night of sleep with images of wolves and deer creeping around through her brain, nothing concrete enough to latch onto, but enough to unsettle.

A boring morning leads into a boring afternoon, time blurring before the sun has set and Dahlia’s finding herself pulling up to The Spread Eagle to catch her coworkers after their shift. She’s popped enough pain killers that the throb of music and noise is welcomed instead of irritating. A smile already gracing her lips when she catches Pratt and Hudson shooting the shit in the bar’s lowlight. As she sneaks up closer to them, their conversation starts to be audible over the tunes playing through the bar.

“I bet you break before then,” Hudson says, a teasing grin directed at Pratt.

“Hey, it’s only six months.”

“Please, you’re weak and you know it.”

“How much you wanna bet?”

Dahlia strikes, throwing her arms over Pratt’s shoulders, effectively hugging him from behind and leaning her weight into him. He’s warm and Dahlia can’t fight the impulse to squeeze him a little tighter. She breathes in the faint smell of coffee and cologne that still cling to him; comforting after so much time spent around him.

“Jesus fuck, when’d you get here?” Pratt blusters and at this close of a range Dahlia can see his cheeks pinkening under the scruff of his beard. Does this bother him?

“Right now.”

“You decided to come hang out again?” Hudson asks, grinning at the flustered Pratt.

“Mmhmm,” Dahlia hums into Pratt’s shoulder, pressing her face into him, “bored.”

“Get off me,” he grumbles and reaches back to swat at her hip.

“Ugh, buzzkill,” she bitches as she detaches from Pratt and climbs onto a bar stool, “so what the hell are you guys making bets about?”

Pratt coughs, trying to dislodge something from his throat, and Hudson laughs, “yeah, Pratt why don’t you tell her about our bet?”

“Don’t worry about it, Rook.”

“We still need to set an amount.”

“Fifty,” Pratt suggests and Dahlia wants to know even more what the hell they’re making bets about.

“Mmm, hundred.”

“Fine, if you’re comfortable losing that much.”

“Anyone gonna tell me what’s going on?”

“Nope.”

“Well, that’s gonna drive me crazy now, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

She sticks her tongue out at him and orders food, stuffing her face as she listens to her coworkers fill her in on anything of interest she’s missed during her off time. It’s not much, as usual, the workload in Hope County is pretty low stakes. Hunting violations, speeding tickets, and the like. Seems like her assault is about the most interesting case in a while. Dahlia’s tempted to ask if they know anything about wolf attacks but bites her tongue before she does. Hope County is filled with wildlife, wolf attacks have no doubt occurred to some degree and if she mentions the idea of trained cult wolves, they might start to think she’s buying into the conspiracy shit.

“Stop,” Pratt says suddenly, putting hand on Dahlia’s knee, “you’re shaking the whole damn bar.”

Her leg she realizes has been bouncing the whole time, the hike helped, workouts help, but she’s still breaming with pent up energy. There’s a rustle of movement and Dahlia is drawn to the open floor near the jukebox, she’s seen a few people dance here and there, a couple now and again swaying to softer tunes while she’s been here. But, it’s more crowded tonight, people laughing and dancing together.

“People are dancing,” she states the obvious.

“It’s ladies’ night, women drink free, so everyone’s extra, uh, energetic tonight,” Hudson tells her.

An upbeat song starts and Dahlia’s up in the next breath, she needs to move, burn off excess energy. And while her favorite club in Lake Charles isn’t exactly available to her anymore, she’ll jump at the chance to lose herself in a song.

You should be wilder, you're no fun at all.

Dahlia’s singing along as she sways and shifts through the crowd, body moving instinctually to the beat. There’s a woman about Dahlia’s age, long blonde hair and brown eyes, dancing as well and the deputy finds herself gravitating towards her.

Yeah, thanks for the input.

Thanks for the call.

She asks low into the woman’s ear, so she can be heard over the music, if she can dance with her. The response is a smile, lighting up the girl’s face, a nod of her head and then she’s pulling Dahlia in by the hips.

With dull knives and white hands

The blood of a stone

Cold to the touch, right

Right down to the bone

And then she loses herself in it. In the music that fills the bar, the feeling of a stranger touching her, the slide of her feet as she moves,  the way hips knock together, the scratch in her throat as she sings lyrics in the woman’s ear, their grins as they laugh and bump noses together. It’s fun and it’s silly, a reason to move and forget life for a moment.

Cause you give me the electric twist and it kicks and it kicks like a pony.

And true, you might run away with it, it's a risk it's a risk yeah.

Because it kicks yeah.

It really kicks yeah.

Dahlia spins the woman with a laugh, before pulling the woman close against her again, wide smiles and bright eyes as their foreheads touch. There’s sweat sticking to their skin as the song winds down. Panted breaths ghosting over each other’s faces as they come down from exertion.

And the touch of your lips it's a shock not a kiss

It's electric twist, it's electric twist

“How much I gotta pay to see you kiss?!” A loud voice booms out, making Dahlia and her dance partner of the night separate. There’s a man, couldn’t be older than his mid twenties, sitting at the bar with his legs sprawled open drinking a beer at the table between the bar and the dance area. His eyes linger and look over both women’s bodies

“Can I help you?” Dahlia asks and furrows her brows, glowering at the man as she draws closer.

“Oh just enjoying the show, sweetheart.”

“Not your sweetheart and I’m not a damn show.”

“Pfff, don’t get your panties in a twist,” he turns back to his table and rolls his eyes, as if Dahlia’s the problem, “fucking dykes.”

The junior deputy grits her teeth and she sees from her peripheral the woman rubbing the back of her neck, letting her bangs fall into her face looking like she’d rather disappear.

“The fuck did you call us?” She can’t stop herself from speaking, barely managing to reign her anger in enough not do something worse.

“You heard me.”

“Fuck you!”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Pratt’s voice cuts through as the man starts to turn to retort, the warmth of her coworker’s hand wraps around the clenched fist she didn’t realize she had raised.

“Is something wrong?” Mary May calls out, starting to walk out from behind the bar.

“Everything’s fine,” Pratt responds before Dahlia can say anything and when she starts to speak, he looks at her to whisper, “you’re barely three weeks into your job, you really wanna be getting into bar fights?”

“He ca-”

“I heard what he said, Rook, but it ain’t worth your job.”

“You’re right,” she gnaws on her lip and looks down on the ground, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I get it, I just don’t want you doing anything stupid.”

“I need some fresh air.”

Dahlia leaves The Spread Eagle, noticing the woman she danced with has already vanished, unwilling to deal with the bullshit. A cool breezes ghosts over her sweaty skin as she sits down on the porch steps at the front of the bar; running her hands through her hair as she fights to ease her nerves. She digs a pack of cigarettes out of her jacket pocket

There’s a crush of footsteps as she lights one, bringing it to her lips, shiny black leather boots entering her vision.

“Dep-yoo-tee.”

“You Seeds can just smell when I’m sad, can’t you?” She teases looking up to see John, the neon bar sign setting his face aglow in the night as he chuckles at her.

“Not my intention, but if you’re in need of a talk, I’d be happy to oblige.”

“You weren’t coming out here to harass Mary May again, were you?”

“Deputy,” he puts his hand to his chest cartoonishly dramatic in his hurt, “h-harassment? That’s ridiculous. am I not allowed to visit with Ms. Fairgrave and just discuss our difference of opinions.”

His voice is ramping up in pitch as he defends himself and Dahlia can’t help but smile, appreciating the distraction from her own troubles.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure Mary May would have a different of opinion about that one. We still gotta talk about members stealing booze.”

“Our members would do no such thing; and I assure you, if there’s any harassment here, we’re the victims. We’ve been insulted, had our sermons interrupted, our practices mocked, Mary May herself once showed up our church simply to cause trouble.”

“Okay, okay, it’s a two-way street, I get it. Sit, we can chat for a bit,” she pats the section of porch step beside her and reluctantly after a beat of silence, he sits down, “so, Mary May caused trouble for you guys?”

“Yes, yes, she has and she’s not the only one; the people of this county have persecuted me and my family since we’ve been here.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, no one should mistreat you that way,” she looks him in the eye as she speaks, “and if it ever happens again, I want you to call down to the station, ask for me, and I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

“Well, it’s certainly nice to know you’re on our side.”

“Ah, ah, I’m on everyone’s side. Mary May is owed the same respect as you and your family; and if you cause issues for her, I won’t hesitate to intervene for her sake as well. I’m here to keep everyone safe. Got to treat everyone like you wanna be treated, the whole spiel.”

“I know you’re not preaching biblical principles to me, dep-yoo-tee.”

“Not biblical, just a little maturity.”

“Are you implying I’m immature.“

“You’re a grown man spatting with a woman ten or more years younger than you; throwing a tantrum and pointing fingers when you’re told to behave.”

“First of all, I’m not that old,” Dahlia raises an eyebrow at him, “don’t look at me like that, I’m 32. Secondly, I am not a child. Mary May has-“

“And if she does something again, now that I’m here, let me know and I will help. But her actions don’t justify yours.”

“Fine, I’ll be sure to hold you to that promise, then.”

“I mean it’s less a promise and more so doing my job, but alright.”

She breathes out a plume of smoke, making sure to aim away from John’s face, his blue eyes track the movement and the nicotine fumes that escape into the air. An ex-smoker, she deems as she watches him staring at her lips and the cigarette between her fingers.

“You want a smoke?” She asks, offering her pack of cigarettes.

“Smoking is forbidden in Eden’s Gate.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Tattooed fingers pick out a cigarette and she lights it for him with a grin, watching him take a deep inhale and blowing out the smoke that fills his lungs. The soft rise of his chest and the gray clouds that billow out from parted lips. She notices for the first time the freckles on his neck and chest, shirt unbuttoned low enough to expose them. There’s thin fresh scratches along his hands and forearms, too superficial and fresh to match the deeper worn in scars, they look like cat scratches. And yeah, he seems like a cat guy.

“So, now that you’ve berated and tempted me, deputy,” he speaks after an exhale of smoke, “why were you out here pouting?”

“BREH!” She plops her back down on the porch with a vague animal long groan and throws her arms over her eyes, cigarette still between two fingers, must he remind of her own issues.

“Well that certainly wasn’t immature or dramatic.”

And she laughs, because he’s right, she can preach maturity all she wants to him. But, she’s still a brat herself. She’d justify herself with their massive age difference, because no way he’s thirty-two, but that feels flimsy at best. They’re both just two temper tantrum throwing children, hell they’re even both fibbing about their ages. Though, she suspects his own much more severe than the few months she adds to her own.

“Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“You know,” he lays back on the porch, matching her position, “I take the confessions for our church, if there’s anything you need to get off your chest, I’m the man to talk to.”

“Not much to say; guy called me a slur, I nearly throttled him.”

“Someone else’s actions don’t justify your own,” he parrots her words back to her.

“Yeah, someday I’ll follow my own advice.”

“Has that happened before?”

The gears in her brain churn, she’s been called many a thing, but her sexuality has been one of the less insulted facets of who she is.

Her stepfather, as religious as he was, was adamant on his hatred of gay people. But her own disinterest in exploring her sexuality or romance saved her from his scorn in that area, his focus more on the other various things he found deplorable about her.

Her mother’s side is Ashkenazi Jewish, and Dahlia remembers the few people of her stepfather’s church who despite her mother converting were disgusted their preacher would marry a Jewish woman. A handful leaving the church, a few sticking by just to call Dahlia and her mother slurs when their backs were turned.

The nightclub she favored in Louisiana was considered a gay bar, though not exclusive to LGBT folks. Women dancing with women, men dancing with men, men and women dancing; and a healthy amount of people who didn’t quite fit either label. Only one-night sticks out, a car speeding past the line outside the bar just to scream a slur out the window.  

Maybe what bothered her most was the boldness. This wasn’t someone whispering when they thought Dahlia couldn’t hear, and this wasn’t a man just screaming out at the public as he speeds away. Just a man emboldened and willing to hurt her in front of a bar filled with people.

“We’re blocking the door.”Everything else died on her lips; unable to spill her guts.

“And we weren’t while you were lecturing me?”

Her phone buzzes in her jacket as she brings her cigarette back into her mouth, unwilling to justify her evasiveness to a man she barely knows, she answers a number she doesn’t know at all.

“Hello?” She says around her smoke.

“H-hello, is this a deputy?” A soft broken voice, she remembers from the diner,  asks her and Dahlia sits up, tension pricking at the back of her neck.

“That’s me, Cassie?”

“You remember me…”

“What’s going on, are you okay?”

“Yeah, uh, I…” a beat of silence and a choked sob comes next, “no, I’m sorry, I’m, I’m not okay, I-“

“Where are you?” Dahlia’s on her feet, heartbeat in her throat as she waves off John’s furrowed brows and concern, running to her bike.

“I’m at the diner. I didn’t know where else to go…”

“I’m headed your way now, Cassie, are you safe?”

“I…I don’t know…I…”

Her voice breaks out into sobs again as Dahlia starts her engine, slams on her helmet, and switches her phone to the speaker in her helmet. The girl’s cries echoing around her as her wheels kick gravel across the parking lot, speeding out of Falls End.

[waterfall-ambience]

Void Fog (Cosmic Horror AU), Part 1

A summary of everything we have so far.

All the information here is already available, but I haven’t updated the AU storyline since April, so I’m making this post for completeness’ sake.

- The eldritch abomination is an entity that has existed for millennia. It resides in the space between worlds- the Infinite dimension.

- It's only true desire is to consume.

- It’ll consume anything, but it’s particularly drawn to worlds that have been, or are currently inhabited by players. Considering the practically infinite amount of worlds (seeds), these are difficult to come by.

- The Hermit’s pattern of moving between different worlds has allowed them to unintentionally evade the Entity.

- It’s able to enter minds and control people to some extent, usually with the goal of finding other worlds and entering them.

    - EX was exiled to a blank void world within the infinite dimension. Though he couldn’t travel beyond the void world, he could sometimes access the rest of the infinite dimension through his dreams. The Entity established a psychic link between them by preying on his insecurities (which, all things considered, is a huge can of worms).

    - When EX managed to escape using his unstable admin powers, the Entity was able to locate the Hermitcraft server and bring forth the apocalypse.

Meta plot stuff:

- From a meta standpoint, it’s kind of difficult to pinpoint when the story takes place, and write a lot of it beyond what’s happening to EX. He was banned from the server in March 2019, and stayed in the void world for an extended period of time. By the time EX manages to get back onto the server, it could be any time during S7, but likely in the future, when the world has been developed a bit more.

- Some elements of the story will change as the season goes on so that it can fit into the context of S7

- The story mostly focuses on EX, so unless a canon story arc has elements of alternate dimensions (eg Area 77) or the supernatural (eg Demise), then the ‘Hermit’ side of the story is unlikely to have a major impact on the story as a whole. If EX comes back in canon, then the circumstances of how he does so will be incorporated into the AU.

World notes:

- X and EX have admin powers. EX barely knows how to use his and as such, lacks control. For example, he might try to summon a few stacks of a particular block, and end up summoning too much or too little. 


- EX’s powers can be influenced by his emotions. When upset, he has a tendency to teleport all over the place and cause lighting glitches, lag, and other errors. His ability to teleport and travel between dimensions is also unstable.

- The Entity would’ve found the Hermitcraft server sooner or later. If the Hermits extended Season 6 into Sixfinity, they would’ve attracted its attention. If Doc had kept using the infinity portal to access other servers, then it’s likely that he would’ve run into the Entity at some point, and this whole apocalypse mess would’ve happened anyway. 


Exile:


- When he was banned, EX was sent to a creative superflat dimension outside of normal worlds. No structures generated there, and the floor was made up entirely of blue glass. He spent most of his time trying not to think too hard about the isolation, and instead turned to building nonstop.  


- His main ‘base’ was an ever expanding rustic house. He spent some time with NPG before getting banned and was taught how to build in a rustic style, which is what he’s most comfortable with. The house has gotten exceptionally large, and is near impossible to navigate due to its erratic floor plan. 


- EX also spent a lot of time sleeping, because the less time he spent conscious and aware of the usual passage of time, the better. However due to the nature of the void world he was exiled to, he could enter other dimensions in the Infinite (infinite dimension) through his dreamscape, as could the Entity.

- Isolation did not help EX deal with his fears and insecurities in the slightest. Often he’d find himself thinking about the circumstances of his exile, no matter how hard he tried not to. The fear that everyone hated him, that he had pushed everyone away with his evil schemes and rash decisions, that even if the Hermits were nice to him, they would never truly consider him to be their friend- it consumed him.

    It was only natural that they would never trust him- he lied and stole from them, after all. He deserved it, but realising that was a permanent blow to their faith in him stung far more than he anticipated.

    Often he found himself questioning every relationship and interaction he’s had with other people. Was he too aggressive with the tag game? Did he forget to say goodbye to Pixl and Zloy that one time? Did he bore NPG with his rambling about Worm Man?

    How long ago did X consider banishing him? Was it when he fell into old habits and reached out to press the button that would supposedly destroy the server? Was it then and there that X decided that he’d never be ‘good’, or was the decision the result of smaller mishaps? Was it when he over steeped their tea that one time? Was it when he caught himself slipping into a ranty, dramatic monologue? He recounted every stupid, impulsive decision he’d ever made, replayed it in his head hundreds of times, wracking his brain for answers he knew he’d never get.

- Over time, EX’s dreams became increasingly vivid. Most of them devolved into nightmares of phasing through fog, smoke, and crowds of vaguely recognisable people and ruined cities. Occasionally he dreamt of the dimensions in the Infinite- with its fleets of ships, endless libraries, and whispered orders.

- As he began to remember more of the dreams, EX noticed the near-constant shadowy presence that encompassed everything and nothing at the same time. He made a conscious effort to ignore it, but like all his other decisions to *not* think about something, it never truly worked. Most of the time, he was able to somewhat focus on his surroundings, but it’s when he dreamt of the Hermitcraft server that the presence was impossible to ignore.

- The presence never named itself, but disturbing as it was, EX felt compelled to trust it.

EX’s return to the Server

- EX was found at the base of an unfamiliar Nether portal. X and Joe theorised that he collapsed from the transition between game modes and exhaustion from forcing himself onto the Season 7 server.

- From the moment EX returned to the server, some of the Hermits reported incidences of objects disappearing and chunk errors. Some claimed that the layouts of their bases shifted as they walked through them.

- Joe asked around different villages to see if these incidents were constant across the server. Most of the reports tied back to folklore of an entity seen by those who travelled between dimensions.

More World Notes:

- Some of the Hermits have made contact or communicated with Higher Beings (e.g. Cub and Scar with the Vex, or EX with the ‘evil voice in his head’), but they are less powerful than the Entity.

- The Hermits are a group of interdimensional travellers. Each Season takes place on a different planet or in a similar alternate dimension

Infodump Continuation: Season Seven

Story note: Particular locations and events aren’t specific for the sake of flexibility, as the story takes place further into S7.

- Some of the Hermits reported incidents of chunk errors and missing entities. A few hours later, EX was found unconscious in front of an unfamiliar Nether portal.

    - The portal was removed for the sake of clarity within the nether hub.

- EX was brought to Xisuma’s base and his reappearance was discussed during a server meeting.

- Xisuma and Joe began to investigate the cause of the reported errors. X spent hours poring over the server’s code, and Joe started asking around some villages to see if the errors were consistent across the server.

- EX didn’t wake up for a long time. Some theorised that he was exhausted from the transition between game modes and forcing himself back onto the server. Keralis and Stress mainly watched over him, and would occasionally pop in to see if he was okay. Sometimes they found him tossing and turning, but he only somewhat responded to outside stimulus.

- Joe returned, and EX woke up a few hours later. After a well needed shower and hot meal, Joe took him in and asked him to explain what happened. EX gave his ‘statement’, and began to help Joe with the investigation.

    - EX talked a lot about consistent nightmares and how the dark presence didn’t go away, even if he was on the server. In fact, it seemed to whisper to him now.

- EX spent the next week or so trying to adjust to living in the Overworld. Everything was too bright and dark at the same time and called attention to itself. Sometimes he felt that the air was too full of particles. Sounds were louder than they had the right to be.

- While EX was recovering from his time in exile, the investigation was mostly reading written tomes of folklore and reports of errors in libraries.

- EX continued to suffer from frequent nightmares, and it got to the point where he was hesitant to sleep, and tried to stay awake for as long as possible. It didn’t help. Joe found him sleepwalking and muttering about searching for something, but couldn’t make out what he was searching for.

- EX grew increasingly worried about the dark presence and voices he heard in his dreams, and freaked out a bit when Joe told him about the sleepwalking. Joe offered to lock the door to EX’s room from the outside- it might not have directly helped with the problem, but it helped him feel more at ease.

[stellar-alley]

•The One Where They're Soulmates•

A Reddie Oneshot

Summary: In a world where the first words that your soulmate says to you are written somewhere on your body. And Richie and Eddie are cursed with some of the weirdest first words ever.

~

Eddie Kaspbrak was your average teen living in a not so average world. It was similar to the Earth we know and live on, except for one crucial thing. Every human gets a phrase magically tattooed onto a random part of their body on their 16th birthday. But these are not just random words, they're the first words that your soulmate says to you. It doesn't say who says them or when they're said... All it says is their first words to you.

Eddie was cursed with the shittiest first words, ever.

The memory is clear in his mind. The boy stayed up all night, waiting until exactly 5:16 am, his exact time of birth. He waited to see the words appear. When the time came, he didn't feel anything, no searing pain as they burned into his skin or any wiser about love.

Anxiously, he ran to the bathroom to scan his entire body for the first words. Frantically examing his arms and torso before reaching his legs, his thighs. The words appeared on the inside of his left thigh, perfectly in the middle. And there they were, in neat and precise calligraphy.

Fuck me gently with a chainsaw

"You've gotta be shitting me".

For the next year, he wore pants, even on the hottest days of summer. He only dared to wear shorts going no shorter than his knees, in fear of them sliding up and revealing his embarrassing words.

Who the hell even says that?

Eddie then did some intense research to find out that it's a line from the 1989 movie, Heathers. And Eddie refused to watch it, thinking that it was stupid.

Why are the first words that my soulmate says to me a fucking movie reference?

And Eddie kept wondering these thoughts, for a whole year. His mother always seemed irritated whenever he mentioned his soulmate. He knew why... The words pissed her off. She interrogated him as soon as he told her what they were (Which he tried to hide from her, but failed). Asking questions like: "What does this mean?", "Why are they saying this to you?", "Do you have a fetish for chainsaws?", "EDDIE BEAR? ARE YOU HAVING PREMARITAL UNSAFE SEX?". He tried to answer each question as truthfully as he possibly could. She grew angry, which caused Eddie to fill with worry and fear. It wasn't his fault his soulmate was pouty mouth who was a fan of shitty 80's movies. He didn't have a choice...

But he grew to accept these words on his skin. He often found himself awake during the late hours of the night, simply tracing the words, letter for letter with his index finger. It soothed him. Just the thought of how he has a soulmate always calmed his nerves. That there was someone out there who would love him unconditionally. The idea warmed his heart and filled his stomach with butterflies.

Before Eddie turned 17 he realized that he wasn't as straight as he thought he was. It had been something he'd been thinking about ever since he kissed Suzie Henderson during his freshman homecoming dance, and hated it. She was a nice girl and all, cute even. But there was nothing there, no spark, no butterflies, and certainly no mention of any chainsaws. So he knew it wasn't her, but if it wasn't her then who was it? Any time his friends talked about the latest issue of Playboy or some female superhero with extra cleavage, the brunette always found himself uncomfortable and never giving his true opinion. He'd simply make a joke and laugh it off, hoping no one noticed how he barely glanced at the female's body, instead, focusing on her facial features and the way her hair flowed.

Then, on the day of his seventeenth birthday, he mentioned some fake friend that was gay to his mother. He wanted to see how she would react, so he could come out. He was surprised, to say the least. She acted as if the friend had killed someone, saying random things about how it's a sin and that they weren't created to like the same sex. Those words broke Eddie's heart. As he knew now he could never truly come out to her since he wouldn't be accepted.

After an hour of silent sobs, he knew that he needed to get out of this hell house as soon as possible. So he slowly got off his bed, shuffling into the bathroom and closing the door behind him so Sonia wouldn't be able to see her son wipe away the tears on his bright red cheeks.

I knew she'd react like this... She's always hated the gays. I don't know why I thought I'd be the exception, maybe since I'm her son and she claims to love me more than anything else. If my own mother can't accept me... then who would?

That thought lingered in Eddie's mind as he threw a sweater on and slipped his sneakers onto his feet. Sonia had already passed out on the couch since it was 10 pm. Realizing the time, Eddie wondered where he'd go at that time of night. His stomach ached from the lack of food. After his mother's response to the gay question, he had lost his appetite and barely touched his food at dinner.

Eddie quietly slipped out the door and into the cool night air. It filled his lungs and cleared his mind, slightly. But the thought of his newfound sexuality still clouded his vision. He walked down the street, going deeper into the city.

With no earbuds to listen to music, Eddie simply let the sounds of his surroundings be his melody. The rustling of the trees, the wind that blew by every now and then, the distant sound of car honks, and the sound of water trickling down into the sewers. He didn't let his mind focus too much on where the water was travelling, as the idea of the sewers disgusted him. All of that piss and shit, the greywater...  He literally shuddered at the thought.

He barely even noticed that he'd already walked by his favourite pizza place. It was called John's. Named after the man who created it, John. It's a family-run business and it runs until the late hours of the night. Which was perfect for someone like Eddy who was dying to eat his feelings away.

~

Richie Tozier dreaded the day he turned 16. He couldn't stand the thought of knowing that the words that would be on his body were so much more than just letters, it's like they'd defy him. He hated not knowing anything about his soulmate or any context about their first confrontation. But he can't control the universe.

The minute the clock struck 4:16 am on March 7th, the exact time he was birthed 16 years ago the words had etched themselves onto Richie's body. He didn't want to see the words, so he didn't look... Well, he didn't intentionally look. He couldn't just not look at his body. He was kinda disappointed to see it wasn't on his wang... but he had no control over where it ended up. After two weeks of showering and catching himself staring in the mirror, he wondered if he even had his first words.

What if I don't even have a soulmate?

Mostly everyone's first words were in plain sight, on their arms, shines, knees sometimes faces, and the most common, the wrists. But he couldn't see his, and he didn't want to start looking for it in fear of being let down. But during one sleepless night, he dragged himself out of bed in a curious daze and stood in front of his mirror, and began searching his entire body.

Finally, he'd given up, "That's it, I'm unlovable" he declared to his reflection. He ran his hands through his knotted curls, gripping the ends. He kept his hands there and tilted his head to the side, unable to keep looking at his reflection. A moment had passed before he slowly let his eyes look back at himself through the mirror, but still tilting his head to the side. That's when he noticed a little mark behind his ear.

Suddenly Richie jumped into action, pushing all of his hair to the side, pulling at his ear to get a better view. But the temple of his glasses was in the way (The temple is the part of the glasses that rests on the ear). So Richie tossed his glasses off, plopping them onto the counter, but he realized he couldn't see shit so he put them back on.

He let out a sigh of frustration while he examined the items on the counter beside him. One of his mother's hairbands caught his eye. "Genius!" Richie muttered under his breath, snatching up the hairband and going to work on tying his curls into a small, and weak ponytail. It looked like shit but it did the job, it kept his hair up and away from his ears.

With his hair out of the way, Richie went to work. He used one hand to move his ear out of the way and his other hand to move the temple of his glasses up so he'd be able to read the words inscribed on his head.

Fuck, I hate change

That's all there was, short and sweet. Richie didn't know what to do with this information. Once he double-checked, and triple checked, he needed to know for sure that's what it said. He slipped back into his room and retrieved his phone from his bed before going back into the bathroom. It took countless tries to get the picture where his ear was out of the way and his glasses weren't blocking it. But he hadn't read it wrong, that's what his words really were.

"'Fuck, I hate change'. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Change... Like me? They hate me changing?" Nothing made sense.

Richie assumed that the change meant the way he changed, somehow... So Richie kept things the same. He used the same old cheesy jokes and wore the same old Hawaiian shirts. He didn't mind though, he liked the way things were when things were normal.

~

(The time probably isn't gonna match up with their birthday's and everything but it's fine. Don't come at me)

Richie was now 17 and gay. Which he discovered after his countless jokes about fucking moms and other girls, that really had no further message, it was a joke, that's all it was. He never joked about doing it with his friends or their fathers, because those were the ones he could see himself liking. (That probably sounds weird, too bad!)

Richie thought about repressing his feelings until... well until they disappeared, or death. But during a steamy game of Truth or Dare with the Losers, he was outed when he refused to kiss one of his best friends, Beverly Marsh. He couldn't. He also couldn't do that to his other good friend Ben, who was obviously in love with her.

The good thing was, the Losers accepted him. They didn't treat him differently or poke and joke about it, life continued on as normal, which was what Richie wanted. After the whole Truth or Dare incident, he grew closer to Beverly. The two had a similar sense of humour and spent a good amount of time together already as they were smoking buddies.

The two loved to watch classic movies together. They'd critique the acting and storylines. Then use iconic lines from the movies as inside jokes later on in conversation. One of their favourite movies to watch was Heathers, the movie as well as the musical.

There were countless days where Richie would be sad or depressed, and Beverly would always try to comfort him. But during the times when things were particularly tough, she'd always slowly start singing 'Candy Store' From Heathers the musical. Slowly getting more and more into it, until she actually put the song on.

"Are we gonna have a problem?" She began, Richie immediately picking up on what she was doing.

"Bev not now...".

But she ignored him "You've got a bone to pick?".

And it always worked out that by the time the chorus rang out through her phone, Richie would be right up there with her. Both of them belting out the lyrics, singing the pain away.

~

It was a little after 10 pm on a Saturday night. Richie's friends, the Losers, were all out at the movies without him, since he had to work. Richie worked at his family's pizza diner, John's. Which was named after his late grandfather, John. Saturday nights were usually pretty busy, but that night was different, slower. It was only Richie and his cousin Sarah working that night. Richie was folding pizza boxes in the backroom while Sarah maned the cash.

"We really need to fix this" Sarah called out to Richie. He poked his head out from the backroom to see her motioning to the cash register and the sharp piece of metal that stuck out from the corner.  That piece had been there for god knows how long. It was created when the corner of the cash register cracked and chipped off, leaving a sharp piece of metal in its place. So whenever they opened the cash trey part of the register, they had to make sure to keep there arms/hands elevated or away from that corner, cause it can draw blood.

"I've been saying that since I came out of the fucking whom" Richie shrugged, "Just put some tape over it like everyone else" he suggested before going back into the backroom.

The chiming of the bell above the door indicated that a customer had just entered the diner. "Howdy hey, welcome to John's pizzeria, what can I do for you today?" Sarah tried her best to give a genuine smile as the customer approached the counter.

Eddie gave her a weak smile before responding, "hmm... Can I get a small Hawaiin, please?".

Eddie had 15 dollars and some coins in his fanny pack that was around his waist. He never left his house without it, since he was prone to asthma attacks and that's where he kept his inhaler, among other things, as well as some spare cash. The small brunette was also pretty hungry so he could want a full pizza for himself.

Sarah nodded, punching the order into the cash register, "Okay that will be $17.50" she told the customer.

Eddie handed over $15 in cash and began rummaging around his fanny pack for the rest of the money. "One moment, please" He mumbled.

"I'll be right back with your pizza" Sarah informed him as she turned to go make the pizza. On her way to the back, she poked her head into the back room where Richie had begun watching videos on his phone. "Hey, go get the rest of the money from that customer, I gotta go make a Hawaiian", she told her cousin before heading off. Richie sighed and rolled his kneck.

Who the hell likes pineapple on their pizza?

He thought as he pocketed his phone and made his way over to the main counter where the customer was standing on the opposite side. He had fairly straight brown hair, but Richie couldn't make out his facial features since he had his head tilted down, looking through his fanny pack.

Eddie didn't notice the other boy approach the counter, too lost in thought, trying to mentally calculate the number of coins he needed and how much he had. If there was one thing he hated, it was counting and calculating change.

"Fuck, I hate change" Eddie muttered a little louder then he should have. He had finally found the right amount of change.

Right after Eddie finished his sentence, Richie clicked the button to open the bottom part of the cash register which holds the money. The words the costumer said had struck a chord, deep inside of Richie, causing his arms to sag a little as his mind began to wonder.  As the cash trey slide out, the sharp little piece of metal collided with Richie's right arm. He had forgotten to move his arms.

The metal made a cut in the boy's forearm, clean and precise, blood immediately escaping the wound. Pain sliced through Richie's arm as he let out a little yelp, grunt, thingy. His eyes immediately went down to his arm, which he began to grip.

He tried not to groan at the pain but his mouth got the best of him, "Fuck, me gently with a chainsaw" He cursed heavily, unaware of the movie reference he had just made.

Suddenly the customer spoke up, "What?" Their voice filled with shock.

"WHAT?" Richie roared, the pain caused him to lash out.

"W-What did you say?" Eddie's voice was suddenly filled with worry.

Is he alright? Holly shit he's bleeding. oh my god

Richie tried to not sound too mad, "huh? Oh, it's a fucking movie reference from-"

"Heathers," The two said at the same time. They both made eyecontact at that moment. Suddenly everything clicked, they both realized what the other had said. The two had the same thought.  

Is he my soulmate?

The idea clouded both of their heads, but Eddie had to quickly push the thought away, this guy was bleeding and needed help. Their undying love was gonna have to wait. With that, the brunette rushed around the counter and dumped the contents of his fanny pack onto a clear spot on the counter.

Richie took a step back, unaware of what the boy was gonna do, "What the hell are you doing?".

"Fixing up your damn arm, look!" Eddie motioned to the blood that was now dripping onto the floor.

Richie could feel his legs get a little wobbly, only now realizing how much blood he'd lost. "S-Shit" He wobbled towards the counter for extra support, as he got a little light-headed.

(There isn't that much blood, I'm making this sound way too extreme)

Eddie ripped open a portable packet that contained a disinfectant wipe. He noticed that his patient's gaze had glazed over, so he rushed to his side.

"Hey man, you okay?" Eddie reached out to grab Richie's arm, catching his attention. Eddie reached out and grabbed Richi's chin, positioning it down to make sure he was looking at him.

"I-I think so" Only then did he notice how much shorter the customer was compared to himself, even tho Rich was pretty sure they were the same age. The realization caused a light smile to spread across his face.

Eddie went to work on cleaning up the wound and disinfecting it. When he looked up at the wounded boy he saw the smile spread across his face, he furrowed his brow which only made Richie begin to laugh, "What? What's so funny?", Eddie stopped to glare.

"Y-You're just so, small! And cute..." He continued to giggle as the shorter one rolled his eyes.

"Wow, I try to help and this is the thanks I get"

"Hey! I called you cute too" Richie's arm got pulled by Eddie since he needed a better look at the cut.

"Yeah, thanks" Eddie's tone was sarcastic but he tilted his head down. He made it seem like he needed to look closer at the wound when he was really hiding his rosy cheeks.

In the end, Eddie patched Richie up with some paper towels and bandaids.

Sarah re-entered the main part of the diner with the pizza box in hand. To her surprise, she saw the costumer and her cousin sat side by side on the floor. With their backs leaning against the counter and their shoulders beside each other. She also noticed how their pinky fingers were crossed together, something small and cute.

Richie explained everything to Sarah. The money, the cut, the blood, he even dropped a little hint about them being soulmates. He told his cousin how he wanted, he needed, alone time with this guy... his soulmate. She only needed a little push before declaring she was clocking out for the night, reminding her cousin to close down before he left.

Returning to the diner he found his little doctor had taken a seat in one of the booths they had near the window. He'd already started on his second piece of pizza by the time Richie made his way over to him.

"Do you mind?" Richie asked, gesturing to the open booth.

"Be my guest" To Eddie's surprise, his patient didn't sit in the seat across from him, instead, claiming the spot right beside him.  He tried to not smile as he readjusted his seating position so his back rested against the window and he could face the other boy.

"I'm Eddie by the way"

"Well Eddie, can I steal a slice of Za?" The other boy asked, gesturing to the open box of Hawaiian pizza with his wounded arm.

Eddie immediately wrapped his arms around the pizza box, sliding it towards himself, and away from Richie. With a small yet goofy smile plastered across his lips, he said: "Only if you tell me your name first".

"Richie... My name's Richie" Their eyes met, and suddenly there was a spark. As if a flame had been lit inside of the two that hadn't been there before. It caused the two to smile a little deeper.

Eddie pushed the box over towards Richie, "Who the hell calls pizza, Za?" he asked, half laughing, but half-seriously cause who the fuck does that?

This made Richie's jaw drop in fake shock. "I had trouble pronouncing it as a kid!" He protested while Eddie's laugh only grew stronger. The sound made Richie's heart beat a little bit faster. It was a sound that he wouldn't mind hearing for the rest of his life.

~

It had been over an hour since they finished the pizza, but they still sat facing each other in the booth, shooting questions back and forth and cracking jokes. "Okay, so where is it?" Richie asked eagerly as Eddie's smile faltered a little. "Oh come on Eds, I'm your fucking soulmate, show meeeee" he begged, dragging out the E.

"Only if you show me first!" He demanded, causing Richie to playfully roll his eyes. Without missing a beat, the trashmouth took his glasses off and leaned down, pulled his ear and pushed his hair back. Eddie sat up a little straighter as he tried to find the perfect angle to view the words above Richie's ear.

He studied the words for a moment, slowly moving his hand up and brushing his fingertips over the neat calligraphy. "Fuck I hate change" Eddie read allowed.

The touch sent shivers down Richie's spine. Eddie's touch was so soft and gentle, Richie wanted to just lean into him and melt away. He let the moment linger after Eddie lifted his finger away before letting his hair fall back into place and moving to sit normally.

"You know... I was worried about this, about you" Richie began saying something he'd never told anyone, "The whole hatting change, I always thought you hated me, and the way I've changed".

Eddie's eyes went wide with sympathy, his hand moving to rest atop of Richie's hand, "What? Rich that's crazy, I-I could never hate you" he stuttered slightly. Even though he'd only just met Richie, he knew that he wouldn't truly ever hate him, cause there was something between the two that was inseparable.  

Richie began to lean towards Eddie, "Good" was the last words that slipped from between his lips as he placed them against Eddie's soft pink lips. The kiss was light since he was unaware if Eddie wanted to kiss him so soon. He didn't want to move too quickly. But Richie couldn't seem to help himself. Their lips parted for only a moment before Eddie leaned in and kissed him back.

This time when he boy's lips parted, they let their foreheads lean against one another's. Eddie's hand slowly moved up towards Richie's face, slipping his hand up into Richie's messy curls. Positioning his fingers perfectly, so he cups the side of Richie's face while still having one of his fingers brushing against his first words, just above his ear.

Richie let his long arms dangle over Eddie's shoulders. Their breaths were synched up, low and slow, unlike their pounding heartbeats. Richie slowly moved his head and whispered to Eddie, "Okay now you have to show me...", Eddie could practically hear the smile on his lips. Actually he could feel it too since the other boy's cheek was brushing up against his own.

"Fine" Eddie smirked before turning and facing the open window. "Mind closing the blinds, I really don't want anyone seeing this" He requested. Richie nodded and slowly slid out of the booth, his hands slipping away from Eddie's, leaving him wanting more.

Once all of the blinds were closed, and no one could see this from the street. Richie then grabbed a loose chair and placed it in front of him, sitting backwards like the flamming gay he is.

Eddie glanced at him and let out a breath before slowly starting to unzip the zipper and pull his pants down. "WAIT! Shit dude at least buy me dinner first" Richie's voice was tainted with anxiety as he didn't want to go that far yet.

Eddie let go of his pants and let them fall to the ground as he slapped his forehead with his palm, a little overdramatically but it got the point across. "Jesus... Richie, I'm showing you my words not my dick" he said in a deadpan voice, he tugged the end of his shirt down, making sure it went down over his butt.

The tension quickly evaporated when Eddie moved his leg so Richie could see the words inscribed on his inner thigh. Richie was blind without his glasses but sometimes even with his glasses, so he jumped to his feet and knelt down beside Eddie. He made sure not to get too close to that area, in fear of freaking the other out.

He examined the letters, one by one before requesting to touch them, "May I?".

"S-Sure" Eddie squeaked. He anticipated for Richie to make his move when he suddenly felt his index finger move slowly over the words, stopping right when the words did, not going any farther towards that area. He was thankful. Although he knew he probably loved this boy (even though they'd just met), he wasn't ready to give himself away just yet.

"Fuck me gently with a chainsaw" The boy who knelt before the other laughed lightly to himself before standing up to meet the other's gaze.

"Yeah what the fuck dude? Do you know how many hot days I had to wear long pants cause of your dumbass?!" Eddie joked, pulling his pants back up.

"What can I say? I love my queen Heather Chandler" He simply shrugged in response.

Eddie raised a brow, "Who?".

"W-Wait, have you never seen Heathers?" Eddie shook his head, "HOLLY SHIT! You need to watch it! You literally have the most iconic line from the movie tattooed on your fucking leg" Richie exclaimed.

~

Once the two realized how late it had gotten, or early since it was now 2 am and decided to start closing up. Eddie helped with somethings as Richie's arm was still in pain and he wanted to aid. Afterwards, Richie walked Eddie home. They took their time, walking hand in hand.  

Eddie stopped right in front of his house, all of the lights were off indicating that his mother had gone to bed. Which was good so she wouldn't see what Eddie did next. He pulled the taller boy down and kissed him. A spark of passion was created that lasts a couple of moments before Eddie pulled away.

Eddie asks, "What now?", his voice was small and quiet. He looked up at Richie and with the help of the streetlamp above them, the light shined perfectly over his face causing his brown eyes to become pools of gold.

"Well, I usually jerk off for about an hour when I get home-". Eddie jokingly gasped and lightly punched Richie's arm.

"No asshat, us... What happens to us?" Eddie asks again, this time with a little bit more seriousness.

"Well... I don't know what to tell you Eds. But whatever it is, we'll do it together" Richie smiled as Eddie's eyes filled with hope and wonder.

"Really?"

"Yes! Of course. We're soulmates baby! It'll be you and me for the rest of time" And with that, they kissed again, and again and again.

Word Count 4784

Ah! I had so much fun writing this one shot, I hope you guys enjoyed it as much as I did.

I have so many more ideas and I'm so excited to share them with you.

Until next time

So long and Goodnight.

[ego-sum-id-quod-cantum-ludere]

WHAT IT'S LIKE TO LIVE IN AN OLD PEOPLE'S APARTMENT BUILDING

Holy shit, I haven't even been living in here for two months, and I'm going to be living here for at least another five. All I want to do here is make myself bedridden because that's the only thing that can go okay.

Before I get into this, I would like to say this for context: My dad decided that the pandemic was the best time to sell the house that I grew up in, and so he did. He wanted my two siblings and me to live with him in this apartment building meant for the elderly, but four people can't fit in an apartment for two. So we tried getting a double for my sister and me, but there weren't any available. The only available space was the common room that was being unused because of the pandemic. So that's where we're living.

THOUGH ADVICE IS HELPFUL, THIS POST IS MOSTLY FOR VENTING!

PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DON'T TELL US TO GET A JOB OR GET A DIFFERENT APARTMENT OR ASK WHERE MOM IS BECAUSE YOU DON'T KNOW OUR SITUATION, AND THIS IS ONLY A SMALL PORTION OF THE PROBLEM WE'VE BEEN PUT IN!

Now that that's out of the way, these are the problems that have occurred thus far:

1. Old people trying to break in.

I swear to God, the next time a Boomer with dementia tries to break in the room, I'm going to flip my shit.

Just today, there was an old lady who tried to break in THREE times. She got in successfully once because we had to leave the door unlocked for the workers to get in and try to fix the problems we were having with the pipe. The first thing she did was TAKE OFF HER MASK! The second thing she did was ask if there were other people in here, and my sister and I said, "No, we live here now." And then, she nearly brought herself to tears over her story of how she likes the piano and her father was a professional pianist, and that she misses the people. And we had to say, "Sorry, but we live here now" and send her on her way. Because we live here now. So then she leaves and we lock the door.

If we had left the piano open, or if she noticed the keyboard behind me, she NEVER would have left!

NOT EVEN FIVE MINUTES LATER, she returns to our door and tries to unlock the door with her keys!

We've told the owner multiple times about this since people try to break in almost every day, but the problem is that no matter how many times he tells all the old people that we live here, there will always be at least one person that forgets and tries to break in, and there's nothing we can do about it.

Also, as I was writing this post, someone else tried to break in (or maybe it was the same person trying to break in) YET AGAIN!

And then after my siblings and I had dinner, someone tried the handle on the doorknob FOUR  SEPARATE TIMES! With a total of NINE TIMES that this has happened in one day, it has been a new personal record. Usually, it has only been once or twice a day.

2. AC problems

Bugs can easily get in the building through the vents when the AC is turned off. One time, a wasp got in here.

The filters only get replaced once a year. As far as I know from previously living in a home with an HVAC system, the filters are supposed to be replaced every 1 to 3 months.

You can't put things up against or near the vents, otherwise problems will occur.

The AC has leaked before. Thankfully, there were little to no damages, but now I'm afraid to leave it on for long periods of time.

3. THE MAIN PIPE OF THE BUILDING IS EXTREMELY CLOGGED, and it just so happens that the young folks here are the ones to notice something going on.

When we first moved in, we noticed a puddle of dirty water coming up from the bathtub drain, and we didn’t know where it was coming from or why it was happening. So we called someone in to examine it, and all he said was that they knew of this problem but didn’t want to do anything to fix it. So we had to accept that this was a problem that couldn’t be fixed (or that the owner didn’t want to fix it).

From then on, we assumed that the water came from one of our neighbors. We tried ways to bypass this issue while we were taking a shower, such as leaving the drain closed, and letting the water from the shower fill up the tub a bit before opening the drain. However, there was still dirty water coming up at times, and we don’t know why.

LAST NIGHT, however, we heard a strange bubble coming from the kitchen sink, and it turned out that the dirty water that would usually come up in the bathtub WAS FILLING UP THE SINK! So we had to call someone about this, and they came in this morning to check it out. They tried using a plunger in the sink, but more water kept coming up the garbage disposal. That’s when they realized that THE WHOLE PLUMBING SYSTEM IN THE BUILDING WAS CLOGGED! THE MAIN PIPE WAS CLOGGED! So now they have to figure out how to unclog the main pipe. That will be an update for a later time.

Update: apparently, this exact same problem happened a few years ago! This clearly shows how fucked-up the plumbing system is in this building - that the MAIN pipe of the building gets clogged EVERY FEW YEARS!

Update 2: The sink bubbled up again and now has more water in it.

4. The owner is shady as fuck.

The owner of the building is the original owner’s grandson. Ok, cool, he got a family business going. That’s cool and all, but why does his personality creep me out so much?

When he first met me, he thought that I was the mom, that I was the one running the show. But I’m not the mom, and I’m not even the one “running the show”. He knows full well that my dad was the one who decided to make my siblings and me live in a Boomer building, and my sister (bless her soul) is the one who is taking care of my brother and me (but it’s not like my dad will ever acknowledge that).

The way he talks is very strange, too, as if he’s trying to coo force me to be comfortable. And he blows me kisses too, like wtf? I understand doing that to your grandson, but doing that to a stranger, let alone a grown-ass adult is creepy.

He also has immigrant workers, which is not inherently bad, but on the day we were moving in, he showed my dad a text of one of the workers being deported back to the Dominican Republic. So either the immigrant workers are there undocumented or they did have a Visa or green card that expired and the owner didn’t let them renew their Visa/green card. If it’s the latter, then holy shit that’s fucked up. Also, I wonder how well they’re being treated in general when they’re working, or how much they get paid compared to other non-immigrant workers (oh wait, they can’t figure that out because we live in a culture that refuses to let their workers talk about their salaries in fear of demanding better wages, whoops).

5. The Wifi breaks every so often.

It’s not as big of a deal as the others on here, but it is annoying.

There’s constantly been construction going on in the street adjacent to the apartment building, and one time the cable got cut out. It took a few hours for the problem to be fixed.

It’ll be more annoying if the Wifi breaks while I’m trying to attend classes on Zoom or doing homework.

6. Other general bug problems

The bugs that my sister and I get are mostly mosquitoes, gnats, and other flies. In my dad’s apartment, where my brother sleeps, there are big black beetles everywhere! We don’t know if they’re cockroaches or not, but he gets many of them flying and crawling in his room every night, and he has to lose hours upon hours of sleep whacking these bugs with a fly swatter until they’re dead. And once he kills one, another starts flying around. We have no idea where these ones are coming from either.

In conclusion, this apartment building is very problematic, and the only reason why other people haven’t complained about the problems of this building is that they’re old and are less likely to notice or care about these problems. I wouldn’t be surprised if the walls have asbestos in them. Unfortunately, I have to be stuck here for at least another five months, maybe more if this pandemic rages on for decades (thanks in no part to the government - oh, whoops, I’m not supposed to say that, lol).

If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading this post. Again, this post was mostly for venting, but some helpful advice on how to get out of this situation (or at least not feel like I’m suffering so much) would be appreciated.

If you’re living in a similar situation as I am, I do have one piece of advice for you - don’t go to Quora and anonymously ask questions. They WILL bully you.

[mxrcayong]

the avatar series: 01.07

masterlist

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chapter seven

How many missed calls can someone get before they’re presumed dead? Surely more than five. But on the same day of her leaving and not returning home, the fifth call was the moment Doyoung and Johnny declared Tari either kidnapped or dead. 

They spent the whole night pacing - contacting Kilari and Sonan to people who normally just walk past their street. It’d be surprising if someone didn’t know she was missing. Sonan, having come over to make them some food to ensure they’re taking care of themselves, swore that if they paced the room one more time - the floor will fall from underneath them due to being overused. 

The one time Doyoung wants Johnny’s jokes to be true seemed to fail him as he prayed that Tari can read his mind. She’d be flooded with messages and pleads for her to come home, Doyoung only thinking that he needs her around. 

Johnny was usually a happy-go-lucky guy, temperamental for humor’s sake by only acting mad. But this time he was infuriated - not with Tari, but himself. Did Tari know I was investigating her? Is that why she disappeared? He thought, disappointed in himself. However, he knows Tari isn’t blameless. Mixed with his guilty concious, he was scrutinizing Tari; this is not the time to go silent on us.

Seven days later and Tari has yet to return home. She has yet to come in, rambling about her day. The apartment felt haunted by the ghost of her presence; the dishes left unwashed, the conversations with less banter but the silence for Tari to speak. It was weird - they missed even the things they hated; Johnny missed her teasing and Doyoung missed her terrible karaoke as she sings in the shower. 

The journalist has reached out to anyone and everyone - especially his correspondents and colleagues with connections to the local police force. His logic is that if she isn’t in jail or reported as dead, she’d be here in no time. But no time has become seven days and Doyoung is only becoming more skeptical of Johnny’s belief. 

Hearing the door open, Johnny and Doyoung look up with hope it was her- a hope thats fleeting day by day. It was Sonan; who started staying with them when she noticed they forgot to eat the second day of waiting for Tarri. Its’ the best I can do right now, Sonan had told her self as she fought through her sense of helplessness.  “Any news?” She inquired, her arms overflowing with groceries to stock up their supplies. 

Sonan and Johnny have designated themselves as the errand people. Not only is Doyoung still suffering from PTSD nightmares, but he’s now also paranoid about the fate of his best friend. If anything startles him, he may accidentally bend air as a self-defense reflex. They can’t risk him bending out of the bounds of the recently assigned ‘designated bending zones’.  

The world around them has normalised the anti-benders now. They started going by the name of Equalists, the government coining the term in a press conference the other day. But largely, the topic is now just a fact of life. It’s not to the extremes where if a bender bends, they get arrested or benders are outlawed. It’s more if a bender bends in a non-designated zone, they can be detained or surveilled for multiple days to months. 

Her question was responded with two sad and small movements of the head, shaking left to right as they tell her the answer she didn’t want to hear. “Can she just answer the freaking phone right now?” Johnny exclaimed, letting a fraction of his frustration seep through a bit. 

They’ve all been good at containing their emotions - keeping solemn faces, trying to be hopeful, and refusing to show any sign of weakness. For Johnny, he’s doing it to protect Doyoung from a lack of hope while Doyoung is doing it to convince his friends he’s not fragile. Sonan’s doing it because if she lets her guard down, who’ll take care of those two? 

Did she get kidnapped? Sonan thought to herself. Tari was always good at responding, or at least giving a heads up. She’s reliable - Sonan knows that. “You don’t think that-?”

“No.” Johnny interjected, “She’s fine. She’ll be fine.” He insisted. It’s how he’s trying to get through this right now. If he can convince everyone else, maybe then he can convince himself. 

“Why can’t we just report a missing persons again?” Sonan was tired. It’s not like they can go out looking for her - Sooman is humongous. It’s one of the biggest cities, hence why it’s the capital, of the United Republic. She felt hopeless and lost, and didn’t know what would be beneficial. 

“Because,” Johnny answered with an attitude, his voice cutting like a knife all whilst treating her like a child who still cannot read. “If they find her and find out she’s a bender, they may arrest her or monitor her.” The frustrated journalist fell back onto the couch, his elbows resting on his knees as he hunched into his palms. “We just don’t want to risk anything.” His voice suddenly became small and fragile, Sonan feeling guilty for having brought it up. 

The eldest of them took a step back; she knew Johnny and Doyoung would be especially frustrated. They lived with her. Everything around them is something they’re familiar seeing Tari with; from her favorite mug to the handle of the sink. She, instead of retaliating, took a deep breath. “I’ll message my trainees to see if they’ve seen anything again.” 

Sooman is huge, but all of Tari’s friends together cover all the major neighbourhoods.

 “I’ll call Kilari.” Doyoung commented. Kilari has been practically forced to stay home by her parents - she’s a known bender, her whole family is. It’s the disadvantages of being a fire sage. They’re not expecting her to have seen her - although they do expect Kilari to be sneaking out on the daily, but if Tari doesn’t text the people in the room, she’d be the one she’d talk to. 

“I’ll check with my colleagues again.” Johnny sighed. Everyone was glued to their phones, patiently waiting and waiting for any news for Tari. To aid this, the TV was the only consistent noise in the house. The news reports played in the background like white noise, the group only listening in if they mention bending or hear a name thats at all similar to Tari. 

Sonan has never had a group of friends like she had now. She grew up with friends who constantly left or moved away, only with her because they could meet members of Team Avatar. When her parents passed away, she lost everyone who said they would always be there. She made it her duty to take care of everyone – hence why she offers free self-defense lessons once a month using the Kyoshi Warrior techniques her mother passed down. It took her a while; but when she met Kilari and Tari, she felt supported again. They didn’t care she was related to Suki or Sokka, Katara or Aang – they cared that she was Sonan. Her heart felt full for the first time in ages.

The airbender always says he can never forget how he met Tari. Doyoung had crashed into her at the café on his way back home after a particularly long day. He offered to dry her off. Instead of reacting weirdly or badly to the wind hitting her shirt, she enjoyed it - playing out dramatic scenes, reducing any awkwardness between them and showing comfort with air bending. Doyoung knew Tari was someone special right then and there. He didn’t doubt wanting to become her roommate within five months of knowing each other (partially also because his own roommate was moving and he didn’t want to live by himself). 

He then brought her to Johnny’s studio one day when they were deciding to hang out. Johnny had practically forced Doyoung to come visit, saying he needed help with an article. When Tari entered, Johnny found butterflies in his stomach at the sight of Tari being shy. Once Johnny got her to open up, she said some amazing and eloquent things - full of trivia and wisdom, all while open to many different perspectives. He was enamored by her and knew no photograph could ever capture her accurately, no matter how amazing the photographer is. “I like you” Johnny had said, “Can you read over all my articles?” He teased, before accidentally knocking over his bottle of water - which Tari bended before it could hit the floor and spill everywhere.

That was just slightly over two years ago. They all wanted to spend more time with her. There was so much to do; from following their normal board game traditions, celebrating Christmas together, going sailing around Aang’s statue. If that was the last time they saw her, Johnny chastised her for coming home late and Doyoung wasn’t even awake. 

It seemed as if their hearing was extra sensitive, exclusive of Doyoung who has been airbending sound to try and listen in to the smallest sounds on the street. Every step radiating from the staircase in their apartment echoing one another, a false promise of Tari coming home. But her footstep was more dainty and clumsy as she fumbled with the keys - it’s what they learnt from living with her for almost a year and a half. 

Sometimes, they swore they saw Tari turn the corner holding up a bag of leftover bakery items from the café or with a stupid hat on to make them laugh. Like ghosts repeating the same action over and over again, they followed their routine; constantly  checking any application or message, expecting a response in milliseconds. But it doesn’t help that it’s been seven days.

And it’s been way too many missed calls.

And too many texts left unread.

Hope was a power - a power that’s fleeting with time.

That’s the funny thing about hope, it differs with times and contexts. Hope can disappear over time or in an instant. But hope can be regained equally as fast or slow.

And with the clinking of keys from the outside, everyone seemed to gather at the door.

A soft “fuck” and profanities left the person struggling with their keys, as if the keys were covered in butter.

Johnny and his fast reflexes waited no longer once he heard the voice and unlocked the door. However, Doyoung was the first to wrap his arms around the same bender whose presence was a blessing. 

“Where the fuck were you?” Johnny finally released the emotions he’s been holding back for seven days, wrapping his arms around the two as relief washed over him. Sonan soon joined. It was as if a dam has been broken; all of them tearing up at the miraculous presence of their best friend.

Tari let out a dry chuckle, “I missed you guys too, what’s up?” She said confused, trying to pull herself away but only trapped under the grasp of the three friends.

“You were gone.” Johnny pried himself from the hug, dumbstruck at how clueless Tari was. Was she brainwashed? He thought, remembering the tales of Ba Sing Se where they would hypnotize people to think everything was alright in an attempt to cover up the corruption. 

“For 7 days.” Doyoung emphasized before clinging on tighter. 

“Firstly, I’m finding it hard to breathe.” Doyoung let his grasp on her looser, and Johnny and Sonan let go completely. They stood back and just stared at her - trying to catch their breath. Johnny’s heart was beating miles per minute at the sight of her, while Sonan’s finally calmed down. Being in their embrace felt comforting. She knew that although Ba Mei was her home, being with them felt like her destiny.  “Secondly, I don’t know what you mean, it was -” Tari looked around, noticing the mess of the apartment that definitely couldn’t happen over two days. 

“What happened to you?” Sonan quickly asked, filling in any potential silence and interrupting her thoughts. “How-why-what-why do you not remember thing?” She fumbled with her words, unsure what to ask or how to ask it. How do you avoid triggering a friend when you don’t know what they experienced?

Shit, everyone could see Tari’s eyes dart around the room. They think it’s panic or trauma, but in reality – she’s trying to think of any excuse that came to mind. What could validate 7 days gone? What could explain…? This assumption of trauma led Sonan to sprint over to the throw blanket on the couch, and throw it over Tari’s shoulders. 

In reality, Tari stayed in Bak Mei. She thought it was only two days – something she could excuse with visiting her aunt outside the city. This aunt, of course, was a story – something she’d tell them when she had to go to her monthly training. She thought it was only two days because she stayed in the Spirit World and focused on her spiritual identity. Being in the Spirit World felt like an hour at most, but maybe because she was finally interested in it. She didn’t hate being in there and she gave herself tasks. In hindsight, she realised the dark forests was probably not a result of the heavy cover of trees - but rather night time. So, while she thought she was in the Spirit World for a maximum of a day, she was there for about five.. No wonder I felt so hungry, she thought as she remembered the feast Tari practically breathed in. 

“Uhm,” Fuck it, stay with the usual story. “I stayed with my aunt.”

“Why didn’t you text us back?” Johnny was quick to ask, skeptical and annoyed. “You should’ve texted us, we were worried si-”

“Uhm,” She interuppted again searched for excuses but hating confrontation. The cover stories of Aunt ‘Yuel’ coming forward as she tried to peace together a reasonable story. “She went a little bezerk and I was in the hospital. I forgot my phone charger.” Tari gauged their reactions – none of them particularly believing it. But with a desperate look on her face, Sonan realised the group was only pressuring her. 

“Okay, well, who cares?” Sonan exclaimed, dragging Tari to the table. “You’re back and thats all that matters.”

“Is your grandmother alright?” Doyoung couldn’t let go of Tari’s arm, even as Sonan led her to the dining table. He was like a koala. 

It’s been hours.

Hours and hours of Tari being coddled like a child, not let go of as if they let go – she’ll disappear into ash. Even Johnny’s skepticism has melted away and his hands have practically been tattooed into Tari’s hands and or the small of her back – constantly using his thumb to soothe her, even if he was the one that need to be soothed. It was as if he needed to remind himself she was there and she was alive. Doyoung would refuse to be in a separate room from Tari, not wanting her out of her sight while Sonan kept offering her different treats or drinks.

Despite their affection, she told herself that if she revealed her identity - they’d be kicking her out of the house. 

Tari was updated about what happened over the last week; the protests have been dying down, but that’s because the police has been actively arrested any bender who ‘acted out of turn’. The gym area was under lock and key, like a deserted island. Police is more frequent on the streets. Basically, life was being monitored – especially the life of a bender. Benders can still bend, it’s just that when they do in a non-designated area  – well...punishment ensues. 

But once the updates were over, they went into a comfortable silence only disturbed by the movie on the screen. They don’t care how tired she was; they rather her fall asleep on the couch with them than alone in her room. 

Until the screen changed and an announcement rang through the room.

“All benders require to be registered as benders in the city hall, all benders identities will be revealed, and all benders will have to wear a monitor bracelet that tracks their movement and stops their bending.” The mayor alerted, surrounded by the press. That seemed to separate Johnny from Tari as he jumped to his feet, yelling at the news. “I open this up to my colleague, Senator Zhong.”

Senator Zhong stepped onto stage. “I have spoken to the Equalist party leader-” At the mention of the equalist party, Johnny was outraged at the government being influenced by a conservative political group with no relation to the actual government. To Tari’s surprise, Doyoung joined him.  She’s never seen Doyoung temperamental or non-understanding. He always played the mediator. But then again he had a rough week…well, month, Tari corrected her thoughts, still not used to the idea she was gone for 7 days. 

“It is for the protection of the non-benders, who are disadvantaged. Looking at the history, people were only able to bend when they were entering the Spirit Wilds. But these dangers no longer exist. Needless to say and to shorten this speech,” Senator Zhong started to summarize, “all benders have to register their identity and be given a monitor band that will be completed by next month or else they will be subject to jail time and exile. We also urge the Avatar to unveil their identity. They are required for the next steps..” The way he said urge showed that it wasn’t a request…it was a threat.

request anything for future parts / penny for your thoughts here

[cabbagebender]

[header reposted from this post by @ao3commentoftheday​, with permission]

The following excerpt is from an April Fool’s Day VLD fic I started last March, and am considering finishing up for this April 1st.

The context: Team Voltron is spending a week of vacation at Shiro’s cousin’s very nice mountain lodge house. They have one conference meeting that happens to fall on April 1st, but other than that, they have the week off.

“I was up early,” Pidge said, “so I set up the dining room as a conference space.”

“What does that mean?” Lance asked. 

“Like I tested the equipment and set out stuff to take notes.”

“That's old-school of you,” Shiro said.

“What can I say, even I get nostalgic sometimes.” 

Shiro laughed as he walked into the dining room. “Oh.”

Each seat had a sheet of colored construction paper and a blunt crayon in front of it. 

Hunk chuckled. “Nice one.”

Pidge glowed with pride.

Allura sat down in her chair and picked up the crayon with some interest. 

“What is this?”

“It's–” Keith began, but Pidge grabbed his arm, gesturing at him to shush. Keith frowned at her, but didn't keep talking.

Romelle picked hers up as well and inspected the label. “It says it's a… cray-on.”

“Whatever that is.” Allura turned around to the others. “Are you not going to tell us?”

“I like seeing you figure it out,” Pidge said. 

Alura sighed and returned to examining the crayon. 

“Oh, there – look,” she said after a moment, leaning towards Romelle. “It says Wild Strawberry. That's an Earth fruit. What does yours say?” 

Romelle turned the crayon. “Cotton Candy.”

“Flavors?” Allura suggested.

“Maybe they're like those candy canes,* Romelle said. 

“Oh, no,” Hunk muttered.

“The packaging does look similar,” Allura took the edge of the paper wrapping and pulled it down.

“Wait, Allura, no–” Pidge cried out, but it was too late – Allura had already stuck the crayon in her mouth and taken a tentative bite. Romelle immediately followed suit.

“Hoooly quiznack,” Lance said.

“It's chewy,” Allura said, Then she made a face. “That doesn't taste like strawberry at all.”

“I like it,” Romelle announced, taking another bite. 

Hunk looked like he was going to be sick. “Guys, that's not food.”

Romelle looked up, the stick in her mouth. 

“It's not?”

“No! It's a writing utensil! It's made of wax!”

Allura grabbed a tissue from the center of the table and discretely spat out the bite she'd already taken. “That would explain why it tastes so strange.”

“Like you can talk,” Keith said. “You drink nunville.”

“Is it dangerous?” Romelle asked, her eyebrows flying up. 

“Well…” Pidge blinked. “I mean… probably not… they have to make it non toxic for kids.”

“So… if I had more, it wouldn't hurt me.”

“Don't eat more!” Keith exclaimed, and all the other humans chimed in to agree with him. Shiro sank into the chair at the head of the table, looking faint – and a loud raspberry noise ripped through the room.

The conversation halted. Everyone turned to look at Shiro.

 “That wasn't me,” Shiro said quickly. 

Hunk sniggered. “You sure?”

Shiro reached under his seat and pulled out a deflated whoopee cushion. “Alright, very funny, who left this here?”

The other paladins glanced at each other. 

“Wasn't me,” Pidge said. 

“Yeah, me neither,” Hunk seconded.

“Or me,” Keith added.

“I don't even know what that is,” Allura said, and Romelle nodded along. 

Shiro turned to look at Lance.

“Uh,” Lance said. “I… I thought Keith was gonna sit there.”

Keith shot him a glare. 

“Oh, really?” Shiro said. 

Lance laughed nervously. “Uh–”

Shiro's mouth twitched into a smile, and Lance relaxed a little.

Which meant that, when Shiro jumped out of his chair, grabbed Lance, and threw him over his shoulder, Lance was too slow to react. 

"Hey! Put me down!"

Shiro turned around and walked out of the dining room.

“Shiro, think about what you're doing!” Lance yelled, kicking futilely. 

Shiro remained impassive, walking through the living room.

“Wait,” Pidge said. “Are we going where I think we're going?”

Shiro grinned.

“Wait, where do you think we're going?” Lance demanded. 

A second later, Allura caught on and laughed. “Oh, you can't be serious.”

“What?” Lance pressed.

"Can someone get the door? Shiro asked.

Pidge hopped ahead and slid open the glass door to the outdoor pool.

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no–” Lance said, and then Shiro dropped him in the water. 

Lance went under with a splash and emerged gasping.

“I can't swim!” Lance yelled. 

Shiro's expression morphed from triumph to horror. “You said you grew up on the beach!”

“Yeah, but I–” Lance flailed vaguely in the direction of the pool wall. He seemed to be barely managing to keep his head above the water. “We just – splashed around in the shallow part!!! We didn't–” 

“Wait, hang on,” Shiro said, frowning. “But – you and Hunk–”

But he didn't get to finish. Keith dove onto his stomach at the edge of the pool, stretching his arm out as far as he could. “Grab my hand!”

Lance beat at the water like an oar and managed to propel himself a few inches in Keith's direction. He reached out – after a few slippery tries, his hand clasped Keith's. 

“Thanks,” Lance breathed. Then he grinned. “Wow, you have a terrible memory.”

“Huh?” Keith asked, and then Lance dove under the surface, yanking down on Keith's arm. Keith yelped and tried to grab at the side of the pool, but in vain – he went tumbling face first into the water. Lance shot back up like a dolphin and gave a triumphant whoop before settling down into a lazy backstroke, circling Keith's point of entry. A second later, Keith came up spluttering and looking ready for murder. 

“You–” he seethed. 

“I can't believe you don't remember the upside down pool,” Lance said. “Why would I be going swimming if I couldn't swim? How could I have survived the whole mermaid planet with Hunk if I couldn't swim!?!?”

“Oh, man,” Hunk called out, laughing. *Keith, I can't believe you fell for that. Lance? Not know how to swim? That's a good one. He's basically a duck.”

“Excuse me,” Lance said, “I'm a swan.”

“Yeah, cause swans are assholes,” Pidge mumbled. 

“I was worried!” Keith exclaimed in high-pitched indignation.

“Aww, you really do ca–”

A deluge of water crashed against Lance's face. 

“Seriously, what was that for!?”

“Well, I was trying to get Shiro back,” Lance said, “but I wasn't going to pass this up.” 

He splashed Keith back.

“Awwww yeah, splash party!” Hunk cried. “I'll be right back, I'm gonna go get my swimsuit–”

But he'd barely made it a few steps towards the door before another huge splashing sound occurred, followed by quick footsteps coming directly towards him. Hunk turned back around to see what the matter was. He had a fraction of a second to process Keith running at him, water droplets flying into the air behind him, and then something kicked Hunk's legs and he went down. A cold wetness sank through his shirt from all sides as he hit the wet floor and Keith climbed on top of him.

Hunk groaned up at the sopping wet person lying on his chest.

“Why?”

“You laughed at me,” Keith said simply.

Hunk sighed. Then he pushed Keith off easily, sat up, and pulled his shirt off, followed by his shoes. 

Lance cheered. “You coming in?”

“Since I'm already wet.”

He grabbed Keith around the waist and stood up, lifting Keith off the ground.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Keith said, and then Hunk cannonballed into the pool, and for the second time that day, Keith was drenched against his will. 

Hunk emerged, laughing – then he blinked around.

“Where’s everyone else?”

“They made a break for the door when you jumped,” Lance said. 

Keith scowled, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. “Yeah, 'cause they're smart.”

Hunk whacked him with a pool noodle.

It was a very soggy trio that tromped back into the meeting room.

“We brought you towels,” Pidge said sweetly.

Allura stood well on the other side of the table, lifting the towels over with her old staff – red, blue, and yellow.

“Scared of getting wet?” Hunk said. 

“I saw what Keith did to you. Dry off before you get it on us.”

She prodded the staff forward. 

“Thanks,” Keith said grouchily, taking the red one. Hunk followed suit with the yellow, but Lance was still busy figuring out the best way to arrange his sneakers on the heater.

“I'm placing an open bounty on Lance's head,” Keith announced, as he dried off his hair. “Whoever wins gets nothing but smiles from me for a day.”

Hunk whistled. “That's tempting.”

Keith pulled the towel off of his head, and Hunk and Lance gasped – but the girls all snickered, and Shiro bit back a smile.

“What?”

*Your –” Lance pointed. “It's red.”

“My what!?”

“Uh-oh,” Hunk said, pulling his own towel off of his head. “Is my–”

Keith stared at Hunk’s hair, which was bright yellow.

“Altean hair dye,” Allura announced. “Activated by water. Don't worry, it's temporary.”

Keith looked at the towel, which was now white on the inside. Then he spun around, looking for a mirror, which he finally found over the fireplace. His hair was, indeed, bright red. 

“ALLURA.”

“Well,” Pidge began, “the rest of us helped– ahh!” She broke off as Lance grabbed her and ran his wet hands through her hair.

“Someone hand me a towel!” he yelled.

Hunk tossed over the yellow one – then, after a moment's consideration, picked up the blue one as well. “I wonder if they mix to make green.”

“Only one way to find out– oof!”

Pidge had elbowed Lance in the stomach to make her escape.

Keith climbed on top of the table and stared at the ceiling.

“Uh, Keith,” Hunk said, “what are you doing?”

“Strategizing,” Keith said, and then he held his hand up to the sprinkler system and summoned his bayard. 

Everyone shrieked as the sprinkler burst on, showering the room. 

Keith hopped off the table and grabbed the blue towel out of Hunk's hand. 

“Hey, Allura,” he said, holding up the towel. “I think maybe you need a little Blue Lion pride.”

She held the staff out in front of her. “Don't you dare.”

Keith kept advancing, pushing forward against the staff with his chest. Allura stood her ground, but she was so focused, she didn't notice Hunk sneaking up behind her. 

"Got her!"

Hunk wrapped his arms around Allura's torso, pinning her arms to her sides, and lifted her off the ground.

"Put me down!"

Keith threw the blue towel to Lance, who was standing closer. 

“Lance, I'm warning you!” she yelled, but it was too late. Lance had wrapped the blue towel around her head. 

Hunk set Allura down as Lance pulled the towel away. 

"You know what, Allura," Hunk said, "blue hair suits you."

Allura glowered. 

[kenzie-ann27]

Some Thoughts

Honestly, as much as I loved It: Chapter Two, I still can't take those flashback scenes seriously. The CGI takes me out of it and I can't even watch without feeling a little awkward. Then, I was thinking about like why didn't they just leave the kids how they were? Why couldn't they have written the flashbacks about the next summer?

The summer of 1990 would have been incredibly interesting to know about. Bill and Beverly had already moved away. Richie was the next to go. Pennywise still could have made an impact, but in the form of nightmares due to it being one year later. They haven't forgotten because they're still in Derry. And their tokens? They could have been from the days that they left Derry.

Bill lost his stutter, and he rides around on his bike with a girl that looks awfully a lot like Beverly. His walkie-talkie sits in a box in the attic covered in dust. The girl laughs as they sit and make paper boats together.

Beverly lives with her aunt, and she continues to practice playing the keyboard. Her aunt teaches her to sew as they watch old movies. When replacing the batteries of the keyboard, she comes across a poem stuffed inside the battery compartment.

Richie visits some of his favorite places in Derry before having to go home and throw his bike in the back of a truck, leaving behind his whole life. Of course, he's angry. He's been shutting out everyone since the day his parents told him they're moving out west. He doesn't want to believe it. The arcade scene could still be in the movie, even. And the Paul Bunyan thing. Except this time, Eddie helps him up. They walk together, talking about what it'll be like after Richie is gone. Eddie eventually goes home, and Richie goes to the Kissing Bridge before making his way home and saying goodbye to his friends.

Ben is the next to leave, as his mom lost her job and needs to move back to Nebraska to be with family. He goes back to the library to return a few books he still has checked out where he remembers what happened the year before in the library. We then see him at home taking down all the things in his room about Derry. Mike comes over and asks if he can have them, Ben shrugs and he walks out to his mom's car.

Eddie leaves next, his mom getting really sick and having to move somewhere with better care. Eddie spends the whole day with Stanley and Mike, they go to the movies and see Arachnophobia. The whole time, Eddie tries to hold Stanley's hand because he's scared. Mike looks increasingly worried as he pulls out a book to read. Afterwards, they go to the pharmacy for Eddie to refill his medicine.

Stanley is the last to leave, his parents want to move to New York to be closer to family. He's the most distressed about leaving, walking around to his friends' old houses and seeing some of them sitting empty (he throws rocks at Richie's old house, being mad at him for leaving). He eventually goes to the clubhouse, where he sits in the hammock and cries while wearing that silly shower cap. Mike eventually comes down with Stanley's mom, and they have to pull him away from the clubhouse.

We then see Mike, sitting alone for years and years. He gains a hatred of the town for taking his friends away, for leaving him alone and vulnerable. He sees a Help Wanted sign at the library and goes straight in. He wants a job where he can help people, learn history, be himself.

I honestly just think the next summer would have made an amazing bridge between the two films. We can see the progression of time, we can see change. The kids are older, they are separated from each other. Which would make so much more sense with the context of the second movie. The Losers spend the whole movie separated from each other. By showing them being ripped apart from each other, we can see why A. they don't want to get too attached again and B. why their relationships are so strained. The are basically strangers. Having them together at the Jade of the Orient would help recapture that innocence of childhood friends, of the first movie. We can see them grow and change as kids into teenagers. Richie is taller, he does grow into his looks like Beverly said. Stanley's hair grows darker. Ben starts losing weight. Eddie grows into a mature teenager, a welcome departure from when he was the smallest. Mike matures as well, but develops dark circles under his eyes from the lack of sleep. Because Bill and Beverly left, they relatively look the same.

Plus I can imagine all the jokes Eddie and Richie would have for each other?

"Richie, I refuse to believe you grew an entire fucking foot just because you ate too many vitamins."

"Eddie, your hair isn't straight anymore. Are you trying to tell us something?"

"Can you go get a haircut? Or at least wash your hair, it looks disgusting."

"Big man over here, finally grew some balls after his voice dropped. I really do miss hearing a five-year-old yell at me about some dumbass, made-up disease."

"Remind me again, who got the flu for a week after licking the flagpole?"

"Hey, I earned that ten bucks. Plus, Stanley felt so fucking bad that he cleaned up my puke for that whole week. The look on his face was priceless, I swear he was going to just fucking pass out."