#How to Draw a Guitar for Kids Easy Step by Step

[yovrnewromantic]

WORTH IT

ex!husband eddie munson x reader

based on the hc! by me that eddie kidnaps your kids, charging kisses for ransom wc: 1.2K

“You know you can’t keep doing this.”

Eddie can hardly hold back a pout. He knows you’ll criticize him if he lets it slip, reminding him that ‘he’s a grown man for goodness’ sake’ even though his puppy eyes never fail to succeed against you. Except once. Only once, when you filed for divorce circa 12 years ago.

Filed into the back of the van, your children are pressing their faces up against the glass windows. Their eyes are wide, noses are upturned, fogging up the glass with each breath— looking like the myth of pig-men came to life and are giddy to draw smiley faces and ‘hi mom’s into the steamed up glass. Unlike you, they enjoy when their dad kidnaps them, waving their teachers off with forged letters so they can hobble into his car and fiddle with the stereo as he stops at the florist, and biting their lips to stop their excitement when they see your old camaro pull up.

Forget-Me-Nots lay half-forgotten at Eddie’s side as he ruffles his already messy curls, mesmerized as you step out the car, mom jeans and rock shirt hanging loose. You look as beautiful as the day he met you. Some days, he feels like it is the first time he met you, his heart paralyzed by a certain type of warmth at the sight of your face. It’s like everything around you disappears and he recognizes his purpose. You. You make him feel like a teenager in love.

“Eventually I’m just gonna call the cops on your ass.”

Angry is not how you would describe yourself in the moment. The first time it happened, hell, you were pissed. Smoke practically blew out your ears when he first called, interrupting himself with giggles while he announced “The prince and princess of, phh, Munsonville have been exiled along with the King. Haha, oh um— If you wish to see them ever again, you must pay the price!” After the second, third, fourth, and tenth time, it’s only become a nuance.

“Hi, Mom!” your daughter calls out, voice muffled. Her hands are sprawled against the window, the hair that was once well-kept into two braids is now fuzzy and tangled. Her brown doe eyes peering at you, standing on her tippy toes to see. Looking like the splitting image of her father. Behind her, your son is playing with Eddie’s electric-blue guitar, strumming the string so harshly that you cringe, but Eddie doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he’s still staring at you.

Dumbly, Eddie just sticks the bouquet in your face, his fist inches from your face. “M’lady.” Through the thin stems of your favorite flower, you can see his lopsided smile.

Rather delicately, you take the flowers from his grasp, looking at them for a second too long to keep up your uneffected act. These must’ve been on sale, you assure yourself. He doesn’t remember the flowers you walked up the isle with, he couldn’t have. When you can finally drag your eyes away, your brows are furrowed. Something fluttering in your stomach as Eddie tilts his head, usual shit-eating grin strangely sweet. Small indigo petals flutter to the ground as they’re knocked off their branches from impact of hitting Eddie square in chest.

“Ow!” He lifts his arms up in defense. The purple-blue veins that flex on his bicep matching the shade of the dwindling flowers. “Y/N!”

Finally, easing your attack, your chest rises and falls as you point a finger at his chest. “Give my kids, Munson!”

“Mrs. Munson!” Again, you raise the flowers to wack him over the head, but Eddie’s hand grips your wrist, holding it in place and smiling innocently at you. “You know the drill by now.”

Groaning, you hide your face in what’s left of your flowers, a red hue rising on your cheeks. It’s embarrassing— giving in this easy to your ex husband’s demands, but there’s a special spot in your heart for Eddie that just. won’t. go. away. No matter how many dates you went on, no one could replace him.

Eddie’s hands are gentle as they pry your hands, and flowers, away from your face. He’s close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath. Harshly sighing through your nose, and trying to convincingly eye roll, you choke out, “What do I owe this time?”

“Well, seeing as it took you ten extra minutes to get here from the estimated time…”

You shake your head. “I was busy explaining why the teachers didn’t need to issue an amber alert, dipshi—.”

“Ten kisses.” He’s too happy with himself, rocking back and forth on his heels as he watched the disbelief transform your pretty face.

“Ten?”

He raises his brows, playfully puckering. “Lay ‘em on me, honey.”

It’s never not awkward, begrudgingly (not really) approaching your ex husband with slow, torturous movements. Fingers finding his tattooed skin— which you used to color before you became adults and life went to shit, tracing up the expense of his arms until your hands connect around the back of his neck. He’s nibbling his lip as you inch forward, impatient. When your lips are close enough to touch, your breaths sync and your eyes meet. Heart racing, your eyes flutter shut. Lightly, the plush of your lips meet his— always surprising— soft lips. One.

Again. Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Eddie can’t help himself. His hands fly to your waist, squeezing the flesh he can reach and pulling your closer, shoving his tongue in your mouth when your hands tug on his hair. He tastes just as you remember, like tobacco and cheerios. As his tongue explores your mouth, you moan into his. Betrayed by your own body, dammit. His lips twitch against yours. When his teeth start to clash against yours, that’s when you pull away, a thick string of saliva connecting you. Nine.

Your eyes are hazy, a dumbstruck, lightheaded feeling coming over your body as you lean forward again. Foreheads connecting. Your noses nudging. Panting into each other’s mouth. Far too sensual for a divorced couple. Eddie finishes the last kiss for you, pecking your lips. Your breath hitches when he drags his teeth against the bottom. Ten.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” he chuckles, panting. His large palm finds the bottom of your ass.

“Go to hell,” you whisper against his lips. “Kids!”

“Already in the car, Mom!” Tucked in the back of the car, seat belts buckled, your children look unimpressed. Your cheeks go bright red as you adjust yourself, trying hard not to stomp to the car as you avoid contact with Eddie, who walks slowly, cockily, behind you.

“I’ll call you later, sweetheart!”

You shove your hand out your unrolled window, middle finger up. Eddie’s laugh makes your chest tighten, but you won’t let it show, flipping on your sunglasses and pulling the fuck away from him. Eddie smiles as his kids wave through the window, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans with a knowing look on his face.

He’ll win you back eventually.

—

p.s. 💋

“Mommy, are you and daddy getting back together?”

With your grip tightening on the steering wheel, knuckles turning your white, you meet your five year old son’s clueless eyes in the review mirror— the product of the last time you got back together with his father. “Not a chance.”

not edited or read over 😔

[griefabyss69]

fear of the inky blackness of night or whatever

👀👀👀

Finally! A stupid and incoherent one!!!!

I still don't even know what this one is or what the point of it is, it was definitely one of those where I just started writing with zero real ideas. However despite all of THAT, I like it a lot, it's a different Eddie voice than I usually write and maybe is closer to his canon voice than I usually do? (CWs: maybe home invasion and general fear? everything's fine I swear) rated T maybe? and it's Steddie! And it starts from the beginning of the fic

So when Eddie walks into his room, as he does, you know, like a person will just walk into the room he sleeps in, bed and dresser and guitars and all, he doesn't expect there to just be…

A fucking guy in there.

It's dim, the light from the hallway not illuminating that shit enough for him to see more than just the shadows of whoever this guy is, but maybe he doesn't need to see who it is if he judges by how fucking fast his heart rate kicks up.

He gives a brave little choked off scream and scrambles back down the hallway, grabbing his shoes on his way out the front door, not bothering to put them on as he bolts towards his van-

-And runs right into the car parked right in the way, close enough to the trailer to be an unexpected nuisance, an absolute fucking monster of a hurdle towards his safety. And now he's partially flattened over the hood of this parked car like he'd run out into a busy street, groaning at what will become bruises on his legs.

He peels himself back up to his feet and glares at the car, biting back a hiss of annoyance, not worked up enough yet to start making animal sounds about it.

The fucking car is Steve's.

Fucking Steve, and his fucking car, and parking it so fucking close to their front steps that he didn't even notice it despite it being as wide as the gravel driveway. Eddie always parks just to the side of it, and his Uncle usually parks closer to the end of it, and so Steve really should've gotten with the program and parked somewhere else.

Steve, whose car Eddie does secretly hope has no fucking dents in it, dithers at the doorway to the trailer, shifting on his feet enough to make creaky noises that get Eddie's flight response back online as he whips around, already walking backwards towards his van.

"Uh, are you okay?" Steve asks, a lost puppy frown on his face that Eddie usually can't get enough of.

Eddie gestures at him, shoes flinging around violently by their laces as he draws a line between the front door and Steve's car, making sounds of frustration that are probably super easy for Steve to decipher.

"…Right," Steve says, shrugging as he heads back into the trailer, casual, as if there wasn't a reason why Eddie ran out.

Oh God, Steve's going to run right into the shadow guy.

"Come back here!" Eddie yells, halfway up the stairs to the door before he gets cold feet. "I swear to fucking god Harrington!"

Steve just turns at his own leisure, tilting his head at him with another look of confusion that on a better day Eddie could eat right up with a fork and knife.

"When you chill out maybe you can tell me what you're upset about," he says, pulling the same shit he does with the kids, his hands propped up on his hips and everything.

Infuriating to be treated like he's fifteen and not a whole half a year older than Steve.

"Fine! Get serial murdered by the shadow guy in my room!" He yells, stomping off back down the stairs. His stomps turn into gingerly crossing the gravel under his socks pretty quickly, but he makes it to the worn grass by his van and flings the driver's side open.

He's just hauling himself up into the seat when Steve comes out, politely shutting the screen door behind himself and heading over at such a sedate pace that he wonders if he's burnt out the ability to feel fear or not.

He stops in front of Eddie, - standing in a way that looks cool and had to have been practiced at some point, nobody just stands and looks cool without even leaning on anything - and tucks his hands into his back pockets.

"Munson," he says, getting back at Eddie's last name crime with one of his own. "What did this shadow guy look like?"

Eddie squints at him, glaring at his face and his broad shoulders and the way his jeans are pulled just a little bit tighter across his hips with his hands taking up valuable real estate in the back.

"How am I supposed to know that? It was dark, he was some guy, and he was looming in the shadows of my room," he says, tossing his shoes in the passenger seat so he can cross his arms.

Steve nods, looking serious for all of three seconds before he cracks, a smile breaking out over his face.

"Well, sorry man. I didn't see him while I was looming in the shadows of your room, so I must have just missed him."

Eddie's glad he doesn't have anything in his hands anymore, or he thinks he would've thrown his shoes through Steve's face, though the bastard probably could catch them with his jock superpowers.

"Asshole," he hisses instead, pointing at him. "Why the hell were you just standing there in the dark?"

Steve shrugs, licking his bottom lip as he thinks. It should look stupid, and it totally does, the way his tongue presses into it as his lip curls back over his teeth. An awkward thing for a face to do, absolutely, and even more awkward when Steve does it.

"I was like, doing that thing. Exposure therapy," he says, rocking back and forth on his feet. So casual. "I'm trying to get used to the dark again and I didn't want to do it alone in my house."

Eddie wants to call bullshit, but it sounds both weird and smart enough for it to be a Steve original, though he knows he wouldn't have said it was a good idea if anybody else asked him.

"So you did it alone in my house instead?" He asks, grabbing his shoes. Time to go back inside, he supposes.

"Well, yeah. It's like, not haunted, probably. And you were on your way home," Steve shrugs, backing up a step as Eddie hops out of his van.

He slams the door shut a little hard just to try to get some of his adrenaline out, taking a few tries to get the key in to lock it properly, trying not to think about how he forgot to lock it the first time.

Nothing like getting the life scared out of you to remind you about the safety of your noble mechanical steed.

"Right, I guess if you really want it to, that can make sense," he says, heading back up the driveway once again. "However, you could've fucking warned a guy!"

Steve laughs as he follows behind him, something hearty and nice that helps settle Eddie's nerves a bit. He still wants to punch something or go climb a tree and hide up there for a few hours, but he tamps it down as he tosses his shoes by the front door and heads back to his room, letting Steve lock up the doors behind them.

"I could've, yeah. I just didn't think you'd get scared," Steve's saying, and Eddie wants to call him selfish for it but the problem is that Steve still thinks Eddie is brave, despite… literally everything.

"Next time just tell me," he says, starting to peel off his clothes on his way to his room. "I'm going to take a shower, go ahead and hide in the dark recesses of my lair and try not to get eaten by old socks or whatever."

Steve's laugh is a little strangled this time and Eddie hopes that he doesn't think his socks have been living on the floor for so long that they're actually sentient. He's moved recently, after all. These are new old floor socks.

He drops the contents of his pockets on the bathroom counter and keeps his boxers on to come back out, stuffing the rest of his clothes into the hamper by their new washer-dryer combo, fully aware of Steve's ability to see him in all his pasty, bitten up glory, not willing to add even more to that at the moment.

"Also think about what you want to eat for supper, and if it's like, not in the pantry, think about how you'd like to acquire it," he says, glancing back at Steve who's looking a little pink around the edges.

It's cute, in a completely different way than his lost puppy looks, and so Eddie just gets a fucking move on and gets into the bathroom before he starts blushing right back at him.

--

He should've been prepared for it, when he got out of the shower, heard absolutely nothing, and went about drying off. Humming under his breath to fill the silence as he combed his hair and put weird cream over his scars and wrapped his towel securely around his waist.

The stillness in the trailer as he opened the door, finding even more lights turned off than earlier, now just a lamp in the living room and the light over the stove top illuminating the place enough for him to see.

Things he didn't bother noticing or acknowledging until he got to his dark room and let the door creak open, revealing the shadowy figure of the same fucking guy standing in his room.

He caught himself just before he bolted again, this time for some kind of weapon instead of the front door, hands clenching around his door frame as he forced himself to speak.

"Steve?" He asks, voice barely making it past his throat.

"Hmm?" Steve replies, the shadow tilting it's head. "Oh, right."

A light flicks on and there's Steve, just standing in the middle of Eddie's room again.

"I ordered a pizza, I hope that's cool," he says, moving aside to let Eddie get to his dresser.

"Yeah, totally cool," Eddie replies absently, waiting on his heart to stop fucking pounding in his throat before he goes to get dressed. He feels Steve's gaze on him as he valiantly ignores him and the shiver that goes up his spine.

Steve turns while he gets dressed, which is kind, since it means he doesn't have to give away his nervousness and ask him to like close his eyes or something. It also lets him cycle through blushing way too hard for the situation and back down, only his ears still feeling hot as he makes sure they're covered by his hair.

"I scared you again, didn't I?" Steve asks, poking at a poster on his wall. It's a little wrinkled, salvaged from the old place, but it suits the rest of the room.

"You sure fucking did," Eddie mutters, pulling on a pair of sweatpants. "Though I don't know what I was expecting, considering you're becoming more of a freak than I am."

Steve laughs and Eddie finishes getting dressed, torn between wanting to throw something at him and wanting to tackle him onto his bed to swallow his amusement right down.

"How about we leave my blood pressure alone for the rest of the night, huh?" He asks, heading out of the room to the living room.

[dojae-huh]

Youth: first listen

First of all. It's the first time the parasocial relationship I have with Doyoung mutated into a parasocial friendship of sorts, heh. The feeling is of cheering for a friend's project's success. I guess it is for two reasons: 1) the reverse order of things (instead of "like a song (my choice, I'm the active party)->discover artist behind", it is "like an artist->listen to what he gives you (artist's choice, I'm a passive party)", 2) I have artist friends whose drawing style I'm not particularly a fan of (i.e. I wouldn't care for it if it was made by someone else, a noname to me), but I still follow and consume their art, because I care for people behind and I know the character/thoughts/POV of the artist, which changes my perceptions).

I've listened to the album only once by the time I'm writing this post. My first impession is that there are no weak songs (yokshi, perfectionist Doyoung), and that I'm glad it is more diverse in sound and voice modulations than Korean ballads and songs usually are. As I like richness in songs.

Me and some of the readers had been apprehensive of Doyoung catering to fans and going gp friendly road. Thankfully, Doyoung is a mastermind afterall. The album is both for the fans and the general public and for himself. Half/half.

The album seems to be divided in the following parts:

Prologue: Beginning and Little light.

The main character of a Disney animation movie sets on a journey. A proclamation of intent to sing for a long time, of a goal to reach as many "stars" (hearts/listeners). "Beginning" was penned by Do himself (and, honestly, really reminded me Mulan or Moana, heh). For "Little light" he befriended Lucy's composer (they are both 96-line, btw). Considering the timing, it seems to be one of the last songs to be added. A song Doyoung needed for his vision of the album. The song was gifted to him (the composer's words), written the way he commissioned it. In other words, it is his story and his feelings, he debuted with HIS song, even if written by someone else (but for him).

2. First chapter: A letter to fans.

"From little wave" has lyrics by Doyoung. It is a song for the fans, a message to them.

3. Second chapter: Friends. Dreams come true.

"Time machine" was written by Mark, he and Taeyeon featured. Do is a known SNSD fan, a fan of Taeyeon and her friend. Mark has been Do's favourite kid since pre-debut. When the news broke, fans immidiently remembered how Do gifted Mark notebooks for writing lyrics. Let's also remember how Do sent a food-truck to Mark's first solo MV, always hyped him on IG. I think Do supports Mark as a musician in particular. Mark is a rapper in NCT, however, he wants to sing with the guitar. And that what he did on the track. A step towards his own dream, him as a songwriter and singer.

Both collabs are very meaningful and have roots in the past.

The redheaded teenager who didn't know what to do really and his prodigy baby growing up and becoming world known artists.

Do already has songs with Haechan (Maniac, Coming home), plus Hyuk has started songwriting attempts much later than Mark. He is not ready yet. Taeyong is a different story, I will share my thoughts about it later.

"Time machine" sounds like a song that will be covered a lot on Korean shows by other artists. It has that appeal. It seems relatively easy to sing (or, rather, it can be re-arranged to be simpler), and it is fit for a duet.

Chapter 4: A song for the Boyfriend.

I agree that "Serenade" seems to be the song for Jaehyun. The sound Jae likes, the placement on the album (after "friends"). It is the only positive love song on the album. For Doyoung singing is personal. It is his dream, his calling. Therefore, I wasn't expecting a lot of individual attention for Jae (opposite can be said about the upcoming Jae's album). The album is not for him. He is part of "my youth" and "the sea/warmth", and he knows it. One song is enough.

The song feels more like a gift than a dedication, though. There is no intensity or rawness (like the cover of Buzzi's "Mine" had, heh).

Chapter 5: Gems.

"Rewind" and "Warmth" are the type of songs that are popular in Korea. Do did covers of similar songs. This sound is expected from him. These two love stories are "for fans and general public" songs. Personally selected, but not too personal. Just beautiful songs to sing. Both songs reflect general experiences of youth (first love/first relationships that didn't mean to be and being alone/looking for meaningful connections). "Warmth" kind of repeats the first songs thematically.

Chapter 6: Doyoung the band vocalist.

"Lost in California" and "Rest" are band songs. Back to school. These are songs for Doyoung himself. Do's long-lasting dream of singing with a band, singing under open air on festivals, being a rock-star. The first one is Do's "28 reasons", a song where he can have fun and play with vocals. "Rest" is also an inspirational, supportive song. The was Do always cheered his fans on, talked about that it's OK to rest on the floor for a bit and start anew the next day.

Chapter 7: NCT 127

"Dallas love field" (a name for a small airport, apparently) is a song fully made by Kenzie, Do's noona. So it was for him, no doubt. Maybe we will hear the story behind one day. The lyrics about "pain being beautiful" made me think back to the trainee days. Although the lyrics alone could be read as JaeDo-coded, the sound, the upbeat melody, the chorus of male voices on ''chasing dreams so far" make it 127. Rookies and their dreams of debut, neos and their dreams for solo careers, NCT and Dreams.

Funny enough. This song sounds like anime Ending, heh. The main character's promise "to be continued". I liked how Do gave us a new tone to his voice in this song.

[mesanthropi]

nothing came after (oc x shua /p)

fair warnings: i have no idea how exactly their dorms work or how they're exactly situated. i'm just braining. also i'm just kinda tired!! i was writing the second bit with josh when almosgt 1am hit hhh im gonna assume that near future weiss is just gonna edit the text formatting and higt post. so no, it's not gonna be proofread whatsoever. if i butcher your fave please criticize me godbless

i thought of it and fell asleep to it methinks. shua making bead bracelets and garam making yarn bracelets. then i woke up at 4pm and started writing

choi 'river' garam, helios, you know the guy. it'd been a week since it was announced that he was on hiatus, everybody knew that. garam needed emotional support every now and then, everybody also knew that.

but nobody really knows who he'll go to next. two days earlier, woozi was approached and the two had made some joke song together. just as a break from 'all the serious stuff' (helios' words, not mine). the other day, he was texting jun about the cats he'd seen on his most recent walk, comparing the older to the stray felines. and literally a few hours ago, he'd gone to dino's room to leave him a stuffed animal that he decided not to keep; it was a buy one take one deal. and dino was one of his favorite people out of seventeen others.

... haha, seventee- anyway. that's a lot of emotional support.

(it's what i want, personally.)

now garam had been staying in his room for the time being, having gone right back after giving dino that plushie and a hug. a bit of work was being done, non-idol work at least, and it involved a bit of handcrafting and drawing a few blanks. ("... i think i did this step wrong- fuck, i need to do it again.") yeah, the guy had been at this for a few hours just because 'he could and nobody could stop him', at least from what the ravenette had said in the groupchat.

at least he'd managed to make two of these mysterious things, because that was all it took before he got up from the floor of his room, and walked out the door. there was a faint smile present on the man's face, and it stayed on his way to one of the rooms on his floor. sixth one.

garam wordlessly approached a door, hung something on the doorknob, before sticking a note next to it. and like nothing happened, he was making his way back to the room he once sat in for hours that day. there was a little hum as he did, wringing his hands or wiping them on the fabric of his pants despite the lack of things to wipe off.

"hopefully that can make up for my spotty pop-ups," murmured the guy with eyes looking down at tiled floors like it was artwork. "... i'm sure he won't mind another one to add to the collection." his thoughts were barely above a whisper, tumbling from his lips like beads out of a box. which was funny, but not where he was exactly thinking, furrowing his brows. "he likes that kind of stuff. right-"

when he stopped himself, garam found that he'd been pacing around. he also found that he'd stopped in front of the first door he'd visited. unable to help how blue-grey hues bored into the wood, the ravenette thought for a few seconds. a moment. then he knocked thrice like he always did. "shushua!" then he ran like hell to his own room and hid.

what a kid.

joshua wasn't doing much, just watching the weather pass by while music played through his phone. mans just didn't know what to exactly do today, but did know that he'd be taking it easy, enjoying the tunes with light nods to its beats. at every song with guitar, his fingers found themselves holding an invisible instrument and placing themselves on a fretboard. just a fun little thing.

then he heard the knock at the door, and the sound of garam (who he honestly thought was fucking asleep) calling his name. the blond turned his head, blinking once. and then twice as he stood up to see why the younger could be asking for him. maybe shushua would be the one to hang out with the guy, after being cooped up in his room for so long.

"... what the-?" joshua heard a door close in the distance when he poked his head out, looking around and about. it was even weirder when he saw that it was garam's damn door. "garam?" called out the older, just to see if he'd respond.

...

nothing came after.

just when he was about to go back inside, he saw a note on his door, prompting the raise of a brow. "what are you up to this time...?" because notes either meant sweet message or a wild goose chase he'd fallen victim to. so plucking it off the wood, he read through the english letters written on there with pencil.

'shushua :) i know you like bracellets bracelets but i physically can't like. handle beads bc i will lose them and i still need to get new ones for you (yes im the one who took it BUT I JUST WANTED TO TRY AND MAKE ONE. NOT LOSE BEADS) im so sorry bro. im looking for one rn as ur reading this <3

so i js mde one out of yarn. i asked my sister to help me. we can match with the rest of the guys once i finish the rest of them. sorry if i scared u lol

- the sunday night to ur sunday morning'

he blinked before looking to the doorknob. the bracelet was adjustable and had a nice strawberry color palette, which lead shua to assume that garam's was the opposite with blue instead of red. yeah, with how the note ended, they really were night and day. opposites yet clicked like puzzle pieces. unable to help the way he beamed, the bracelet was taken and put around his wrist.

the ravenette stared blankly at his ceiling, gazing at the green stars scattered across it like a sky outside. maybe one day he can ask somebody to look at the real night sky with him. lie on the grass, say that the sky looks pretty while looking at anywhere else but the stars.

then again, the stars had always been his company.

...

nothing came after.

[ryatnavarro]

CHARACTER INTRO:

NAME: Ryat Forrest Navarro

AGE: 36

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Male. He/Him

SEXUALITY/STATUS: Bisexual | Single.

OCCUPATION: Tattoo Artist. Owner of Sinful Ink

BIRTHDAY: July 3rd, 1988

HOMETOWN: Wilmington, North Carolina

NEIGHBORHOOD: South Hills

FACECLAIM: Shiloh Fernandez

PINTEREST | BIOGRAPHY

BACKGROUND:

TW: SUBSTANCE ABUSE, DEATH, OVERDOSE, CHILD NEGLECT

The second oldest of 7.

Has 3 sisters, and 3 brothers. Michaela "Mikey", Alexander "Alex", Abigail "Abby", Atlas "AJ", Levi, Maddison "Maddi".

Has a 14 year old nephew, named Noah, through Abigail, in which she had when she was a teenager.

Both parents are trash, Kelly and Richard, rightfully nicknamed 'Dick' by his kids, never lived life like they had kids. Therefore, this left the oldest kids to raise the younger, more so, Mikey.

Before Ryat was 8, there were already 6 Navarro children.

Their mother, Kelly, would serve time in prison, for ten years. Once she was out, she and her husband would go on to produce another child. This one being the last and final kid.

At 19, just a year after the birth of this baby sister, Maddi, Ryat would find his mom OD-ing, with a screaming infant next to her. Instead of calling for help, Ryat stood over his mother as he held his baby sister, and watched her die.

Their father was sadden by this, while all the kids had differences in opinions.

From the time he could work, to 27, Ryat would bounce from dead end job to dead end job. Finding no passion in any of them. He'd eventually come to find a career in art, but more then that, tattooing.

Falling under the wing of Jonah King, the owner of Sinful Ink, Ryat would go onto find a place he belonged. When Jonah stepped back for family reasons, he knew Ryat was the next best thing to take over for him.

His family are a tough group to handle, especially when they're all together. They have bit of a rep that perceives them.

But there is no mistaking that this family is tight knit, and they ride for their own hard.

SOME HEADCANONS:

Loves to play guitar. Can sing, and can also write music, but not many are aware of that.

Has had multiple piercings through out his life. Currently has his tongue and nose pierced. Has had his nipples pierced at one point, as well as his lip.

Loves cars. Knows how to work on cars. Will sometimes do so just for fun.

Covered in tattoos.

Will sometimes paint his nails. Black is a popular color for him.

Owns a motorcycle. Also loves to do races. Live big, or go home.

Despite being rougher around the edges, is rather loyal. And good with kids, and animals.

Likes to wear jewelry. A chain, bracelets, rings, have be it.

Likes to draw and paint.

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

FRIENDS: He's easy enough to be around. Can be a little rough around the edges, and insane, but most find they have a good time with him.

ENEMIES/I DON’T REALLY LIKE YOU: Not everyone likes everyone.

COWORKERS: Tattoo artists, other piercers, people he's worked for/with in the past.

CLIENTS: Anyone with tattoos.

EXES: I'm not sure how many committed relationships he'd have. As he's rather hard to get to settle down. So, this could be a lucky one, or this could be many that failed miserably and likely cause of him.

FWBS: He's not really great with commitment, but you know, he loves sex, so -- no brainer.

CONNECTED THROUGH SIBLINGS: He had siblings from ages 38 all the way down to 17, so this could be an array of options, truly.

I KNEW YOUR BROTHER: His one brother died in a car accident at 20, and he would've been 34 now. So, maybe someone who was close to him.

TRULY ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING, FOR REAL. I JUST WANNA LOVE ON Y’ALL AND BE LOVED. OK THANK YOU

[tacthescribbler]

@onemoresketch Oh, gosh. I'm not sure I have an answer for each one, but I'll respond to what I can.

For writing, I've always felt action scenes were easiest to write. I'd like to think I was good at them when I was still writing. For my age, at least. The hard part for me is dialogue. In fact, the best dialogue I've ever written was based on the sass my younger bro and I used to give each other as kids. We had that snarky, back-sass kind of sibling friendship.

Drawing: The hard part is actually doing it. Drawing is the one area where I really let my perfectionism get the best of me. More often than not, I give up before I've even touched pencil to paper. I need to do better about that. Practice makes progress, after all. I'm not sure if any part of drawing is ever "easy" for me, but I do find it less difficult to draw from a reference. I can imitate photos and such relatively easily. Usually.

Crochet: Hm... the hard part for me is developing new patterns. I've only managed it once or twice, with one attempt being trial and error until I got what I was looking for, and then I just math-ed it into being a bit easier. The easiest part of crochet is when I can find a nice-repetitive pattern and just let my hands work, but I also like knitting for that, since I'm pretty basic at it.

Embroidery: Been a long time since I've done any embroidery. I'm not sure I have an up-to-date answer on this one. Hard part used to be filling in with color, while the easy bit was making the outlines of things (especially when I had an iron-on image to follow). Oh, and when I was little, it was hard to keep my stitches consistent. I had a tendency to bunch up the fabric by making some stitches too tight.

Whittling: I have a bunch of supplies for this, but I've not actually tried it yet. I'll have to give an update when I actually make an attempt!

Guitar: I'm a bit limited on this one, but I did take a beginner class back in 2019. The hard part was positioning my hands and fingers correctly on the neck of the guitar without my hand cramping. I'm sure I can get it, if I start practicing again and stick with it. I'm not sure I know of an "easy" part.

Gardening: The easy part is always eating the fruits and veggies that come out of the garden! The hard part, at least in my perception, is canning. My grandmother cans her veggies (I've helped with the cutting once or twice as a kid), and I want to learn to do it myself, but maybe I'm just making it seem harder than it really is.

Cooking: The hard part is motivating myself to clean up afterward. The easy part, of course, is the eating! :P

Jogging: The hardest part is always persisting through a stitch, in my opinion, but I've also got the added challenge of an old neck "injury" that prevents me from running without hip pain. That may sound weird, but if you're curious, look up the phrase "atlas subluxation" and learn about what that does to a person's body over time. The easy part... I'm not sure how to answer that one. I always appreciated how my stress would just melt out of me while I was running. I liked keeping time with music in my ears. In fact, I had a specific running playlist that I always used, to the point that I conditioned myself to want to run every time I hear those tracks. Another quirk of using that playlist was that my steps were always in time with the beat of the music. My run times were dictated by the length of my stride, not the rate at which I took my steps. ==============================================

@makriiii I'm definitely still a beginner myself, and it's been about 4.5 years since I last picked up my guitar, but I'd have to fall back on a few bits of advice that my instructor taught me in the beginner class I took:

If you do nothing else for a practice session each day, practice your finger positions.

Try to get a loud-clear note when picking or strumming. Don't be shy.

Your fingertips will hurt before they start to callous and toughen up to the strings. Don't let this be an excuse not to practice. Keep at it!

This one isn't so much a recommendation as it is just my two cents: My favorite pieces that we initially began to practice were "Whiskey Before Breakfast" and "Arkansas Traveler". They're fun and when you get to playing them faster, they can be a great challenge. My younger sibling (who is one of those people who can pick up an instrument and learn it in about 10 minutes; seriously, they play by ear and, as far as I know, still can't read music) taught me how to play the Val Royeaux theme from Dragon Age: Inquisition. That one is also a favorite! (If you want to check out some of my sibling's music, you can find them on Spotify. My favorite track of theirs is "Dirge of the Empty Tomb")

Uuuuuuuuugh.

Feeling creative but unsure how to channel the energy. Here's a list of hobbies I enjoy, want to start playing around with, already practice to some degree, or have more or less dropped for some reason. Ask me questions!

Writing

Drawing

Crochet

Embroidery

Whittling

Guitar

Gardening

Cooking

Jogging

[wiiildflowerrr]

5 Seconds of Summer are learning how to be happy: ‘There’s parts of our career that I don’t remember’

The Guardian, 20 September 2022

The Australian pop band are all still in their 20s, but have spent a decade touring and recording ‘in an endless loop’. Now they’ve swapped parties for feeling at peace

Eleven years since four Australian schoolboys were spotted covering Bruno Mars and Justin Bieber songs on YouTube, plucked from obscurity and planted on some of the world’s biggest stages, 5 Seconds of Summer are starting fresh. A few months before they are set to perform two sold-out homecoming shows on the Sydney Opera House forecourt, they’re celebrating the release of 5SOS5, their (fittingly titled) fifth studio record – and their first to be released independently. They’re seizing control, in more ways than one.

But first, Luke Hemmings (vocals/guitar), Ashton Irwin (vocals/drums), Michael Clifford (vocals/guitar) and Calum Hood (vocals/bass) are confronting another monumental creative task: an album release show at London’s Royal Albert Hall. It is not just a venue of global significance but also personal significance: they once busked outside the concert hall while on a trip to London in their formative years. This time, they’ll be inside, and accompanied by an orchestra.

“I think when [the shows] come about, I’m gonna be very stressed out and I’m gonna try to enjoy it and not just focus on how stressed I am,” Hemmings says, sitting with Irwin in a studio in Eagle Rock, California. “I want to enjoy it and be able to fully remember it, because there’s parts of our career that I don’t remember, just from sheer volume and not being present.”

To fully comprehend the band’s meteoric rise over the past 11 years would be an incredible feat for anyone, let alone a teenager. Barely a year after 5SOS’s first show in 2011, to a dozen people in Sydney’s Annandale hotel, they embarked on an almost 100-date world tour as the support act for One Direction. By then, they were playing to more than 80,000 people over four nights at Sydney’s Allphones Arena.

In those days, as the popularity of boybands such as One Direction and BTS were rising to a level that threatened the sound barrier, 5SOS were forging a different kind of path. They had a fresh, dynamic quality, drawing as they did on the pop-punk they grew up with. All four were born in the shadow of Green Day’s 1994 breakthrough Dookie (Irwin, now 28, is the oldest member of 5SOS), and they repackaged that chart-topping punk for a new generation. Within a few years, 5SOS became the only band in history to land at No 1 on the Billboard 200 with each of their first three studio albums.

It’s almost like we were coming back to the basics of the band.

They’ve since collected five Aria awards at home, along with plenty of hardware overseas, and outlasted the band that gave them that early leg-up (One Direction has been on hiatus since 2015). Their 2018 song Youngblood became the biggest-selling single in Australia that year, then the country’s 11th bestselling single of all time, ranking 5SOS among AC/DC, Vance Joy and the Kid Laroi. Worldwide, they’ve sold more than 12m albums.

As one of the most successful musical acts in Australian history, it would’ve been easy for 5SOS to simply stick with what worked. They had perfected a formula and were enjoying the spoils. But as pop began shifting towards something similarly emo-influenced – the likes of Olivia Rodrigo and Machine Gun Kelly have been credited with “saving” pop-punk – 5SOS stepped back and shifted gears.

What does it look like for this band to have to pause in a way they haven’t in a decade?

“You suddenly stop and you realise … uh, I’m now sick, and I want to move all the time, no matter what,” Irwin says. “And I don’t know how to not move.”

5 Seconds of Summer perform in Dublin, Ireland. Photograph: Ryan Fleming

The pace of life on the road manifested in physical and emotional illness. In June, Irwin was hospitalised for extreme heat exhaustion during a show in Texas. He’s been sober since 2019 and has experienced body dysmorphia – something he wrote about on his song Skinny Skinny, from his debut solo album. Spending a decade under the glare of cameras and fame contribute their own kind of spiritual illness, too.

The pandemic was a “forced stop” for the whole band, and one that created a relieving kind of freedom. They decamped to Joshua Tree to think and write together, without the same cycle of promotion and touring they had come to associate with making music. When a producer’s planned visit to their makeshift studio was derailed by a flat tire, Clifford stepped into the role and drove the sonic direction for 5SOS5, producing much of the record himself.

“We had a bit more time to reflect on everything that had happened to us – as opposed to in years previous, where we just were writing an album, going on tour, writing an album, going on tour,” Irwin says. “It was, in ways, an endless loop.”

They reflected on how their rapid rise had, Irwin says, “affected us personally, mentally, physically and philosophically. So we just dove into that feeling, and rode off into the sunset with it.”

In one of the early singles from the new album, Me, Myself and I, Hemmings sings of being a pit of need; getting what he wants, but still not feeling satisfied. “A lot of [the new album] is about romantic relationships and friendships,” he says. “But it’s more about realising that maybe you don’t have as many emotional tools in the tool belt to figure out why they affect you.”

‘You suddenly stop [touring] and you realise … uh, I’m now sick, and I want to move all the time, no matter what’ … 5 Seconds of Summer. Photograph: Andy DeLuca

Only a few albums into their career, the cheeky upstarts from Sydney had barely hit their 20s when they started to experience the downside of their overnight success. On More, they sang about “a house that’s full of everything we wanted/but it’s an empty home”. “A band is often a trauma bond because you’ve been through so much together,” Irwin told NME in 2020.

Just a few years earlier, a Rolling Stone cover story painted 5SOS out to be debaucherous kids making the most of a good thing: partying hard and burning bright, but destined to be snuffed out. The people in that story couldn’t appear more different to the ones in front of me now. Hemmings seems intent on interrogating the emotional root of his songwriting; like Irwin, he released a solo record last year. And Irwin is pursuing creativity of all kinds, in the open-hearted way countless new arrivals to LA have done before him. They’re still young adults – but adults all the same, confronting what it means to be “on the other side of 24”, seeing scenes change and people fade out of view.

In the press biography for the new album, Irwin speaks of how he and his bandmates have made a conscious and active choice to show up, to be in the band for another day. Nothing about the band, or their new album or where they end up will be by default.

“When we decided to write together [in 2020], we had started to heal ourselves from moving so much and at such a high pace,” Irwin says. “And that, in turn, began to heal our creative relationship together.”

“Healthy” is a word that comes up often during our conversation; Hemmings and Irwin speak of having healthy goals and patterns, ensuring their health is a priority, having their own lives outside the band – “in a healthy way,” Hemmings clarifies. Getting out of each other’s pockets enabled them to find a new way forward, together.

“It’s almost like we were coming back to the basics of the band,” Hemmings says. And after an era defined by feeling heavy and weighed down, he says that these days, “we’re trying to get that light across.” X

[notsowrites]

Untitled Malex 3x11 Coda #1

I just... needed to write something. I am truly exhausted today, so I apologize that this is what it is, but sometimes you just gotta write.

Enjoy! <3

--------

Michael is just exhausted.

He collapses in the dirt, his legs unable to hold him any more. His fight with Jones having taken everything out of him. His clothes are singed but there's nowhere to get anything else because…

His trailer.

Michael glances over at the burnt and twisted metal from the firefight. The blackened inside from where the propane tanks had caught and ignited. He doesn't know what, if anything, is salvageable. Maybe it doesn't matter.

Because Max is safe. Max is alive.

And Jones can never bother them again.

He closes his eyes for a moment, just to try and regain some semblance of peace, when he hears a car pull in, tires grinding to a halt somewhere off in front of him.

"Guerin!"

Alex.

--------

"I need to - I want to try something," he says, the idea coming to him after Sanders had yelled at him, telling him he was nothing like Jones, that he could never be like Jones. He's spent the last decade running for all the power he constantly feels thrumming underneath his skin, losing himself in booze and acetone because it was the only way he knew to dull the noise.

Alex stares back at him, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"And I'm giving you the out if you say no-"

"Michael," Alex interrupts, leaning in to kiss him, and for a moment he forgets everything about the impending storm they're heading into.

When he was seventeen, Alex gave him a guitar, and he had at the time, described the chaos that constantly swirled within him as best he could. And Alex had listened as he'd played, as his entire body had calmed to the melody.

"I don't know what's going to happen with Jones, with this plan, but I need to know you're safe." He takes a deep breath, because this is more uncharted waters for them. And each step they take, each time it's a step forward, there is a tiny voice in the back of his mind wondering if this is the moment it all gets ripped away.

Michael presses his forehead to Alex's, and touches his hand to his chest, above his heart. He doesn't know how to ask this, because he doesn't know if he could stand to hear Alex say no. Because he doesn't know how he's going to go into the harebrained plan of theirs without first making sure Alex is safe.

Alex grabs his hand, holding his own against his chest.

"You'll be able to feel me, right? And I can feel you? That's how this works?"

Michael nods, his heart pounding on his chest. "I've never done it before What if I-."

"I trust you.”

Holding onto his hand, he watches Alex slide their hands under his shirt, pressing his palm to the bare skin of his chest.

He's not sure how to do it, has never thought to ask Max, so he improvises. He thinks of Alex, of how happy he's been this past week, how different everything feels now. He thinks about two seventeen year old boys in a tool shed communicating through music and touch and falling in love for the first time.

His hand starts to glow.

--------

The trailer is a lost cause. He searches through the rubble for hours, Alex nearby, helping and waiting and watching. A lot of stuff is in the bunker down below, out of harm's way thankfully. Especially all his drawings and paperwork on the science and engineering of their tech.

"Oh." 

He spins around at the sound of Alex's voice, the clothes on his closet nothing more than fuel for the fire.

Alex is holding a box. One that Michael knows too well. One that has held a set of photographs he's far too attached to.

He never moved the box to the bunker.

Michael stands frozen as he watches Alex take on the photographs - a small smile on his face as he flips through the ones of him, Isobel, and Max as kids. Happier times for all of them.

Alex drops the photos back in the box, and turns towards him, one last photo in his hand. From where he's standing, Michael can see bits are burned, the edges damaged now after years of it being in pristine condition.

It's then, through the handprint he feels everything from Alex. The love, the longing. Michael grabs onto it and holds on, remembering that day, the way he'd been unable to stop himself from staring at Alex as he'd played. The way all it had taken was a guitar, a smile, and a bit of kindness, for Michael to fall into love with Alex.

"I never believed I deserved it," Alex says, stepping into Michael's space, still holding the photo. "The way you looked at me - the way you still look at me."

But he does, Michael thinks. No one in the universe deserves his love and affection more than Alex. Even if they didn't quite know how to always make it work, even if they needed to grow apart for a while before they could fall back together.

It's not a crash landing anymore.

It's soft caresses and warm embraces. It's their noses gently nudging as their lips brush together. It's Alex's hands in his hair, fingertips gently urging, and his own hands gently framing Alex's face.

It's easy now, to pull Alex in, to take the photo out of his hands, to let it fall to the floor as he presses their lips together. 

The trailer isn't salvageable, and a lot of his personal belongings are destroyed. But he's here, and Alex is here, and they're safe and whole and together.

"Let's go home, Michael," Alex whispers against his lips. 

[bumblepony]

@clickergossip

"Are ya real?" Joel asks, his hands lingering on the familiar yet irrevocable changed face.

"Are you?" Jermaine returns, a smile on his wide lips.

“How are you here?” Joel questions, his hands moving down to rest on Jermaine’s shoulders.

“We walked. It wasn’t easy. We started with 20 people.” Jermaine answers, his eyes lingering on each scar on Joel's face.

“I’m sorry, where did you come from? Last I knew, you were in New York City.” Joel looks up suddenly to the other two people he had been standing with. “I’m sorry I-I should let you get to it, we can talk later.”

Jermaine doesn't look back, he keeps his eyes on Joel like he’s afraid he’ll disappear if he looks away. “Where can I find you?”

“I’m in the blue house on Uclid, number 38. I’ll be there.” Joel gives his shoulders one last squeeze then he steps back.

Jermaine watches him leave.

—

Joel’s sitting on the back porch, guitar in hand, ideally strumming nothing of consequence, when he hears a low cough. He looks up, and Jermaine is standing at the foot of the stairs, hands in his jeans pockets. He’s filled out some since the last time Joel saw him. Wider in the chest and shoulders, more muscular in the arms and legs. Back in 1984, he’d been lean, whip-thin, his body just starting to change from that of a teen to a grown man. His face has gotten slightly fuller, and he is sporting a fairly thick beard and mustache. But his eyes are the same, brown, almost gold in the right light.

“Ya came.”

“Course I did, Joel. I wanted to see you.”

“I almost thought I dreamed you.”

“Nope, I’m real, as real as you.”

 “Do ya wanna come in?” Joel asks, gesturing towards the door.

“Sure.” Jermaine comes up the stairs, and Joel ushers him inside, taking him into the kitchen. “Ah, do you want me to take my shoes off?”

“If you would. You can leave ‘em by the door.” Joel toes his boots off and moves to the stove. “Would ya like some coffee?”

“Oh shit, you have coffee?” Jermaine says, his eyes going wide.

“Yeah, not a lot. But I keep some set aside for special occasions.” Joel busies himself with getting out the kettle and coffee grounds.

“I’m happy to know that I denote a special occasion,” Jermaine says, walking into the room and looking at the papers on the fridge. There are a few drawings that Ellie had made him, one of a horse running in the field and another of Joel sitting on the porch playing the guitar. There’s also an essay that Ellie got an A on pinned in pride of place right dead center. Jermaine’s eyes go soft, and he runs a finger along the image of Joel.

“So you have a kid?”

“Yeah, Ellie. She’s ah, my youngest, sixteen.” Joel responds once he’s got the kettle on the stove. “She’s at school right now.”

“You have more than one?” Jermaine asks, his eyes flicking to Joel’s back.

“Yeah, Sarah, she was my eldest. Had her before the outbreak, she woulda been thirty-six this year.” Joel pulls down some mugs from the cabinet and places them on the counter.

“She passed,” Jermaine says, it’s not a question.

“Yup, outbreak night.”

Jermaine comes to stand behind him and places a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Joel.” His voice is soft, and Joel reaches up and gives Jermaine's hand a squeeze.

“It was a long time ago.” Joel fiddles with the mug in front of him picture of an owl on it.

“Doesn’t mean it hurts any less.” Jermaine keeps his hand on Joel's shoulder, a solid, steady weight.

Joel sighs and nods. “You ain't wrong.”

“Tommy?” Jermaine hesitates, worried it might bring up more pain.

“He’s actually here in Jackson, house right across the street. Got himself a wife, Maria. She’s on the council here. Got a little boy Mateo, he’s comin’ up on two. Another baby on the way, too, just found out.” Joel explains as he takes the whistling pot off the stove and pours the contents into the two mugs. Jermaine lets his hand fall away and steps back to the table.

Turning, Joel hands him a mug and gestures to the living room. They make their way in, and both settle on the couch.

“Is it just you and Ellie here?” Jermaine asks, wrapping his hands around the mug, relishing in the warmth.

“Yeah, it’s just the two of us,” Joel says, his eyes down, staring into the depths of his coffee. Joel doesn’t see Jermanie put his mug down on the coffee table, but he does see his hands come out to take the mug from Joel’s hands and place it next to his.

“So you’re not with anyone?” Joel knows without asking what Jermaine means.

“No.” The word is barely out of his mouth before Jermaine is leaning in, his hands coming up to cup Joel’s face. His lips crashing down on Joel’s.

Joel’s hands reach out, fisting into Jermaine's shirt, pulling him desperately closer. The kiss is messy, all tongues and teeth clashing together like they're at war. Joel pulls away, breathing ragged, but presses his forehead into Jermaine’s. The two men stay that way, Jermaine's hands having slipped down to Joel’s shoulders and Joel’s still bunched in the fabric of his shirt.

“You taste different but somehow still the same,” Jermaine says breathlessly.

“I can say the same for you.” Joel’s voice is low, like he’s afraid to break the silence of the room. “We should… have ya eaten?”

Jermaine laughs and pulls back enough so he can look into Joel’s eyes. “Joel Miller, of course you would worry about that at a time like this.”

@mariatesstruther @ameerawrites

Joel's walking down Jackson's main drag when he sees the group of newcomers getting the tour. Looks like two men and a woman, Joel barely spares them a glance. Newcomers aren't common, but Joel's been here long enough that they're no longer a novelty.

He's just about to turn the corner when one of the men speaks, and Joel feels like he was shot. He gasps and has to place a hand on his chest when his heart stutters and his lungs seize. 

He turns his head and gone are the cornrows, but in their place is a dark sea of waves, those eyes like an abyss, are framed by little smile lines, and the lips that have haunted his dreams are as full and soft as he remembers them from four decades ago.

I can't be. No one is this lucky. No one gets this kind of chance.

The man turns as if he can somehow feel his gaze, and their eyes lock. His brow furrows, and his lips purse as he tries to place him. Joel doesn’t blame him. He’s much changed from the young man he was. Hair more salt than pepper now. Wrinkles, violence, and nature have changed the contours of his face. His mustache and patchy beard hadn’t even been started that long ago. But something of the man he was must still be there because recognition suddenly sparks in the man’s eyes.

Joel finds himself stumbling forward, and then the man is moving as well. They meet in the middle of the street, and it's like no time has passed at all. The electricity that always used to surge through Joel at his touch is still there, and Joel can breathe again.

“Jermaine?”

@clickergossip this is for you!

@mariatesstruther you may like this as well!

[romewritingshop]

I’m a Dad

Fandom: Choices, Open Heart, AU

Relationship: Dr. Ethan Ramsey X F!MC (Name: Alyssa Brooks)

Warnings: Fluff, slight angst, mentions of birth complications, Alan is okay no need to panic 😅, anxieties of fatherhood, slight injury (nothing gruesome).

Rating: 12+ Word Count Total: 3209

AN: This is a birthday commission for @tsrookie who wanted a fic of dad!Ethan. I hope this is what you wanted and enjoy. The song that inspired this was Michele Morrone’s Dad (Accoustic Version):

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2cDNO--sPgE

I wanted to portray the significance of Alan in Ethan and Alyssa’s lives. It was emotional writing this 🥺.

Rome’s Birthday Celebration Masterlist 2021

CHOICES MASTERLIST

Tagged: @eleanorbloom @juliafranquet @me-and-my-choices @drethanramslay @choicesficwriterscreations @queencarb @miss-smrxtiee @melaninnntae @they-callme-ami @openheartfanfics @mvalentine @starrystarrytrouble @drariellevalentine @nikki-2406 @caseyvalentineramsey @kiara-36 @choicesreal @sophxwithers @brightningstar @tsrookie @gryffindordaughterofathena @arnikki-2406 @mercury84choices ​@theinvisibledreamergirl @stygianflood @ethansramsey

A blissful silence settled in the room as Ethan tossed his house keys onto the kitchen countertop. Flicking the switches as the lights turned on in his house. A large suburban white painted house that he and Alyssa bought a few years ago. Ethan’s eyes wandered around the living room, taking in the quiet. Alyssa wasn’t home yet which gave Ethan the time to head to his study. Clambering up the stairs and going to the first door on his left, a spacious room with forest green walls. A metal case of shelves with wooden baskets filled with stationary, was diagonally placed in the corner to the door. Directly opposite the door was a mahogany table with a cushioned wheeled office chair.

To the left of the door, was a red and green small plastic table and bench. Crayons and pencils were scattered on the table and floor, there were sheets of coloured papers with indiscernible scribbles. The furrow in Ethan’s eyebrows relaxed as he slipped off his black cashmere jacket and hung it on a hook to the left of him. Crouching by the small kids table and glanced at the drawings, noting the curved shapes to be attempts at writing. Writing what exactly? He wasn’t too sure. 

Nathan and Savannah were the smartest kids he knew. Why wouldn’t they be though, since their parents were the acclaimed doctors of Bloom Edenbrook’s diagnostics team. Ethan put their drawings in a woven basket which had a label of ‘kids’, he held onto all the crayons and pencils and placed them in their respective labelled pots. Placing the pots in their woven basket and placing their basket on top of the shelf unit. Alyssa probably didn’t have time to tidy up their mess because they were spending the afternoon and evening with Alyssa’s friends.

Maybe now was a good time to get started on his project as he pulled out a basket and took out a few sheets of thick matte paper and an envelope. Bringing them over to his desk and seating himself, opening a drawer in his desk. He took out a few ink pens and placed the pens next to his paper, his eyes darted to the wooden picture frame of Alyssa and their three kids: Allison, Nathan and Savannah. He still couldn’t believe that he was theirs, and they were his. It was only yesterday, when he and Alyssa were in the reception, treating for a thoracotomy and now they had a house and kids.

Ethan knew what he had to do as soon as he brought his pen to the paper, the words flew right through him as he wrote. The memories of his kids flooding his brain with a warm familiar glow.

~~~~~~

“Out of the way!”

Ethan rushed down the stairs, shoving past nurses and doctors before slamming the corridor door open to the maternity ward. Sienna was hot on his heels as he growled and grimaced at people, his eyes went to the pager as a message from Naveen popped up. ‘4cm dilated’. Ethan was close as he weaved through a never ending maze of Edenbrook’s corridors. In the distance he spotted Naveen, his dad Alan, and his daughter Allison were looking into the window of one of the maternity rooms.

“Ethan! There you are!”

“Daddy!”

His crinkled grumpy face relaxed at the sight of Allison. Five years old with a knack for mischief and a carbon copy of himself. She had his eyes and ears but Alyssa’s nose, lips and hair. Alan was taking care of Allison while Ethan and his wife were working, however, Alyssa’s contraction pains strengthened and her constant lavatory needs indicated that she needed to be checked in. Naveen came up to stand beside Ethan; who took Allison into his arms.

“Naveen, how is she?”

“Well the contractions are hurting and I have a feeling the babies are coming now. Dr. Delarosa is in there with her. Are you ready Ethan?”

Ethan gave a nod as he turned to Allison, a calm gentle smile reserved for her.

“Time to get your new siblings. You okay to wait here with Uncle Naveen and Grandpa?”

“Yeah! Uncle Naveen is buying me chocolate!”

Ethan quirked a brow at his mentor, who in return stuck with a confident grin before Ethan placed Allison down. Naveen clasped his hand around her tiny hand and led her to the staff break room, whilst listening to her ramblings about her new siblings. Ethan took a deep breath as Alan stepped up to rest his hand on his shoulder.

“I’m proud of you, son.”

Ethan smiled and was about to step into the room, when something held him still. His buried nerves leaked through his wall as memories of Dolores seeped to his front. Alyssa was pregnant with twins, that alone carried several complications in terms of the positioning of the babies, possible post partum haemorrhage. On top of that she was one week late, twins born post due date carry risks to the mother and the babies.

A flash of baby Ethan in the NICU drained the warmth from his face and he felt like he was drowning. He couldn’t breathe as he pressed a hand against the door ledge, bowing his head as Alan stood beside him. Alan could tell Ethan was panicking. His shoulders shook as Alan gently probed.

“Ethan?”

“What if something happens?”

“Boston’s famous doctor is worried about a twin birth? Ethan, you’ve done this before. You know what to do.”

“It’s different. Alyssa is in there. She’s the patient. What if I can’t make the right decision?”

“Ethan Jonah Ramsey. You are a diagnostician. A famous one at that. You look at the possibilities before you make your decision. You have it in you son. Plus she’s a fighter. She won’t back down. But she needs you. Be brave and if you can’t be brave, be brave for her. She needs your support.”

His father’s words felt like a warm wash of life as he inhaled the air, exhaling his anxieties and giving a steady nod. Ethan smiled at his father before pushing open the door to step into the room, stepping into action to help make Alyssa’s labour as easy as possible.

~~~~~~

“Daddy! When is Twilight Sparkle coming?”

“In a bit. If you finish your lunch, then she’ll come.”

“Daddy! Will she bring a lot of presents for us?”

“An average amount, Nathan.”

Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose as he watched over the several little kids munching on their mini pizza slices and tater tots. It was the twins’ birthday today and the two of them invited their whole class to celebrate, the sun was shining as the kids sat on picnic blankets. The Ramseys’ had a spacious garden which could hold for nearly twenty five kids and several adults. Bryce, Jackie and Elijah were keeping an eye on the kids as Ethan slipped away to the kitchen where Alyssa was sat on a breakfast stool with her foot in Sienna’s lap. Aurora was beside them as she carefully tapped a finger against the swollen skin near her ankle. Jenner paced on his paws with nervous energy as he whined at his mom, Alyssa.

“Alyssa has sprained her ankle … Ethan.”

The friends still had a difficult time addressing Ethan by his first name but he paid no heed to it as Alyssa tried to come off the stool, trying to brush off the pain.

“It’s nothing, I’m sure I’ll be fine as long as I don’t walk on it.”

Ethan sighed rather exasperatedly as he folded his arms at his wife. That motion alone made Alyssa meekly smile and remain in her seat. Aurora handed her a cool pack for Alyssa to use for her sprain. She knew that she needed to rest her ankle but the twins would be so upset.

“Fine. But how are we going to solve the entertainment issue?”

At that moment the front door opened and closed as Alan strode in with a confident excited gait. He had a white cardboard box in his hands as he hummed and placed the box on the table, unveiling it to reveal a My Little Pony cake with ‘Happy 4th Birthday! Nathan and Savannah’. Alan’s brows sagged at the sight of his daughter-in-law.

“What happened?”

“I … fell.”

Ethan resorted to pinching the bridge of his nose before explaining the story. The children were showing off dance moves and there was a little girl who was showing off her gymnastics ability. Alyssa thought she could show off her talent by demonstrating a cartwheel, unfortunately her cartwheel was aimed the wrong way and Alyssa landed awkwardly in a bush with her legs askew. Alan smiled at Alyssa as he realised that there was an issue of entertainment since Alyssa was planning to dress up as the kids’ favourite character, Twilight Sparkle.

“I guess that means Alyssa can’t be Twilight Sparkle.”

Sienna gave a nod and spoke up.

“Aurora, Jackie and I would do it but I don’t think there’s enough time for any of us to learn everything about My Little Pony. The kids are gonna see right through us.”

“It’s a conundrum.”

Everyone took a moment to think before Alan’s eyes twinkled with an idea.

“I have an idea. Sienna, start watching some My Little Pony, I’ll stall the kids. ‘Lyssa, where did you keep your guitar?”

Alyssa’s eyes twinkled as she informed Alan of the guitar, to which Aurora ran up to search for it. It seemed everyone knew what to do, everyone except for Ethan, who placed his hands on his hips, turning to his father.

“Would you mind clueing me into your plan?”

“A little singing will have the kids distracted while Aurora, Alyssa and Sienna get ready. The kids will love it!”

At that moment, Bryce popped his head through the glass garden doors, there’s a slight line of sweat near the crown of his neck as he nervously glances back.

“The kids are going rabid if Twilight Sparkle doesn’t come in the next five minutes.”

Aurora rushed back down and handed Alan a brown varnished acoustic guitar, a gift from Alyssa’s patient Remy. Alan hung the strap over his shoulder and strutted outside to where all the kids shrieked and yelled.

“Okay kids! Who’s gonna sing the My Little Pony theme song?”

Ethan went out and noticed all the kids sitting at their picnic blankets, bopping and singing while Alan strummed the tune of the My Little Pony theme song. Ethan and Rafael took the time to begin cleaning up the rubbish whilst Bryce, Elijah and Jackie kept an eye out for Sienna, Aurora and Alyssa. All the kids and the twins were enraptured, even Jenner was happily panting to the music. Alan was going through a list of songs going from the My Little Pony Theme Song, to the lime and coconut song and to  the rhinestone cowboy.Not long after, Alan got a thumbs up from Bryce and Jackie to which Alan smiled and announced.

“Now children! There is someone who’d like to wish two special children a Happy Birthday!”

Nathan and Savannah jumped up with excited shrieks as Alan strummed the music of the theme song and out came Twilight Sparkle. It was Sienna donning a purple sparkly dress, wings protruding from the back and a dark wig flowing off her shoulders. Her unicorn headband was fixed into the wig and her purple make-up shone in the sun as Sienna skipped towards the kids, tossing bounds of glitter.

Aurora and Jackie were helping Alyssa settle on a deck chair as the twins hugged and cried at the fact that Twilight Sparkle had come to their party. Ethan and Alyssa sent a thankful smile as Alan returned their smile, everyone’s faces warming at the twin’s excitement.

~~~~~~

Ethan used the back of his hand to wipe off the sweat on his brow as he pushed the front door of his apartment open. Baby Allison happily chewed on her yellow teether while bouncing in the baby sling, strapped across Ethan’s chest. Alyssa was working at the hospital after spending four months at home and it was Ethan’s turn to stay home with Allison. He was glad he opted for a loose linen shirt and khaki trousers as the Boston heat was slowly racking up. Ethan had gone out to buy some ingredients for their dinner: stir fried tofu and broccoli. 

Alyssa would need some good comfort food after going back to work and he knew that Chinese would delight her. He unclipped one arm strap, pressing a palm to hold up Allison before unclipping the other to carry his daughter to her high chair in the kitchen. Allison was teething so he handed her a teething ring to help Allison improve motor skills. His daughter smiled and babbled at the sight of her dad as Ethan pressed a kiss onto his daughter’s forehead.

Allison was a daddy’s girl since she would whine and cry with Alyssa, but when it came to Ethan, Allison babbled and laughed. Alyssa was sure that she would say ‘Dada’. Ethan grinned as Jenner padded into the kitchen, bringing himself up to stand on his hind legs beside Allison. The dog was protective and loving to Allison as she tried to swat at Jenner’s nose.

“Jenner, keep an eye on her.”

Jenner barked as Ethan began taking out utensils and the shopping to get started. Draining the water from the tofu and breaking up the broccoli into florets. Every so often, his eyes would wander to his little girl on the high chair. Ethan still couldn’t believe the fact that he was a father. A living breathing child was in his care, one he made with the woman he loved as his eyes glistened at the memories of her birth. Despite expecting for children to not be in the cards for him, life had a way of telling him that it was always the case.

As Ethan stared longingly at his daughter, Jenner could smell something faintly burning; turning his head to hear a loud crackle and pop. Jenner barked furiously which had Ethan snap out and realise the onions and garlic had burnt in the wok, the broccoli was charred beyond recognition as Ethan turned off the induction hob. The loud barks caused Allison to startle and little beads of tears streamed down her face.

His heart lurched as he immediately stalked to his daughter to take her in his arms and get her to settle down. It was the first time in a long time that Ethan burnt dinner as he exhaled at the time on his wrist watch. Alyssa would be home in an hour and it was too late to restart. He didn’t have enough ingredients and he couldn’t whip up something else in time for Alyssa to sink her teeth into.

At that moment his phone rang as Ethan reached into his pocket to rest the phone between his ear and shoulder, while bouncing a teary Allison in his lap.

“Ethan Ramsey.”

“Ethan.” The corner of Ethan’s lips curled upwards at the recognition of his father’s voice. “I’m just about ten minutes away from your home. Alyssa invited me to have dinner, do you need anything?”

Ethan glanced at the mess behind him, a low exhale left his lips.

“Can you please pick up some Chinese on your way here?”

It wasn’t long when Alan arrived with several bags of Chinese take out from Xing-Fu’s Restaurant. Ethan took the bags from Alan and set up the dining table while Alan took the time to talk and play with his granddaughter, Jenner wagged his tail rapidly as he watched Alan and Allison. Not long after the kitchen was clear and the dinner table was set, Alyssa had entered the apartment with a smile on her face.

She took a moment to freshen up before joining the Ramseys at the dinner table. Her eyes sparkled at the array of side dishes as she pecked Ethan’s cheek before digging rather ravenously into the food. All the tension from the day melted under the spicy heat of duck and the softness of lotus buns. Ethan and Alan share a knowing smile as they too get stuck into their meal, Allison smiles and babbles in her high chair next to Alyssa. Glad to have her mother with her.

~~~~~~

The memories faded as Ethan lifted his pen from the letter, a soft nostalgic smile brushed on his face as he pushed the frame of his glasses up the bridge of his nose. A faint sound of the front door opened as excited chirps and barking fluttered into his study. The kids, Jenner and Alyssa were home as Ethan smiles at the incoming thunder steps, spinning his office chair to the direction of the door. The twins come tumbling in and launch themselves into Ethan’s arms, not giving a chance for Ethan to pay attention to their chatter. Jenner is sitting at the entrance of the door, while Allison stands behind him with her hand scratching the top of his fur. 

“Nathan, Savannah! I cannot understand your rambling.”

“Yeah, they had a lot of pastries. Aunt Sienna made a lot of cakes and biscuits.”

Ethan shook his head with a teasing grin at the twins. The two of them hid their mouths as Nathan denied.

“No we didn’t. Ally did!”

“Liar, I saw you two take two slices of the chocolate fudge cake.”

“No! You’re dreaming Ally.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow at his troublesome twins but pressed long kisses into their hair. Savannah leaned over his shoulder and noticed the pen and paper before pressing her two palms on Ethan’s face, forcing him to look directly at her as she asked.

“Are you drawing without us?”

Ethan shook his head as he explained.

“I’m making a gift for grandpa.”

“Are you gonna give it to him tomorrow?”

Before he could answer, Alyssa appeared at the door with her hands on her hips, dressed in a green cotton dress and brown knee high boots. Her mom voice was coming through as she moved her eyes between the troublesome twins.

“Nathan and Savannah. Time for bed. We’ve got to wake up early tomorrow if you want to spend the whole day with Grandpa.”

“Do we have to?”

Ethan stood up and held on to the twins as he smartly urged.

“Come on if you get dressed for bed, you can stay up late tomorrow.”

The twins gasped as they scrambled off Ethan’s arms and rushed to their bedroom to get into their pyjamas. A small smile curled up on Alyssa’s lips as she turned to the eldest Ramsey child.

“You too, Ally!”

“But Mom!”

“Come on.”

Ethan steps up to the doorway and sweetly kisses his wife as she cupped his cheek.

“You coming?”

“Just finishing up.”

Alyssa gave a nod and led her daughter away to her bedroom, Jenner obediently bounding behind them. Ethan returned to his desk to read over the last words he wrote.

Look at me now. I’m a dad.

Thank you for making me the man I am today.

Love,

Dr. Ethan J. Ramsey

[ikleesfiction]

Will you follow through if I fall for you?

Fandom : One Chicago Word count : 2,276 words Author Notes : Rated M Disclaimer

Previously on this fic : Part 1 🞂 Part 2 🞂 Part 3 🞂 Part 4

Part 5

Jay didn’t text or call you further until the next day. You feel your phone vibrating on the desk as you are working with your headphones on. You see Jay’s name on the display before you pick it up, “Hello?”

“Hey, Y/N! I’m downstairs. Let's do the dinner date now. You haven’t had dinner yet, have you?” Jay spontaneously announces.

It was just past 7 PM. You have been working since 1 PM and didn’t notice the time goes. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Couldn’t you give me more time to prepare?”, you sound annoyed but he can hear the smile in your tone.

“Don't want you to accuse me of bailing again. So I have to be sure I can make it”, Jay says grinningly.

“Why don’t you come up and wait in my living room?”, you let Jay know your apartment number and buzz him up before you disconnect the call. Soon you hear knocks on your door.

“Hi, come on in”, you usher Jay into your place. “Sit wherever you like, make yourself at home. If you’d like to drink, feel free to take it from the fridge. I’m gonna go get ready”, you tell him.

As you turn your back to leave, Jay grabs your wrist gently and turns you around. His hand then cups your face tenderly and he leans to kiss your lips. You freeze up for a tick before melt into it. Your hand moves to his chest, palm over his denim jacket.

Jay pulls away after a while, “Hi. I miss you”, he murmurs. You just blink owlishly and stay speechless.

“Now you can go get ready”, he commands you with a smile. You voluntarily follow his order. Jay shakes his head, amused. He was being honest when he said he misses you. For the whole day, he was hoping the unit wouldn’t get any urgent cases. Once it’s time to clock out, Jay quickly moved out of the district. The kiss though been something that he wanted to do since he met you at Will’s place. When Jay saw you opened the door before, he thought you’re cute with faded pink shorts that were drowned by an oversized white t-shirt. He just felt like it was the right time to properly kiss you.

As he waits for you to get ready, Jay looks around at your place. It’s an open-plan apartment. He can see almost every corner of it from the living room. A flat tv was hanging on the wall, in front of a cozy couch and a simple coffee table. On one corner, there is a small desk table with a mismatched but comfy looking chair. A laptop, headphones, and a microphone are sitting on the table. Next to it, there are an electric keyboard and a guitar. Cables plug and scatter around messily. He figures that’s where you do your work.

Jay walks to the kitchen to take a bottle of water from the fridge. You don’t have a dining table. Only a kitchen island with chairs on its outer side. On the fridge door, he can see a training schedule and some recipe cards. There are no pictures or drawings. Actually, he cannot find any family photos or even band posters around the place. The place looks kind of bare without any personal decoration. Jay wonders how long you’ve been living in this place.

Fifteen minutes later, you come out of your room in a cream-colored blouse and skinny blue jeans. Because Chicago weather always feels chilly to you, you put on a black light-jacket that fell slightly above your wrists. “Okay, I’m ready”, you fluff your hair a bit. You don’t have time to style it the way you like. So brush and fingers should do.

“You clean up nice”, Jay compliments you. He offers his hand for you to take.

“Well, thanks for the heads-up”, you respond jokingly as both of you step out of your place after you lock it down.

You and Jay casually chat while he drives. “How was your day?”, you genuinely want to know.

“It’s good. Any day without getting shot at is actually good. The gang told me to say hi to you, by the way”, he informs you.

“Really? How many people are there in your team? I was lowballing for breakfast the other day. I hope it’s enough”, you tilt your head curiously.

“No, you were great. No one was left hungry. Let’s see, there is my partner, Hailey Upton. We got Ruzek, Olinsky, and Dawson. Hank Voight is our boss. Who else did I miss? Hmm…Oh, Burgess and Atwater! So there’s eight of us”, Jay counts.

“And Sergeant Platt at the desk”, you remind him.

Jay lets out a laugh, “Right, that’s sweet of you to remember her”

“Well, no one can go in 21st District without her permission. So I have to take good care of her”, you humorously explain your reason.

Soon Jay parks his car. “The restaurant is just around the corner”, he shows you as you step out of his car. You walk side by side to the restaurant.

“Dawson told me this place is good but I’ve never been here before”, Jay informs you when he opens the restaurant door for you.

“Great, I like unknown places”, you cheerfully comment.

There is a friendly-looking older guy greets them at the door. “Hola! Welcome! My name is Carlos. Are you looking for a table for two?”

Jay gives him an affirmative nod, “Yes, please”

Carlos then guides both of you to a table. He lets you settle down and gives menu cards to review. A few minutes later, he comes back, “Ready to order?”

Jay looks at you questioningly. “Ah, can you tell me more about this one?”, you ask Carlos, pointing out an appetizing picture of a dish on the menu. The discussion is certainly longer than normal, but Carlos happily explains it to you. Finally, you pick your choice and so does Jay.

“I’m sorry. It must’ve been annoying to listen to”, you apologize to Jay once Carlos left.

“Not at all", Jay brushes it off. "It is actually interesting to see. The guy was ready to narrate all the tales about each dish when you ask”

“Yeah, thankfully he’s patient about it. Other places might have kicked me out before I can decide”, you snort a laugh. “That happened before. We were in New York. My best friend, Alex is a DJ. He was scheduled to play a gig at a club there. We planned to have an early dinner before going to the club. It was a fairly fancy restaurant. I remembered asking at least three questions for each dish before the waitress lost her patience, accused me of pranking her, and kicked us out. We were too shocked to say anything”, you giggle through your story. “Whenever we try new places now, I’m not allowed to order anymore”

"You're not just being polite when you mentioned you like unknown places", Jay remarks after laughing at your story.

"No, I truly like it. When we travel for work, we like to try places recommended by locals. Sometimes they do well, sometimes they don't. That's the fun in that", you justify.

"Is that why your place is rather bare? Because you travel all the time?", he pries.

"Ah no, not really. I.. I haven't been staying there long. Two months now", you hesitantly unfold.

"Oh, where do you live before?", he continues to probe.

"Amsterdam", you quickly respond, wishing he doesn't ask more about it.

"That's far. What made you move here?", Jay intrigues, unaware of your discomfort.

Before you can reply, a waiter comes with an appetizer and wine. He pours the wine into both of yours and Jay's glass, then leaves the bottle on the table. You softly exhale your relief, grateful for the distraction.

“Hmm, this is good”, you say after sipping your wine and tasting the food. “This place is very nice", as you look around the restaurant. "A good recommendation you received here, Jay”

"Yeah, Antonio rarely stirs us wrong", Jay agrees with you.

"Antonio is Gabby's brother, right?", you ask him.

"Yeah, you know her?", Jay returns with a tad surprised.

"Uhuh, Met her at Molly's", you answer shortly. It is not exactly a lie, but it is not the whole truth either. You did come to Molly's the night before the incident where Firehouse 51 saved you.

"Seriously? I can't believe we never met before. Our unit is a regular there! Even Will also frequently goes there", Jay baffles. You just giggle in response.

Easy conversation flows during dinner. Both of you certainly enjoy it. Soon the meal is finished and dessert is polished. While Jay settles the bill, you compliment the staff for the nice meal. Carlos bids farewell at the door with a small package of dulce de leche cookies. "Hope you enjoy the rest of your night!", he wishes you and Jay goodbye.

“What if we take a walk for a while, sober up from the wine?”, Jay suggests to you after leaving the restaurant. “Okay”, you readily agree.

Jay holds your hand when you both stroll along the sidewalk. The sky is quite clear. Even though you cannot see a lot of stars, the moon shines prettily. Both of you glance at each other a few times. Until you lock eyes with him, Jay stops his walk and turns to look at you. “Gosh, you’re gorgeous”, he states before kissing you tenderly on your lips.

One kiss turns two and another and another. It got more intense for each kiss. You’re not sure how long until you have to take a breather.

“Might be better if we go back now?” you sigh to his lips. He steals another kiss before replying, “Okay, we’re going now.”

◢◤

Your hand is shaking when you try to open your apartment door with Jay’s hands wrap around your waist. His body presses on your back while his lips nibble on your neck. Once you get in, you lead him to your bedroom. Jay sheds his and your clothes one by one in between kisses along the way. Both of you are topless when you reach your bedroom. You push him lightly to your bed and straddle him on his lap. The make-out session keeps going for a while. His hands then move from your ass to take off your jeans. He rolls on top of you and starts to peel your jeans from your legs.

You suddenly realize that he’s going to see the scar on your left leg, a souvenir from the incident. Jay can feel you stiffen when his knuckles graze your scar. “You okay?”, he tentatively asks you.

“Ah, yeah. I don’t know how I could forget about it. I’m sorry. I could cover it so you...”, you falter.

“What? What are you talking about?”, Jay confusedly interrupts.

You sit up and pointedly look at your left leg. There’s a long jagged line that goes along your left hamstring. Jay delicately touches it, but you jerk your leg away in reflex, “Sorry! Am I hurting you?”, Jay sounds worried.

“No, you’re not”, you fall back to your pillow and avoid looking at Jay. He moves to your right side and leans on his left elbow, facing you as he waits for you to speak.

“There’s was an incident, a couple months ago”, you begin to fill him in. “Alex was playing a gig at a nightclub on Fulton River District. I assisted him behind the stage”, you shudder as you recount the nightmare.

“One moment everything went alright, but then I saw the stage started to wobble. It collapsed quickly. I pulled Alex out of the way but I moved too slow...” Jay stays silent but holds your right hand and kisses the back of it.

“I was trapped under the rubble. My leg got pinned. Until Firehouse 51 pulled me out of there”. Jay instinctively squeezes your hand. “Torn the ligaments, got some nerve damage too. Been working on it ever since”, you unreliably conclude your story.

Jay is quiet for a while, but his hand moves to caress your face. “I’m gonna buy drinks for the whole 51 next time I see them at Molly’s”, he declares and then closes the gap to your lips. “For them to save you, so I can have you here, with me, right now”

He continues to kiss your neck, down to your shoulder, on top of your breast, your ribs. His lips keep moving south until he gets to your thigh. You try to pull your left leg away, but he is just not having it. He peppers your thigh and knee with soft kisses. “You don’t have to do that”, you whisper. “I know it’s off-putting”

“That’s where you are wrong. I see this as a beautiful sign that you survive” Jay fiercely says. “I got scars too, Y/N. Some even invisible. Are you appalled about my scars?”, he questions you.

“Of course not!” you exclaim.

“So you understand that I am not revolted by it”, his eyes look at you sincerely, before he puts your left leg on his right shoulder to kiss your scar.

Soon, he takes off his trousers and underwear, follows by pulling yours off. When he crawls back on top of you, you circle your hands around his neck and pull him down to kiss his lips passionately.

"I'm so glad I got a chance to meet you", Jay says before continues the night to make love to you.

Next on this fic : Part 6

+x Taglist +x

@shipshipshipau @itsdesiree86 @thevelvetseries @annaallicce

[inclementweather]

Give that man a hand!

Engie looked at the piece of barbed wire he’d kicked loose from the dirt.  It was coated in red dust, dull and rusty, the barbs eaten by rust until they were delicate crumbles of metal, looking as though they would fall apart at a touch.  Until his boot caught on the raised twist of wire, it had been a great day for a battle.  Now, not so much.  He closed his eyes, trying to shake the memories he’d dug up with the length of wire but unable to.  Engie groaned and picked the piece of wire up, flinging it as far away from him and his nest as possible.  Walking back to his sentry, he sat in the meager shade provided by a rock and leaned his head back, deliberately slowing his breathing, concentrating on the cool stone against the back of his head.

Closing his eyes, he drifted off, lulled by the warm sun, the familiar scents of dust and gunpowder.   He let his mind wander and quickly found himself back in the rundown old barn on his dad’s ranch in Texas.  He was young, not even tall enough to see over the stall doors yet, but he could hear the occasional rustle of mice in the stalls as he walked.  He climbed up the ladder into the hayloft, hiding from his chores for a moment of uninterrupted play, something that didn’t come often on the busy ranch.  

Settling down into the soft layer of hay that covered the loft, he reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out the toy soldiers he’d brought along, lining them up on a spot he’d cleared on the floor.  He sneezed, ignoring the dust motes dancing in the golden rays of sunlight that came through cracks in the walls.  He turned his head, listening for a moment as his Pa called him in the distance.  He could pretend he didn’t hear, he decided.  He might get a whipping later for shirking his chores, but it would be worth it.  Mind made up, he turned back to his toys.  

He’d been playing for about a half hour when he heard the meow. Moving into a crouch, he listened carefully.  He could hear them, kittens nearby.  Trying to be silent, he began moving toward the sound.  He loved the barn cats that lurked on the farm, half feral and skittish as hell, but they would occasionally let him run fingers through their soft fur, purring loudly until their pride overtook them and they darted off, watching him from a distance.  

He moved down the ladder, following the soft meows, hoping that he could find the kitten and maybe catch it, tame it down, and make it a friend.  He grinned as he caught a glimpse of grey fur moving through the shadows.  He darted after the movement, rewarded when the kitten wandered into the open area behind the barn.  He crouched beside the door as it batted at a leaf, making him smile with it’s antics.  The kitten looked up then and froze, back arching as it saw him.  

“Here, kitty, kitty.” He kept his voice soft and low, not wanting to startle it any more than he already had.  The kitten moved away from him, fur glowing blue grey under the warm Texas sun.  He moved toward it in a crouch, fingers wiggling on the ground by his feet.  He continued to make soft noises deep in his throat, imagining how the fur would feel on his fingers.  

The kitten looked tempted for a moment, then backed away, edging toward the manure pit behind the barn.  He followed, nose wrinkling at the thick odor of decaying manure, but not wanting to give up on the kitten just yet.  He edged closer, the kitten slowly retreating.  He was almost within reach, nearly able to feel that soft fur on his fingers.  The pit loomed behind the kitten, dark and malevolent, edges going nearly straight down. His pa had warned him about the pit, that it was deep and not a place for boys to play, though he couldn’t imagine why anyone would willingly get too close to that big pile of nasty.  He understood the need for it, he was a farm kid and knew that manure was the best fertilizer around, not to mention cheap and easy to come by on a ranch, but still, when the wind shifted in the evenings and blew the smell toward the house, even his mama, the most proper woman he’d ever met, would utter a curse word or two.  

He watched the kitten edge closer to the pit, then jump up on one of the fence posts that supported the barbed wire that kept unwitting cattle from wandering into the pit.  With a grin, he straightened and walked over to it, reaching out for the kitten.  His fingers just brushed the soft fur when the ground he was standing on began to crumble. He yelled and staggered back but his shirt sleeve snagged on the barbed wire and he couldn’t get it free as the ground collapsed beneath him.  

He screamed as he fell, the scream abruptly cut off as his head was submerged beneath the horrid, partly liquid surface of the pit.  He could feel the burning sting of cuts as the barbed wire raked up his arm, a coil of it slipping around his wrist and catching him, preventing him from sinking all the way beneath the dark surface.  His head broke the top of the pit, he dragged in great gasps of foul air as he tried to make his way to the bank.  He couldn’t move, his arm snagged under the surface of the pit, the cruel stricture of barbed wire sinking deeper into his wrist, pulling him further down and then, something grabbed his leg, holding him tightly.  

The boy panicked then, kicking and flailing against whatever was holding him, feeling it tighten around his leg, hard barbs sinking deeper into his flesh, pulling at him.  He tired quickly, one hand wrapped in the coils that stretched down from above, one leg held under the surface, his foot balanced precariously on the wood of the fence post as he panted and heaved in his terror, eyes fixed on the edge of the pit.  

He whimpered as he tilted his head back, chin just above the viscous surface of the muck filling the pit and coughed, a gout of black fluid coming out of his throat and spewing back to land on his filth covered cheeks.  Out of the corner of his eye he caught movement, turning his head a bit he looked at the tarry black surface of the pit.  White worms were crawling in the muck, their slight weight not allowing them to sink.  He clamped his mouth shut as his brain identified them, maggots, swarming in the mire, growing and eating, flies buzzing above the surface as the maggots transformed, ate more, then laid eggs in the effluvia, an endless circle of death and grotesqueness.  He gagged through his clenched lips, swallowing down the bile that rose in his throat.  

Above him, the strand of barbed wire ensnaring his wrist twanged at the tension on it and he briefly wondered what would happen if it broke.  He’d seen a guitar string break once, leaving a bleeding welt across his uncle’s cheek.  He tried to focus on his hand, the fingers turning purple as the wire tightened even more, cutting off the flow of blood to his fingers, leaving them thick  purple sausages sticking straight up.  He grimaced as flies landed on them, covering them in a moving black glove, hiding the color, if not the distended shape of them.  

Moving slightly, he shifted his weight, wincing at the sting in his leg as whatever had hold of him tightened below the surface.  To his left, a bubble rose to the surface and popped, the flatulent sound drawing his eyes.  He rolled them and watched as more bubbles rose, then something big, moving toward the surface, breaching like a whale and rolling over.  He bit back a scream as he stared into empty eye sockets, the cow’s skull seeming to stare at him for a moment, streaks of glistening foulness creating rivulets like black tears as they poured from the empty sockets.  The skull settled, watching him as it slowly sank back below the surface.  He screamed, knowing what was wrapped around his leg now, it had to be a tentacle.  

He’d watched enough Twilight Zone to know about vengeful ghosts and their hatred of the living, read his cousin’s Tales From The Crypt comics, knew what had happened.  The cow had died in here, drowning slowly and with no one to help and now the soul was trapped and sucking down anyone wary enough to fall in.  He could feel his mind teetering on the edge of sheer panic at the thought, the ghostly barbs of the Death Cow digging deeper into his leg, wanting to watch him go under, wanting to suck his soul out the way he sucked on a juicy slice of watermelon, devouring it hungrily.  It was too much.  He gave in to the screams.  

He wasn’t aware of the barbed wire wrapping ever tighter around his wrist, the trapped blood causing the ends of his fingers to explode, bright red fountaining out and spraying the pit’s dark surface, wasn’t aware of the fence post slipping under his foot as he slid off his precarious perch.  He was only aware that he was sinking, the Death Cow tightening it’s grip around his leg, dragging him down into the murky depths where he would lay unfound forever.  His screams turned to choking sobs, fetid liquid oozing into his mouth, down his throat.  He couldn’t breathe, lungs filling as his head went under.  

He didn’t know when the big hand wrapped around his, grasping the blood and muck covered slickness, dragging him back to the surface, and then heaving him to the shore, was unaware that his leg was shredded as the weight of the fencepost tightened the barbed wire wrapping his thigh and dragged it down, slicing as it went.  He wasn’t aware of the panic as his Pa and his Uncles carried him up to the house, unconscious, barely breathing, dripping blood and black water with every step.  He was aware of nothing until he woke up, two weeks later, in a pristine white bed in a sterile white hospital room, his hand missing, amputated after gangrene set into the damaged and shredded appendage.  

After he was out, they told him how the bank had been eaten under where he stood, causing it to collapse, how the barbed wire from the fence post had entangled him, simultaneously damning and saving him.  Even after they told him, he couldn’t look at barbed wire without a nameless dread filling his chest, the ghost of the foulness he drowned in filling his lungs, making it impossible to breathe. 

Engie’s eyes jerked open and he sprang up with a start, his beer bottle tipping over and pale golden fluid wetting the dry earth.  He sighed, righted the bottle with his mechanical hand, gaze lingering on it for a moment.  

“Hey man, you alright?”  a voice asked from behind him and he turned to look at the Scout standing there, bat over his shoulder, eying the mess askance. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”  He hoped the boy didn’t hear the slight tremble in his voice.  “Just thinking about when I was a kid.  Why don’t you get out there and do something ‘stead of hanging around here and scaring old men while they nap?”  He let the aggressive tone cover the tremble, narrowing his eyes behind the goggles.  “Go on, boy, war ain’t gonna win itself.”  

“Jeez, man, whatever.” The boy turned and stalked off, and Engie watched him go.  When he was out of sight, he glanced down at his metal hand one more time. 

 “Fuck barbed wire.” he muttered, then turned back to his work. 

[bosspigeon]

it’s a thankless job

Pairing: Mason/m!Detective Words: 1709 Summary: Mason learns something pretty... unexpected about the detective.

Title from “Thankless Job” from, of course, Repo! The Genetic Opera.

Chase doesn’t greet him with more than a curt nod as he comes out of the station, but Mason doesn’t take it personally. Especially not when he gives the detective a very pointed up-and-down look, and he catches the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

They start the walk to Chase’s car, and he glances sideways and up at Mason and raises his eyebrows. “I was heading to the warehouse already,” he says, glancing around. “Anything going on I need to know about?”

Mason fiddles with an unlit cigarette, twirling it between his fingers. “No. Just some whispers of trappers here and there. Got Agent Kingston a bit antsy, so I offered to look after you today.” The bone-dry side-eye Chase gives him makes him smirk. “Never took you for such an altruist,” he says.

It’s an easy one, really. Mason can’t resist. “Considering all that time I spend on my knees for you, that hurts a bit.”

“We both know you like that as much as I do.” Chase’s dark eyes are intent, bold brows quirked. He’s smiling too, just a hint of teeth showing. “Maybe more.”

Mason pauses for a split second, and Chase just laughs quietly to himself as he strides ahead. Mason shakes his head, and it only takes him a few long strides to catch up to the stocky detective again. “Walked right into that one,” he admits, snorting.

“You’re pretty easy,” Chase snickers. The double entendre is obvious enough neither of them need to comment. Mason’s long had his suspicions Chase finds it funny to set him up with innuendos and jokes, especially when they’re around the rest of Unit Bravo. Even Agent Kingston, more than once. The detective is damn lucky Mason’s got absolutely no shame.

They make it to Chase’s car, and Mason, of course, bitches about how tiny and beat-up it is. “How’s this thing even still running?” he demands, folding himself into the front seat. Chase, of course, has no trouble, short as he is, and he gets himself buckled in then entertains himself by watching Mason struggle to make himself comfortable with his much longer legs.

Chase huffs out a laugh and cranks the car easily. “Where there’s a will, some duct tape, and a mechanical engineering degree that would otherwise be collecting dust, there’s a way,” he says sagely. The car miraculously comes to life and Chase starts fiddling with the radio, raising his eyebrows at Mason as if to ask if he’s going to be a brat about it-- as he very bluntly did last time.

Mason huffs and crosses his arms, and Chase rolls his eyes, reaching over Mason’s lap to the glove compartment to pop it open and rifle through. “Oh, shit!” he blurts, eyebrows rising as he unearths something from underneath a stack of brown fast-food napkins, a battered leather CD book, and a little folder that likely has his registration and insurance papers. “That’s where that’s been!”

Mason doesn’t get much of a look at the jewel case, just a flash of bold red and black and yellow, before it’s flipped open and Chase is stuffing the disc into the CD player. He skips a few songs, so the vampire gets a few blurts of discordant guitar, some piano, perhaps whispering, but never enough to guess what genre the album might be. He grins at Mason as he tosses the case into the backseat and pulls out of the police station’s parking lot.

Mason’s face wrinkles up as what sounds like some sort of operatic chorus starts up, then… heavy guitar. “What the fuck is this?”

Chase just laughs and starts singing, well, more like talking, along with the vocalist.

“Out from the night from the mist steps a figure. No one really knows his name for sure. He stands at six foot six, head and shoulders, Pray he never comes knocking at your door. Say that you once bought a heart or new corneas, But somehow never managed to square away your debts. He won't bother to write or to phone you... He'll just rip your still-beating heart from your chest!”

Mason twists around to grab the case from the backseat. Repo! The Genetic Opera. He flicks open the case to try and figure out what they’re listening to. He punches the skip song button, seeing the CD player is on shuffle mode.

Chase is still laughing, tapping his fingers on the steering will along with whatever snatches of songs he can catch before Mason changes it again.

“Is this a fucking musical? You listen to musicals?”

Chase leans forward, almost wheezing as he tries to get himself under control without taking his eyes off the road. “I told you I got a full ride to uni, right?”

A bit bewildered by the sudden change of subject, and still trying to figure out what kind of musical has songs about organ harvesting of all things, he just says, “Yeah? What’s that got to do with anything?”

They stop at a red light and Chase turns to look at him, dark eyes shining. His face is more open than Mason’s ever seen it, his body relaxed. He pats his glove on the steering wheel again, gets distracted humming along to something about little glass vials. “Well, I dunno if you know, but you have to work your ass off to get those. You can’t just have good grades. You have to have near-perfect ones, along with shit like community service, and,” The light goes green, and he turns his attention back to the road, but he glances quickly at Mason again, one corner of his mouth twisting, “extracurricular activities.”

It dawns on Mason slowly, but when it does hit him, his jaw drops. He gawks at Chase, blurting out a disbelieving laugh. “No. Chase, you--” Another sharp laugh bubbles from his lips. “You were a fucking theatre kid?”

Chase’s half-grin is answer enough, and Mason completely dissolves, dragging a hand down his face and clutching the dashboard with the other. Chase reaches over and cranks the radio higher, and ordinarily Mason would be cringing away, but the detective’s laughter echoing his drowns it out, sits in his chest. Once he’s finally managed to calm down, he turns the music back down, and groans breathlessly. They’ve pulled off the main road and to the backroad leading through the forest to the warehouse by this point, and the dappled light through the trees finally allows Mason to relax into the seat without cringing away from the late-afternoon sun.

“How did you even manage that between your other extracurriculars?” Mason sneers, though there’s no venom to it.

Chase straightens up in the driver’s seat, shoulders back, and slyly says, “I’m very good at multitasking.” Another easy one. Mason gives a rough, low chuckle.

“Oh, I know that, at least.” He shifts in his seat, gesturing to the radio. “So did you ever do this one?”

Chase shakes his head. “Hm? Oh, no, this was from a movie that came out after I left for uni, and it’s way too gory and dark for most school productions. Plus, all the best roles are for baritones. I’m a tenor.” He rolls his eyes hard enough Mason can see it, even in profile. “But in secondary school, I was a contralto, because, y’know, bullshit gender roles.”

Mason scoffs. “Like I know what any of that means.”

“Keep following me around like a puppy begging for scraps, sunshine, and you’ll learn by osmosis. Don’t worry.”

Mason curls his lip at the nickname (and at the ‘begging for scraps’ comment), but supposes turnabout is fair play. “Bet Felix would have a field day knowing this, sweetheart,” he taunts back, already delighting in the idea of the other agent losing his mind. “Hell, Nate will probably be overjoyed, knowing you’re into the same nerdy shit he is.” He quirks a brow, listening to some of the lyrics still drifting from the radio. “Though I’m not sure he’d approve of this one.”

Chase is quiet as they pull up behind the warehouse proper, putting it in park. He turns slowly to Mason, who smirks, hoping this time he’s finally managed to get a rise out of the detective. He’s always so fun when he’s trying not to be flustered. But Chase just smirks right back, eyebrows raised challengingly. They just stare at each other for a long moment, before Chase unbuckles his seatbelt and leans over the center console. His hand slips over Mason’s, the leather of his glove warm and supple as he twists their fingers together. Mason’s heart rate spikes, his world narrowing down to those dark, sultry eyes framed by thick lashes, that little beauty mark that draws the gaze, the teasing curve of his plush lips that Mason dreams about biting when he should be focusing on work far too often. He laughs, soft and faintly wicked.

“It’s so cute that you think anyone will believe you.” He cuts off the car, ejects the CD, and pops it into the case he slipped from Mason’s lax hands before tucking it into his jacket and leaving Mason sitting in the front seat, stunned into silence for the second time in the span of an hour.

He snaps his seatbelt off once he regains himself, and hurries to follow the detective’s retreating back, laughing with breathless disbelief. “You son of a bitch!” he calls, somewhere between annoyed, impressed, and, well, obviously a little turned on.

Chase turns around to eye him, still smirking, walking backwards so he can taunt, “Oh, don’t let Rebecca hear you call me that, sunshine. You’re already on her shit list.” He whirls around and disappears into the warehouse.

Mason ambles along slowly, tilting his head back and looking up at the sky. He drags a hand down his face and huffs out another bemused laugh. There’s a niggling little voice at the back of his head that wonders, for a split second, what Chase sounds like when he really sings. But he brushes it off and hurries to catch up to him. Maybe if he distracts the detective with a bit of fondling in a dark corner, he can get that CD back from him.

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter twenty-eight: alex’s nineteenth birthday

It took Sam a few moments to realize that she was no longer back in her apartment, but at the new place in Hell's Kitchen. But she had found her way back to that safe place, even if the surroundings had changed to of great extent. She shook her head to rid of her dream world and she placed the journal down on the table before her.

Marla had slept through the throes of jet lag for what felt like forever, and swift phone call back to Jon and Marsha's place allowed her to figure things out from then onward as the summer days dwindled down to autumn there in New York. Indeed, Anthrax themselves would make their grandiose return to the United States in no time once another trio of dates wrapped up for them. A full four weeks off and they would make the flight back to Europe for a fuller stint of the tour, and albeit one that would last them all the way to Christmas. It almost felt as though Jon was making it up as he went along but she had to take his word for it, especially given the shakiness of the music world, and especially since Aurora and Emile hadn't returned to New York City themselves.

Her best friend had gone off with her new groom and in turn left her there at the altar herself. She sat there on a stool next to the phone on the wall and she listened to Jon talk about things there at the label. Marla still hadn't woken up and Zelda had long left the apartment to deal with her own affairs with the Cherry Suicides: the latter of whom did, however, leave her duct taped boots there at the apartment, right next to the coffee table. There was that vase there at the far end, right where Sam had been laying, and she yearned for those yellow tulips once again. Sam cleared her throat but she never said anything while she listened and hung onto every word.

She had to do so: she was the most important person there at the label at the moment next to Jon.

“Besides, Alex's birthday is coming up here in a few weeks time,” he added at one point, and that coaxed a smile out of Sam.

“He'll be nineteen now! Still just a hatchling.”

Jon chuckled at that, but Sam was serious upon saying that. Alex still was a young boy about to make his transition into manhood. A nineteen year old kid who had already put out an album and yet she still struggled to make her way through the art world. There had to be an opening of sorts, something that could potentially free her from the whole tedium of going to school and going back home. It wasn't just the change in surroundings, but rather there had to be an escape out of there somehow.

Something to move her away from it all, even if it was just for a little bit, even as she and Jon bode their goodbyes and she hung up the phone.

The thrill and rush of being on tour had something to do with it. Being out in the world at large. All the world was a stage after all. She had that itch she couldn't seem to scratch once again, and the first day of school had to prove to be something more for her lest she find herself bounding off of the walls of Hell's Kitchen once more.

She strode back out of the kitchen so as to fetch her journal. So much drawing in such a short amount of time, and she remembered that school was about to start off a brand new quarter and ultimately a brand new year within a few days time.

She returned to those three drawings that happened as if they each were a hallucination. Something that came forth from another part of her mind, a place that no one knew about before. But she had to keep it under wraps for the time being, for the time in which she had right there at that very moment, that precise moment in time, the very present. At some point, Joey needed to know how she felt about him, and if it had to take her utmost intimate pieces of art to do such a thing then she was willing to undertake that task.

Marla needn’t know about them, not until there came a time in which she had to talk about them for real. But then again, she had her privacy at her fingertips, the precious bit of privacy all to herself. She had her mind’s eye fixed on the three men among the pages of that journal, the three men whom everyone knew but also didn’t know at the same time.

A knock at the door caught her attention and thus jarred her back down to earth once again. She closed the journal and clambered to her feet. Lucky for her, Genie had curled up with Marla in the bed down the hall. Sam recognized that head of blonde hair down past the shoulders now tied up tight in a snug ponytail upon her head coupled with the doll-like features.

“Oh, hi, Bel,” she greeted her.

“Hey! Is Marla up?”

“Nah, she's been out like a light for the last day and a half. I think she got up once after you left the morning after. What’s going on?”

“A little bird told me that it’s about to be someone’s birthday soon,” she replied in singsong voice. “A certain boy who happens to play guitar in the only five piece band for miles.”

“Let me guess,” Sam started as she let her into the apartment, “Jon told you.”

“I won’t tell,” Belinda giggled, and then she shut the door behind her, and she turned towards Sam with her eyebrows knitted together.

“She got up once after I left,” Belinda echoed her. “Only once.”

“Yeah, Marla’s just been wiped out lately because of the damn jet lag,” Sam answered, and she tucked her hands into her shorts pockets. “I've been sleeping well, though.”

“I have, too—wow.”

“So what'd you have in mind for little Mr. Alexander?” Sam took her seat on the arm of the couch closest to the door.

“Well, I was thinking that—since he's a guitar player—maybe you and I can look into playing around with leather and make him a new strap?”

“Ooh, yeah! Like you can craft out the leather and I can paint on designs and whatnot on there. That's a great idea, Bel!”

“We'll have to do some reading, of course, but it's definitely something I've thought about in the past. Getting into leather work. It's just something that fascinates me.”

“It sounds fascinating—like glass work.”

“Well, since Marla isn't up, I'm thinking maybe you and I can go over to the book shop up the block here and find something about that.”

“I'll take it,” said Sam as she reached for her purse on the hook behind her. “Totally nice day for a walk, anyways.”

“Right?”

Without another word, the two of them headed outside to the hazy gray afternoon and they made their way up the block to the book shop in question. Sam thought about that one place that she and Cliff had gone to down by L'Amour all the while, even as she and Belinda looked up the books in the crafting section, tucked back in the far corner of that main room. She gazed on at the beading books and the paper crafts, and she thought about Joey all the while: on the front covers, those beads arranged in all those arrows and points made her think of Native American baskets.

And then she remembered that Joey's birthday was coming up as well, exactly two weeks after Alex.

“Hey, Bel, you wanna do something for Joey's birthday?” she asked her.

“Sure!” Belinda then turned her attention to her from a book she had swiped from the shelves. “What'd you have in mind?”

“Something Native American related. You know, the whole leather work guitar strap thing but with something that's faithful to his heritage, though.”

“Okay—well, I'm reading this here and it's rather easy to figure out. It's getting my paws on a leather work kit is the real bitch about it, though. This thing here says a single hundred piece kit is almost fifty bucks.”

“It's worth it, though,” Sam pointed out.

“Absolutely. I think there is in fact a place for that—up the block here. Where I can get a couple of strips of nice leather for those two boys and just buckle down with the tools. I think you can get paints there, too.”

Indeed, the two of them headed back out, complete with Belinda buying that craft book as well, and then they further headed up the street to that craft shop in question. Just a walk along that sidewalk made Sam wonder about her own desires to break free of it all in favor of a change of pace. She peered up at the buildings that lined the streets and the hazy sun overhead. It was in fact home to her after all.

“I literally love how we can go just about anywhere here in New York,” Sam remarked as Belinda held the door for her.

“Right? Everything we want and need—right nearby. We can either walk there, or hitch a ride on the bus or the subway. We can give it all what for even if we can't find what we're looking for with these two boys.”

“I'm gonna give you what for if you don't wrap it up in paper,” Sam teased her, and Belinda chuckled at that as they stepped inside the craft shop: rows of shelves stood before them, underneath a series of soft fluorescent lights, and Sam was greeted by the fresh smell of new tools right there in their face.

“How 'bout you wrap the whole entire thing up in paper with a little bow on top?” she retorted back. Sam then stopped right in her tracks, and she took a glimpse over at Belinda and the mischievous look on her face.

“When you say 'entire thing',” Sam began in a soft voice even with no one else in that shop there with them, “do you mean his dick or his guitar?”

“Both,” Belinda replied without a shred of irony or hesitation.

“So you want me to wrap up his dick and his guitar in paper?” Sam asked her with a straight face.

“Yes? Yes.”

“Who're we talkin' about?”

Belinda nibbled on her bottom lip, but she never said anything. Instead, she lunged forward to the row of metal shelves right in front of them.

“Bel, who're we talking about?” Sam asked her again as she adjusted the strap of her purse, but Belinda paid more attention to the leather kits in front of her face.

“We's talkin' 'bout leather, baby,” she said as she took off the first one right over her head. She then turned to the spools of leather on the far side of the room.

“What color do you think they'd like?” she asked Sam.

“I'm feeling black with Joey and—creamy white for Alex. By the way, you didn't answer my question.”

“What question's that?”

“Who were we talking about back there?”

Belinda pursed her lips together and she never said anything as she picked up two small spools of black and white leather for the guitar straps in question. She then led Sam back to the front of the shop, past the single file of paints for the leather in question.

“We's talkin' 'bout leather,” she repeated again. “By the way, that book said that black can hold just about any color while off white leather looks best with jewel tones.”

“Yes, but—who are we talking about?” Sam corrected her as she picked out a quartet of bottles, one scarlet red, one solid black, one pure white, and one sapphire blue. And Belinda still never replied to her as she doubled back to the register and she paid for it right there. Sam shook her head the whole entire time she put down the money and tucked her wallet back into her purse.

Belinda carried the leather kit and the pieces of leather under her left arm, and Sam volunteered to carry something for her.

“I got it, I got it—by the way, I was talking about both of them.” She raised her eyebrows at Sam, who then looked on at her with a puzzled expression on her face.

“Talking about both of them,” she echoed her over the noise of the street.

“Yeah. Sam, Alex is of age now. You can do whatever the hell you want with him now.”

“Yeah, but—”

“But what?”

“I do not like the way you said the word 'but' just now.”

“Thinking about Alex's butt?” Belinda teased her as she adjusted the kit and the bag of leather with her free arm, and she gave her blonde ponytail a little toss back.

“Pfff, you wish,” Sam scoffed; she felt her face growing warm with embarrassment, or the warmth of the late summer sun.

“What, you don't think he has a cute butt?”

“I haven't looked.”

“Well, next time you see him—like at the party that they're throwing for him—you oughta have a look. Libra boys have nice rear ends—at least so I'm told.”

“Nice and round, I assume?”

“Maybe,” Belinda replied with a shrug of her shoulders.

Within time, they returned to the apartment and Marla still hadn't woken up yet.

“Well, let's see,” Belinda started once she had set everything down on the kitchen table. Sam took her seat next to her, and she gave her blonde hair another toss back even though she had no need to do so from the tautness of her ponytail. “—the leather has already been treated... I'm gonna have to cut these so they resemble to guitar straps. I'm gonna need you to help me. Even though it's gonna be a bit before their birthdays, and Joey's birthday in particular, I'm glad we're getting a head start on this.”

“I am, too!” Sam declared.

“Lucky for us, we have these special scissors just for cutting leather—do you know how tall they are?”

“Joey and Alex? Joey is about middle height, like I can look at him right in the eye.”

“How tall are you?”

“Five foot seven. I'm thinking he's five foot nine?”

“Okay. What about Alex?”

“He's a big boy, I know that much. I kinda have to look up at him. And I've seen him next to Chuck, who's pretty tall in his own rite—and I've seen him next to Joey, too.”

“And how tall is he in comparison to Joey?”

“He's taller. By how much, I don't really know, to be honest. But I know he's taller.”

“Okay—I'll see what I can do.”

Indeed, Sam watched her go forth with the leather scissors and the measuring tape and the pencil for two guitar straps.

“If nothing, I can make Alex's a two piece and I can find a buckle,” Belinda told her.

“Hmmm...” But Sam never went any further than that. Instead, she watched Belinda spread out the leather, twin black and white stripes before them on the wood. She picked up the pencil yet again, that time to sketch out the designs on the upside of the leather.

“Okay, so let's figure this part here will be on Joey's shoulder... and this part here will be on Alex's shoulder...”

She sketched out the ever so faint sketch of a bouquet of roses for Joey's strap, and then a cluster of something that resembled to tulips on Alex's strap. Sam looked over at the bottles of paint next to her: on one hand, she was glad that she hadn't picked out yellow for Alex's white leather. But then again, the very sight of those tulips made her think back to those drawings in her journal. Two pieces for a strap for Alex, which meant one of them had to find a buckle for it: Belinda sewed the ends of those off in place for a buckle, and then with the pick, she poked three holes into the larger part for the adjustment.

And within time, she took the awl and the hammer and began work inside of those lines.

She took her time in engraving into the black leather and then the white leather, but Sam didn't mind in the least. They were making something together for the two birthday boys. She propped up her chin inside of the palm of her hand as she watched Belinda ever so gingerly carve into the leather with that fine chisel tip, complete with a tap of the hammer head. The little continuous clink! that came out of the hammer's head didn't bother her in the least. The petals of the flowers all came to fruition even without a full color scheme: indeed, Belinda added a few more spirals and dots on Joey's leather for a more of a Native American look. She also added something that resembled to a Day of the Dead skull on both of their straps: the skull on Alex's strap had a flower tucked right behind it.

It took her most of the afternoon to completely fill out the engraving on the sketches on both straps of leather, but she managed to do it right there, right before Sam's eyes. A bit of work, for sure, but she could make it work.

“Gonna have to run a thread through these first,” Belinda said once she set the awl and the hammer down. “So they don't come unraveled and whatnot...”

The big fat needle and the thick thread. Even more time and at that point, the straps were stitched and engraved, and lay there in anticipation for the head of a paint brush.

“Okay, you ready?” Belinda asked her.

“Lemme get my fine tipped brush...” Sam doubled back to her room for that fine tipped paint brush in question, and she returned with that plus a wash basin for the paints. Careful not to get any extraneous paint on the nice leather, she kept her hand right over the engravings for Joey's guitar strap.

“Red and white roses,” Belinda muttered as the paint collected at the deepest parts of the engravings.

“And red and white roses,” Sam added as she added a kiss of white on the otherwise red petals in the center piece of the bouquet. The colors bled for a second before they dried out right there. “Red and black tulips for Mr. Skolnick—”

“And white and blue sugar skulls, too, I presume,” said Belinda.

“White and blue for Mr. Belladonna—black and blue for Mr. Skolnick—”

Within time, Sam had painted the leather and the sun had set over Hell's Kitchen. It made sense that the flowers would be in bloom and the sugar skulls would have their full color right there. Sam held the leather back on the table so they could have a better look at them.

“Beautiful,” Belinda remarked. “They're just... they're gonna love these.”

“Too bad we don't have a leather working class at the school,” Sam said, “I actually kinda like this.”

“I do, too! We can suggest it when school starts, though.”

The two of them leaned back in their seats and looked on at the leather before them.

“I'm kinda hungry, you want something to eat?” Belinda asked her.

“Yes please. I gotta feed Genie, anyways.”

 * * * * *

 School had started for the two of them as well as Marla in what felt like no time, and Sam wondered what exactly Bill had in store for her as she signed up for an appointment with him at one point in the future. Just so long as it didn't involve her working with something tedious like any of those general education classes: she was already taking three of those that term, and in turn less time to focus on the crux of her art degree. Marla assured her that it wouldn't be anything too serious, but then again, she herself had her focus firmly on her own senior project.

Meanwhile, Sam and Belinda had the leather straps placed in boxes and then wrapped up for Alex and Joey's birthdays in the coming days. For the first week of school, she had her eye on the daunting task of junior year of college and preparing for her even more daunting senior year, but she also had those two young men on her mind. She hoped that Joey would love his new guitar strap in particular: indeed, she thought of Alex's words about how he held his guitar during the shows of that North American stint. She knew that she kept it just between herself and him, but something in the back of her mind made her consider if Joey would question the length of it.

In the meantime, for the first two weeks of school and before Alex's birthday, Sam put in her final hours at the label before they were bought out. She had no idea what Aurora was going to do afterwards, and she sure as anything had no idea what she was to do with it, especially when school finished out for her. She and Belinda came to their spot up the street after school the last Friday afternoon of the month, and Aurora greeted them both a smile on her face, much to their surprise.

“What's going on?” Sam asked her as she put her arms around her.

“I'm pregnant for real now,” Aurora told her, to which the two of them gaped at her.

“Seriously,” the former blurted out. “Like, you're not messing with us right now.” And Aurora shook her head.

“Osegueda can relax now, I s'pose?” Belinda joked.

“Yes, he can!” Aurora proclaimed.

“When did you find out?” Sam asked her.

“Just a couple of nights ago. I was gonna call you, Sam, but I guess you and Marla have your work cut out for you this year.”

“Hell yeah, we do—especially me.”

“Anyways, I felt weird, like internally, and so I went out for a test.” Aurora set her hand on the lower part of her belly. “Bun in the oven, ladies.”

“Please don't drink at Alex's party next week,” Sam pleaded her.

“He'll be nineteen, so there's not going to be any alcohol there,” Aurora assured her, “and even if there was, I've got Emile to check on me for that.”

“By the way, where's his party even gonna be?” Belinda asked.

“The Zazulas' place. I'll come get you guys if you wish.”

Given Alex's nineteenth birthday took place on a Tuesday, Sam, Marla, and Belinda all had to hustle out of school following their last classes of that day. But Aurora and Emile waited them there at the curb in their car: a packed caravan en route to the Zazulas' house at the far side of town. At one point, Belinda turned to Sam with a twinkle in her eye.

“You got the—” Sam then took out the square package enveloped in pearly white wrapping paper and with a black bow on top from her hand bag.

“Right here.”

“You guys found a buckle for that thing?” Marla asked them.

“Beautiful platinum buckle—brand new, never been used,” Belinda told her, and she never went any further than that, which led Sam to assume that she found it in the garbage somewhere. The guys from Testament were all there, as were Scott and Charlie, and James and Kirk. Sam chuckled at the memory of Lars in the kitchen the first time she and Joey went there together as she held her and Belinda's gift to Alex underneath her arm.

Aurora and Emile made their way to the other side of the house, while Sam and Belinda took to that kitchen door. Alex himself stood at the far edge of the house with a brown glass bottle in one hand: he and Greg were talking about something.

He almost didn't look the same with those tight leather pants. The black curls dangled about his shoulders like the ears of a dog: his hands pressed to his slender but shapely hips didn't help matters, either. She pictured Alex strutting along like he meant it, with that black hair splayed all around his head, and that plume of silver strong and high like a lightning bolt.

It was right there that Sam wanted him, and she wanted to see him naked for real. To see him and Joey both naked.

He had passed the right age after all: she could dream about him the way in which Belinda had joked about before.

A teenage kid about to bid his teen years farewell, and he stared back at her from across the room. Even though he was still underage, he held that empty brown bottle in one hand.

She nibbled on her bottom lip at the sight of him but then she and Belinda bowed into the house together.

They were greeted by the warm aroma of freshly baked cake in the kitchen and a small cluster of presents on the table.

“Aw, just a little party,” Marla was saying as she signed the birthday card to him with a bright red pen.

“That's really all he wanted,” Chuck told her. “Party with us, and then he's going upstate with his parents and his brother tonight. Gonna be up there for the rest of the week after this.”

“Quick little party with us and then his parents are taking him out to dinner right afterwards,” Eric called from the next room over.

“Yeah, that's it.”

Sam then turned her head and she realized that Alex and Greg were a few feet away from there. She could walk past the back door and have a better look at them, but there had to be a reason behind it. Chuck handed Belinda the card for a signing; the aroma of the cake was almost intoxicating, as if it was right there and ready to slice into for all of them. Sam then had an idea.

“I'll be right back,” she told Belinda with a raise of her finger, and she nodded in response to that. She bowed out of the kitchen and towards the back door, which hung right open for the stubborn warmth of the Indian summer.

She could walk by and make it look as though she was going to the bathroom or going to ask Marsha a question. Indeed, Sam strode on by so she could have a better look at the bottle in Alex's hand; he had turned to the side so it hung there right by his hip. It was sarsaparilla.

That also gave her a chance to look at the curvature of his thighs, albeit for a few seconds. She couldn't believe she had done that, either, given she already had a boyfriend. She had a boyfriend and he couldn't be there, and she couldn't tell him about it, either. She shook her head as she doubled back in the next room over and back to the kitchen to sign the card and to speak to Belinda. Lucky for her, Chuck had left the room so she stood there alone with her eye on the tags on each of the presents upon the table. Sam strode up to her with the warmth still fresh in her face.

“I need you to slap me across the face,” she said to her.

“Why?” Belinda laughed.

“I’m having—thoughts,” she stammered, even though they were alone in the room.

“Having what?”

“Thoughts. About… both Joey and Alex.”

“Like… what do you mean?”

Sam leaned in closer to her face and hunched her shoulders a bit.

“Thoughts,” she breathed right into her ear. Belinda looked on at her with a bewildered expression plastered on her face, and then her eyes lit up.

“Really? Sam, you little vixen! I knew you had it in you!”

“Yeah, but—Joey's kinda my boyfriend, though.”

“So? Just 'cause you got a boyfriend doesn't mean you have to restrain yourself to him. Live and let live a little.”

She sighed through her nose. Maybe Belinda had a point as she wrote “happy 19th birthday, Alex—with love, Samantha” at the bottom right corner of the card. Nothing fancy, nothing more, nothing less. She hoped that something would in fact happen that evening as she made her way back towards the front door for a bit of fresh air.

She recognized Frank's lush dark hair as he all but stumbled in through the front door.

“Easy there, big fella!” she declared to him, and he burst out laughing at that. She turned to the side and she almost ran into something slender but soft.

“Oh, hi,” she greeted Joey, much to her surprise.

“Hi,” he returned the favor and showed her a grin all the while.

“I didn't think you'd be here,” she confessed.

“I ain't turning down free food, y'know,” he told her.

“Okay, that makes sense.”

Joey peered over his shoulder for a second, and then he returned to her.

“I've been thinking of your lips lately,” he confessed to her in a husky voice.

“It's funny, I, uh—I have been, too,” she said. He lowered his gaze to her mouth and he moved in closer to her.

“Um—Bel and I made something for you—for your birthday coming up here,” she sputtered.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, you just—you just might like it.”

He showed her a little smirk: and she brought her eyes back down to those dark lips. She needed to kiss them. She needed to do something right there lest something happen there in the house that would wedge them apart. She closed her eyes and she leaned in closer to his face.

“Sam?” Marla called her. She opened her eyes and she stared on at Joey's face: his brown eyes gazed back at her, as rich and full as the earth underneath them.

“You're being paged,” he whispered to her. She turned around right as Marla emerged from the kitchen.

“Could you get Marsha, please? She's in the back of the house.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Sam returned to Joey, who still showed her that smirk on his face.

“I'll be right back,” she vowed to him.

“I'll be waitin' for ya,” he vowed back to her, complete with a wink. She rounded him and headed towards the back of the house. She was about to head into that corridor there when the back door swung open before her. Greg bowed in first, and then Alex followed suit. He raised his eyebrows at her.

“Oh, hi,” she greeted him.

“Hi—what're you doing?” he asked her with a grave look on his face.

“Oh, just—talking with Joey and now I'm getting Marsha.”

“Oh, I see.” He never changed his expression for a second, but she knew what he was thinking. She dropped her gaze to those lips and then to his neck and that prominent Adam's apple. She brought her attention only to his face instead and the puzzled expression there.

“Are—you alright?” he stammered.

“Yeah. Yeah, I just—I just—'scuse me—”

“Yeah, of course,” he assured her with a puzzled look on his face. She bowed into the back room there, where Marsha looked over something on the desk. She raised her gaze to Sam.

“Marla wants you in the kitchen,” she told Marsha.

“Cake's probably ready,” she replied to her with a twinkle in her eye.

Sam nodded and then she returned to the hallway, where Alex had gone off to somewhere else in the house. Indeed, she headed over to the back door, where Aurora was about to take her seat on the step there. It was almost too much to bear right there. She needed to get out of that house because the thought of Joey and Alex getting into it at the latter's birthday party was almost too much to bear for her.

“I need you to cover me,” Sam quipped, and Aurora looked on at her, stunned.

“Cover you in what?”

“No, cover for me,” she corrected her.

“Yeah, cover you in what?”

“Aurora!”

“What?”

“Cover for me. Keep people busy. If they ask about me, tell them that I had to run next door real quick.”

“Why would I say that?”

“Because you’re my best friend.”

“Well, yeah, but really why would I lie to people about where you went?”

“I thought you were only a few weeks pregnant?”

“I am! But what’s that got to do with it?”

“Ugh, never mind.” But before Sam could do anything more, Marsha surfaced from the room there and she gestured for Sam to follow her into the kitchen. Indeed, she helped Marsha decorate the long rectangular sheet cake, in particular the “happy 19th birthday, Alex” right in the middle with the royal blue icing.

“Dunno if Zelda's going to be here,” Marsha confessed to her as she finished the piping of the roses at each of the corners, “she said she probably won't make it because I guess the girls are hard at work right now in the studio—but let's get this sweet little party started, though.”

Sam struck the match and lit the wicks of the candles.

Alex had taken his seat at the head of the dining room table with a small white party hat atop his head: the little sliver of gray poked out from underneath the edge, and his face turned a soft pink with being put on the spot as Marsha set the cake down before him.

“What do you wish for more than anything in the world?” Louie asked him, and Alex turned his gaze to Sam at his right. He squinted his eyes at her, but he never said anything. He then leaned forward and blew out the candles in a single breath. The wisps of smoke faded into nothing before their faces as Belinda and Scott both clapped their hands in unison. He offered to slice the cake but Marsha insisted.

She handed him the first slice of vanilla and raspberry cake, and then everyone else followed suit.

“Wanna open your presents, young man?” Jon called from the far side of the room.

“Yes please,” Alex called back, “my parents are gonna wanna know what they got themselves into here...” His voice trailed off. Sam watched him dig into his cake, small bite after small bite. He ate slowly: indeed, she found herself doing the same thing. It was delicious cake after all. But she wondered what he had wished for before he blew out the candles.

Granted, if he talked about it, then it wouldn't come true. But it still made her curious nonetheless.

Jon handed him Chuck, Eric, and Frankie's gifts first, followed by that small square black and white box. The first thing he did before opening each of them was put the bows on his chest. He read the labels carefully right before hand as well, and he was careful to unwrap them as well with a sliding of his fingers under where the paper ended and the tape started, and so he peeled the paper off as opposed to tearing it apart. A new tuner from Chuck and Eric both, a Gary Moore shirt from Greg and Louie both which warranted a look of surprise from him.

“Wow, where'd you guys get this?” he asked Greg.

“Thrift shop. Lou found it when he and I were looking for new boots for ourselves, and I was like, 'dude, yes! He loves Moore!' So I got that for a nickel.” He neatly folded the shirt and placed it on the table next to him, and then he turned to that square box.

“From Samantha and Belinda,” he stated, and he opened the box.

“Miss Shelley and Miss Grimes,” Jon followed up as he headed back into the kitchen once more.

And Alex's face lit up at the sight before him there.

“Oh, wow!” He held it out from the box, and he looked on at that clean creamy white leather with his mouth agape.

“What is it, a belt?” Scott asked them.

“A guitar strap!” Sam corrected him. “A little bit of leather work from both me and Bel here.”

“This is gorgeous!” he declared as he held the strap before him and his eyes caressed over the design of the tulips and the sugar skulls. “Oh, and it's adjustable, too! This is absolutely beautiful, ladies—thank you!” Sam put her arms around him first, and then Belinda followed suit. He had a slender little body and yet he was as soft as childhood.

“Got our work cut out for us now,” Charlie confessed to Scott in a not so low voice.

“I know, right?” Scott retorted with his eyes squinted.

But Alex was more than happy to have it all around him for the time being, especially by the time Aurora took a step next to him.

“Now, I hate to draw the spotlight away from the birthday boy here,” she began, “but I wanted to tell you all that Emile and I are pregnant.”

“Aw!” Marsha called from the kitchen.

“We thought we were when we were over in England last month, but—it's official now!”

“Start of a new chapter in life and the start of a new life,” Scott declared as he raised his glass to them, but then again, Alex bowed his head a bit at that. Today was his day after all, and for Sam, that was oddly selfish of Aurora to do that to him. This was the second thing she had done that seemed so unlike her, at least for as long as Sam had known her. Thus she reached her hand towards him, just as Aurora began conversing with Marsha, Emile, and Scott about something.

“Happy birthday, though, Alex,” she told him as he took a sip of his sarsaparilla.

“Thank you,” he replied to her with a serious look on his face, “and yeah, thank you, everyone!” That warm blush returned upon his saying that. “When I'm done with my cake and my drink, I'm gonna call my dad and tell him that life is good right now.”

Indeed, he turned his attention back to Sam for a moment.

“And I go upstate for a whole week.” When he said that, he glanced across the table for a second. She followed his gaze and there was Joey at the far end. She sat closer to Alex than she was her own boyfriend; she then climbed to her feet and she strode on over to him as he finished the rest of his cake.

“Hi,” she greeted him, and he brought a napkin to his lips. Chuck burst out laughing at something and thus he moved his head in closer to her.

“Wanna do sump'n this weekend?” he offered her in a low voice.

“Up by your place?” she asked him.

“Your place and then mine,” he corrected her.

“I'd love to,” she replied in a low voice.

“I'll pick ya up after school,” he told her as he finished the last few bites of cake. Sam wondered exactly what he had in mind as she made her way back to her spot in between Belinda and Alex for the time being.

[ellewritesathing]

Faking It  -  II

Summary: You’d done plenty of dumb things in your life, but the dumbest had to be picking Greendale’s latest bad-boy to pretend to be your boyfriend.

Masterlist Prev. | Part 2

Word-count: 2.6k+

A/N: can you guys believe there’s not an angsty air hockey gif on here? but seriously thank you for all the support for Part 1!! 

Tugging on your fourth outfit of the night, you reminded yourself that you’d been on dates before this - not dates with someone like Caliban, sure, but dates - which meant that you had no reason to be this nervous. This was just a date. Except that it wasn’t. This wasn’t just any date with any guy. It was fake, for starters, and it was with Caliban; dangerous Caliban that Billy was afraid of and Harvey hated. 

And Harvey didn’t hate anyone - it got in the way of his job as a golden retriever. 

But it was easy to see why Harvey hated him as you watched Caliban pull into the driveway in the most expensive-looking black BMW you’d ever seen. You hated him in that car. It had to be a racing car, one that Caliban had had a while and was familiar with judging by how easily he interacted with it. Maybe he was just easy with everything. Either way, he was walking up to your front door and you didn’t have time to dwell on it if you wanted to get to him before your parents did. 

“Okay, see you guys later!” you yelled out as you raced down the stairs, almost crashing through the door and into Caliban in your rush. Steady hands reached out to catch you before you could fall. “Hey, Abercrombie, you clean up nice,” you said with a smile. “Let’s get out of here.” 

“Ohhh, no you don’t,” your mom said as she rounded the corner and leaned against the doorframe. “I need a name and a plan.” 

Reluctantly, you let go of Caliban and turned to face your mom. In your most controlled and not-at-all-embarrassed voice, you said, “Mom, this Caliban. He’s Harvey’s cousin I told you about, remember?” 

“Huh.” Your mom tilted her head to the side as she looked at him. You couldn’t tell if it was the hair or the leather jacket that made her suspicious. “I don’t remember you ever visiting when you were kids.” 

“My mother left the family for California about eighteen years ago to get an abortion,” Caliban said. He was surprisingly non-confrontational as he spoke to her, considering the fact that he almost decked Billy within five seconds of seeing him - he was even smiling. “Nine months later and there I was: snot-faced and crying.” 

“And now the prodigal son returns,” your mom hummed. She seemed to have softened as Caliban spoke, but now she narrowed her eyes. “Be back by ten.” 

“Eleven,” you said, jutting out your chin slightly to come across a bit tougher. 

“I don’t think you understand how this works,” your mom said, feigning offense as she turned her eyes back on you. 

Before you had the chance to respond, Caliban’s hand slipped past your arm and hung in the air between you and your mom. An offering, sweet but ill-advised. “Ten it is,” he said. 

Your mom’s mouth quirked at the gesture but she shook his hand regardless. It looked like she squeezed it a bit tighter as she said, “Don’t get in too much trouble.” 

“If we do, we’ll call his mom,” you said, putting your hand back on Caliban’s arm and lightly pushing him down the porch steps. He seemed amused as he opened your car door, but he didn’t say anything, a fact that unnerved you as he buckled his seatbelt. “So where are we going?” 

“I thought we could go to the arcade and I could win you over with my stellar air hockey skills,” Caliban said, giving you a devious smile as his hand slid up to the ignition. The car roared to life under his fingertips as he finished speaking. “What do you think?” 

“I think I’m gonna kick your ass with my far superior air hockey skills,” you said, moving in your seat to appear nonchalant. “But I could be persuaded to go easy on you if you add food to this grand plan.” 

“Food is a given,” Caliban said, eyes focused on the road ahead. “But you should know-” his eyes flicked to the rearview mirror “-I’m not above cheating to get a win.” 

The airiness of his voice made your heart race, as did all the possibilities of how this night would go that flashed through your head. You were too preoccupied thinking about how this was probably the most attractive bad decision you’d ever made to hold a conversation, and Caliban was too preoccupied being an attractive bad decision to make small talk. 

As he drove, the street lights lit up his face and made you think of all the ways you’d capture this moment on canvas. Caliban’s soft curls contrasting with the hard lines of his bone structure, the shifting light drawing attention down to his lips. The same lips that were curling into a smile because his pretty blue eyes had caught you staring in their peripheral vision. 

Thank god he didn’t say anything. 

All Caliban did was merge into the fast lane and kick up the speed a few notches, but you did your best not to look at how his hand curled around the gearshift. Instead, you sighed dramatically and looked out the window. This view wasn’t as pretty as the pearly white grin he shot at you after catching you out. 

Caliban pulled into the arcade parking lot after about ten more minutes of you trying to slow your heart rate down. He was infuriatingly quiet as he shut the car off. How were you supposed to know where to go from here if he wouldn’t give you a hint? 

“So, you’re a real speed demon, huh?” you asked as you unbuckled and turned to him. 

He laughed as he unbuckled and shook his head. “I’ve been called worse. Do you want food first or are you ready to be completely and utterly destroyed in a game of air hockey?” 

“I’ll take my victory dinner afterwards, thank you very much.” 

As he got out of the car, you could have sworn you saw Caliban roll his eyes at your joke, but you didn’t mention it. Just like you didn’t mention the ten thousand thoughts that raced through your head when he held out a hand to help you out of the car. ‘To keep up appearances’ was his reasoning, and because ‘he’s not a total asshole.’

Your heart started racing the second you walked into the arcade, but you told yourself that was just because of the adrenaline getting you ready to win. Caliban started you off at one of the basketball games, effortlessly and annoying sinking every single ball through the net. Almost all of yours bounced off the rim.

Caliban laughed when you got frustrated and threw the ball so hard that it bounced against the back of the game and you had to jump out of its way to avoid being hit, bumping into him in the process. 

“Here, will you allow me to show you how to do it without injuring yourself?” Caliban asked, hands still holding onto you from when he’d caught you moments before. 

“So you can put your arms around me and get my heart racing like some teenage cliche?” you asked. 

His head tilted to the side as he pretended to think about it. “I make your heart race?” 

You felt your fingers starting to tingle so you untangled yourself before you started blushing. You picked up another basketball. “Are you going to show me how to do this or not?” 

“If the lady insists,” Caliban said politely with a smile that was anything but polite. 

He stepped behind you and put his hands over yours around the ball. He leaned down so he could speak directly into your ear instead of battling it out with the noise of the arcade. But that didn’t mean you heard a word he said as he moved the ball around in your hands and showed you how to position yourself to shoot your shot. 

“Ready?” 

“Totally,” you lied. 

Against all odds, your ball got nothing but net. You started jumping around to celebrate but you almost wished it had bailed so Caliban would keep holding your hand. 

After exhausting all the fun you could from the basketball game, you moved onto skeeball, guitar hero, and the racing games. Caliban was a pro at the racing ones, even if he looked way too tall for the pretend bikes, but you dominated at guitar hero and skeeball. He even managed to get you into one of those haunted house games that you hated with that silver tongue of his. 

And then came the moment you’d all been waiting for: The air hockey showdown. 

Caliban had the height and speed advantage, but you had one thing he didn’t: pure spite. Thanks to your spiteful secret weapon, you won the first round. Caliban won the next two, but he was too cocky and easily distracted by your jokes. You won that round (‘by default’) and now the two of you were all tied up. 

You weren’t going to sugarcoat it: This was intense. You didn’t want to lose and you couldn’t afford to be distracted by how attractive Caliban looked when he was trying to concentrate. The puck hit the side of the table and you leaned over to hit it back to Caliban’s side when someone made a pass at you. 

“Hey, what do you think you’re-” 

No matter how fast you thought you’d reacted to unwanted advance, it was nothing compared to how quickly Caliban reacted. One second it was you yelling at some jerk you’d never seen before, and the next it was Caliban throwing the jerk up against the nearest wall. He had a white-knuckle grip on the offender’s t-shirt with his forearm pressing into his throat. 

You weren’t sure who was more in shock - you, the jerk, or his friends - but you shot forward when it looked like Caliban was getting ready to punch him. 

“Woah, woah, woah!” You wrapped your hands around Caliban’s balled-up fist and pulled it down. “Abercrombie, calm down. You can’t hit him.” 

“And why shouldn’t I?” Caliban asked, pushing down even more with his forearm. “This little cretin-” 

“Because if you hit him, we’ll be thrown out of here and then we’ll never know who’s better at air hockey,” you blurted out. It was the only thing you could think of in the moment as you held onto his hand with your heart beating out of your chest, but it must have done the trick because Caliban loosened his grip slightly and the guy started squirming.

“Your boyfriend’s fucking insane-”

Caliban let out a low chuckle and let go of the guy’s shirt, moving his arm off his windpipe in the process. He dusted off the guy’s shirt. “You should thank the lady,” he said, leaning in a bit closer when he was satisfied with the state of the t-shirt. “She’s the only reason you’ve still got any teeth.” 

“I’m not thanking that b-”

“Okay!” You pulled Caliban back a few steps. “Come on, let’s just get out of here, okay?” 

“Yeah, just run away with your little girlfriend,” the guy sneered when he was surrounded by his friends again. He looked very sure that he had the upper hand when you stood between him and Caliban. 

You let go of Caliban’s hand and stepped forward. “You know what?” 

“What do I know, baby?” 

“You’re a slow learner.” 

He was still busy talking when you hit him so hard that you were pretty sure something in your hand was broken. It was hard to focus on the pain when Caliban was laughing and wrapping his arms around you to drag you out of the arcade and away from the jerk with a split lip. 

Your hand was throbbing by the time you got back to the car and Caliban sat you on top of the hood. Stopping your tirade of curses about that fucking prick only to swear when Caliban touched your hand, you realized that maybe you were overreacting. 

“How badly does it hurt?” Caliban asked softly as he uncurled your fingers, holding your hand gently. 

Your knuckles had gotten caught on his teeth and some of the skin was torn, nothing too gnarly looking just a bit scraped up. There would probably be a lovely bruise there in a few hours, but right now it was just stinging from bad form and inexperience. 

“It’s not that bad.” You tried to keep your voice casual as you opened and closed your hand. The worst of it was the skin between your pinky and ring finger, but the blood was minimal compared to what you’d come to expect from movies and comic books. “Just stings a little.” 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a better liar than you are a fighter?” Caliban asked, looking up from your hand to meet your gaze. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you suck at air hockey?” 

Caliban smiled but he didn’t engage with your attempt to feel better about yourself. “What do you say we get that slice of pizza, killer?” 

The drive to the diner was quiet, but it was an easier quiet than the one before. Logically, you knew this was a bad idea - dating a guy who can go from adorably competitive one moment to knocking out someone’s teeth the next was always going to be a bad idea - but that didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy it for the hour or so you had left. You’d start thinking logically in the morning.

The two of you settled across from one another in a booth and minutes later you were sipping on your victory milkshake and munching on some fries. Caliban had a devil’s chocolate shake and hardly touched his burger. 

“So does Harvey hate you because you threatened to punch out his teeth?” you asked, trying to sound casual. 

“It really bothers you that my cousin doesn’t like me, doesn’t it?” Caliban asked. 

As a liar yourself, you could spot his deflection a mile away. You shrugged and waited for him to answer your question before saying anything else.

“Harvey’s family came to visit my mother and me one year,” Caliban said with a sigh. “Everything was going smoothly until his father implied that my mother was a whore. I’ve never had the best temperament, and eleven was a difficult year for me. Long story short, their car was smashed to bits by a baseball bat and mine was buried in the backyard, splintered and broken.”

It wasn’t that hard to believe; you loved Harvey but his dad was a real piece of work. Still, something didn’t sit right. 

“That’s all?” you asked. 

“Harvey had a, uh, one-sided summer fling when they visited,” Caliban said. “Lucinda didn’t feel the same way about him and tried to kiss me. Harvey caught the wrong end of it and hit me, not unlike how you hit our new friend moments ago.” 

“You kissed his first crush?” you asked, pulling a face. 

“She kissed me.” 

“Still, kind of a dick move, Abercrombie.” 

“I’m starting to see why he likes you so much,” Caliban said as he pushed his empty glass to the side. “Are you having second thoughts about our pretend relationship?” 

“I’m still thinking it over,” you admitted. 

“Let me know when you decide.” 

You let out a laugh and twirled your straw around in your milkshake, ignoring the pain in your hand as you did. Like that was a decision you’d be making any time soon. But maybe you didn’t have to. Maybe an epiphany would just hit you in the mouth like a pissed off teenager.

Part 3

Tagged: @t-a-i-l-o-r-m-a-d-e​  @miss--moose​  @marrypuffsstuff​  @harryscarolinaa​  @igorsbby​​  @foji2000​​  @mschfavngz​​  @artaxerxesthegreat​​  @thxmagic​​  @strawberriesandknives​​  @xealia​​  @hotmessindisguise​​  @sweetrogers​​  @reheated-coffee​​  @shelby-x​​  @perseny-blog​​  @millie-753​​  @luneerius​​  @shizzybarnaclee​​  @lettherebelovex​​  @throughparisallthroughrome​  @ietss​  @thebookwormlife​  @mechanicalanimalz​

[yourcoffindoor]

Bulletproof Heart Pt. 1

Pairing: Gerard Way x Reader

Prompt: Request from Anon- “ could you write one where the reader is a rock singer and they and mcr are on warped tour together, and they both lowkey like each other but think they’re both out of each other’s league, and find out that they’re both secretly into nerdy stuff + maybe getting together? thank you so much xxx”

AN: This is a multi-part series--I couldn’t help myself! Also, I based this fic around something Gerard said in a Rolling Stone interview:

Hope its ok Anon! enjoy!

You had dreamed of this moment since you first picked up a guitar. Back then it felt like an impossible fantasy, being on stage with your band, playing in front of a crowd of screaming fans; which is why it felt so surreal when your manager Tim told you that your band, The Violent Delights, had booked Warped Tour.

"June 18th," he told you with a satisfied grin, "you're in for the long haul, kids."

Your band-mates let out a collective shriek of joy, while you planted a grateful kiss on Tim's cheek.

"You're an OK manager, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah," he said, dramatically wiping his cheek where your lips had been. "Now you guys better get practicing. This is a good opportunity to really get your name out there. Plus you got some real popular acts to compete with."

Your interest was peaked. "Oh yeah? Like who?"

"Off the top of my head? Fall Out Boy, Dropkick Murphys, and I think a band called My Chemical Romance."

"Oh shit, My Chem?" your bassist, Gavin, piped up excitedly. "That's the band I'm always trying to get Y/N to listen to."

"I'll have to finally borrow their last album," you replied, "gotta scope out the competition after all." Gavin rolled his eyes while you laughed.

Your manager got serious. "It's three months on the road, and its gonna take a lot of energy and hard work. Quite frankly, it ain't glamorous."

"Tim, when have we ever been glamorous? I wouldn't care if it were a 12 month tour," you declared, "I wouldn't miss this opportunity for the world." Liz, your drummer, nodded in agreement beside you.

"You might be singing a different tune when you haven't had a shower in three days."

"As long as I'm singing it in front of an audience, we'll be fine."

* * *

Back at your apartment you marked June 18th on your calendar with a star, feeling invigorated with excitement all over again. This was it, you thought, the next level for our band. You were determined to give it your very best, outperforming every other band there.

After all, you had worked so hard to get to this point. Starting in friend's basements and tiny cafes, the band had slowly built up a sizable following of loyal fans. You were no longer the opening act, drawing sell out crowds more often than not. You made a promise to yourself that the band wasn't going to lose this momentum. There would be no distractions for you on this tour, just hard work and the thrill of performing. That meant no parties, and absolutely no boys. You weren't ready for another relationship, you told yourself, especially since the last one ended in disaster.

Yes, this was the moment the band had been waiting for. You let the warm excitement that this knowledge brought envelope you, and you lay your head down on your pillow, falling asleep to fantasies of what lay ahead.

* * *

Its a long road from Maryland to Ohio. Columbus was the first stop of the tour, which meant your band had 6 and a half hours to go over the set-list, make adjustments  discuss their hopes and fears for the three month experience. Gavin gave you a few CDs to listen too, including My Chemical Romance's Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge.  You had heard their first album ages ago and enjoyed it, but there was something incandescent to the music you were hearing now. It stirred a whirlwind of heavy emotion, and you were enthralled from beginning to end. You made a mental note to see them perform at Warped as soon as possible.

When your bus arrived at its destination, you felt the unwelcome buzz of nerves building in your stomach. This was real, you thought, this was happening. You were used to performing at this point, but it was the amount of people you'd be performing for that was nerve-wracking. Not to mention the fellow artists who may be watching and judging your sound. You breathed deep and tried to push past the nervous thoughts that hummed incessantly around your head like insects.

Your band-mates were buzzing about with excitement, but you needed to distract yourself. Fresh air always helped settle you, so you grabbed your shoes and decided to go for a walk around the venue.

It looked almost like a circus with all the trailers and tents that had quickly populated the surrounding area. Merch stands and catering tents were being organizes as dozens upon dozens of vans and trailers pulled in. There were already a few fans camped outside of the chain-link fence that surrounded the area, eagerly awaiting a glimpse of their favorite artists.

You kept wandering, and you saw that a band was being interviewed in the media tent. There were five of them, each holding a microphone; but one member, a dark haired boy, was doing most of the talking. He was cute, you thought, and your stomach did little flips watching him respond to the questions that were being asked.

You watched a little bit longer from a distance, until you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned to see Gavin and Liz, who had been doing a bit of exploring as well.

"Hey, there you are! I was talking to a few people by the catering tent. They said some bands are having a party on their buses later tonight, we should check it out." Gavin informed you excitedly.

You hesitated. No parties. "I dunno, I want us to be in good condition to perform tomorrow."

Liz chimed in. "All work and no play, Y/N. C'mon, it'll be a great chance to make some connections with other bands."

"If you don't come with us," Gavin pronounced dramatically, "we'll be far too devastated to perform tomorrow." His hand went to his forehead, as though he was about to faint.

"Somehow I doubt that."

"Pretty please?" Liz stuck her lower lip out pathetically.

"With sugar on top?" Gavin added.

You glanced at the black haired boy in the distance. Maybe he'd be there, a small voice in your head piped up.

"Ugh Fine! But I'll only stay for a little bit."

Satisfied, the pair stopped harassing you, and left you to continue wandering, promising to meet up with them later.

* * *

People spilled out from open trailers as music blared from an unknown source in the background. Some were already far gone, stumbling from place to place, or lying on the ground blacked out.

You followed Gavin inside one of the trailers. You watched as he interacted with the strangers inside with ease, a trait you envied. He managed to find you both drinks, and you grabbed the mystery beverage, sculling it in hopes that it would numb your nervousness. You may have been a great performer onstage, but offstage it was easy for your social anxiety to take the wheel.

Gavin began to walk away, ignoring your whispered pleas not to leave you. Fuck. It always felt awkward to not know anyone at a party. You clutched your red cup like a life jacket keeping you afloat in a sea of drunken strangers.

A man approached you out of nowhere, the smell of alcohol emanating from every pore on his body.

"You look lonely." He leered at you expectantly.

"Then it seems like you need glasses. I'm just fine on my own."

He laughed. "Ooo! I like you. You've got spunk. Name's Brent, guitarist from Midnite Heist."

"Can't say I've heard of you guys."

Brent was either oblivious to your indifference, or just chose to ignore it. "So how'd you end up at this party?"

"I'm in a band on the tour too. Lead singer actually."

"No way! That's awesome, we need more talented eye candy on this tour."

You screamed internally while he droned on, tuning him out as you continued to sip from your fast emptying cup.

You scanned the room, watching people laugh and dance. Your stomach suddenly flipped again as you noticed the black haired boy from this afternoon, solemn faced and quiet, silently nursing a diet coke in his hands. He was clearly not having a good time. The guitarist who had been talking you up soon saw you looking at the sullen figure and turned his attention towards him, his eyes lighting up with recognition.

"Gerard fucking Way!" he bellowed, carelessly sloshing his drink as he waved him over, causing a stream of alcohol to fall to the floor below.

Gerard seemed to hesitate before walking over. "It's been awhile man," he said softly. His eyes, a warm hazel, flicked to you repeatedly as he spoke. "you here for the whole tour this time?"

Brent laughed, his sobriety dangling by a thread.  "Yeah, but still not up on the main stage, unlike you big-shots." he said, punching Gerard in the arm. Gerard offered a crooked smirk in return, his patience already wearing thin. Brent nudged you in the arm. "This is Y/N, her band is new to Warped. I told her I'd show her the ropes." He grinned at you. Ugh.

Gerard seemed to sense your discomfort. "Welcome, nice to see a new face around."

Brent interrupted before you could respond. "How come you're wasting time with a coke? I would've expected you to be the first one wasted here."

Gerard's jaw clenched, and you cringed internally at the sheer awkwardness of the encounter. "I'm sober now," he informed Brent, "I don't touch that shit anymore."

Brent laughed dismissively. "Dude, you?  Do you even remember the last Warped tour? I'll give it 2 days before you're lying face down in the bushes again." he laughed as if he had just said something hilarious.

You were livid, and Gerard was on edge. You decided to step in when you noticed his knuckles turn white from clenching his coke can.

You moved slightly, ready to get between them. "Hey you know what? I'd really love a coke right now too. Mind showing me where they are?" you looked pleadingly at Gerard. He took the hint.

"Follow me."

You gave a curt wave to Brent, who looked on in confusion before continuing his drinking binge.

You stepped outside, and the sounds from the party behind you became a faint, thumping buzz in the background. You were both silent for a moment before you decided to break the ice.

"So that guy was a dick."

Gerard's scowl turned into a thin, lopsided smirk. Your heart melted a bit. "Yeah. I just realized some of these people are only tolerable when I'm drunk."

Stop. Move away. You don't need a distraction like this. You tried to scold yourself but words kept escaping from your lips, prolonging the encounter.

"This is my first time doing Warped Tour, but I'm assuming these parties are pretty much never-ending?"

Gerard pulled out a cigarette and lit it. "Oh yeah, its every night for some of these bands. You're in for an interesting experience." You looked at him for a moment, perhaps for a bit too long. You had never seen anyone look so beautiful while surrounded by clouds of smoke.

"Yoohoooo! Y/N!" you heard the hollering of a clearly tipsy Gavin call from the doorway of the next trailer. "Where'd you go? The night is young! Get back here!"

You sighed. "That's my cue. Well actually that's my bassist, but he'll never let me live it down if I don't go back in there."

Gerard turned his head to the side and exhaled. "Catch you around. Next time you need rescuing from a douche-bag just light the bat signal."

You gave him a soft smile, forcing yourself to turn away and walk back to the trailer. As you did, you whispered aloud to yourself as a reminder:

"No distractions. No boys."