#I have a poster I made while smeared

[theglizzardwizard]

Did I fucking trip myself out that hard

[featherandferns]

guilty as sin? (fic - part 1/2)

jj maybank x fem!routledge!reader | largely inspired by the bible

content warning: sexual content; mentions of parental abuse (physical abuse) | any questions for trigger warnings, feel free to inbox anonymously

word count: 14k.

blurb: when you, John B's half sister, return to Kildare after over two years of living in Colorado, your adolescent crush that you harboured for his best friend comes screaming back. Because you and JJ can't be together in real life, what's the harm in a fantasy?

“And this is your room.”

The syrup-coloured wood is the first thing your eyes meet when John B pushes open the bedroom door. There’s the vague lingering smell of teenage boy which he’s tried to air out, the window open ajar, and the clutter of his belongings has been moved to make space for your own. As you drop your duffel bag and step into the room, you take in the walls. There’s posters and prints stuck above his bed, dotted around on slats of wood separating windows: someone surfing; a rockstar smashing his guitar. An old skateboard deck is nailed into the wall alongside a license plate. The sheets are bright blue, the bed freshly made, and a clean towel is folded up at the foot. It’s well-lit with plenty of daylight flowing through the many windows. Homely and inviting.

“Is it, uh, alright?”

You turn to find John B leaning against the doorframe, hands in his short pockets. Smiling, you nod.

“It’s perfect,” you tell him. “I’m honestly chill with crashing on the couch, though.”

It’s pretty obvious this was his room: you feel guilty kicking him out.

He shakes his head and gestures with his thumb over his shoulder. “I moved into my dad’s room anyway. This has been the spare for a while.”

“Well, thanks,” you smile.

He nods, mirroring your content. “I’ll let you settle in and stuff. I moved all my crap out the closet so you can put your stuff in there, and the top bedside drawer is empty.”

“That’s perfect,” you say. You lift your bag with a grunt and dump it on the bed.

“I gotta go to work but call if you need anything. Shouldn’t be back too late.”

Unzipping your bag, you look to him. “Where’d you work?”

“Got this gig helping out at Ward Cameron’s. Don’t know if you remember him?”

“Course I do,” you snort. “The kingpin of Kildare, and your dad’s treasure hunting buddy.”

There’s a tense silence as your words catch up with you. You press your eyes shut, embarrassed.

“Shit, sorry. That didn’t come out how I meant it to.”

“It’s cool,” John B says, graciously gliding past it. “Anyway, he pays pretty good so can’t complain. Mostly just handy-man odd jobs.”

“Very noble work,” you joke.

With a quiet laugh, John B nods and backs out the door. He lingers another moment, contemplating saying something else. “Look, uh, I know it isn’t ideal circumstances, you coming back to Kildare and stuff, but I’m glad you’re here. Really. It’s nice having you back, sis.”

Your mood sobers, smile turning solemn.

“Thanks,” you quietly reply.

He nods once more and pats the doorframe in farewell. “Right, I’ll let you get unpacked. See you later.”

“See ya.”

When John B leaves – the front door shuddering against the house as it slams shut – you’re overcome with quiet. In Colorado, where you lived with your mom in the city, there was little nature. You forgot how peaceful Kildare is. Through the crack in the window, birdsong and cricket chimes accompany the sound of your unpacking. You turf out your clothes and take to putting them in the closet. Shoes and bags and bikinis. A jacket and a few sweatshirts. It was easy enough to plan for your outfits considering you’re only staying the summer. You remember the weather in Kildare well enough from when you used to live here.

Once you’ve unpacked your clothes, you find your paints. A box of watercolours which have seen much use and love, the hinges rusted and the inside of the palette smeared with dried mixed paint. Turning to the bedside table, you pull open the bottom drawer on accident. You come face to face with corny porno magazines, a box of tissues, two wrapped condoms and a half empty bottle of painkillers.

“Gross,” you mutter, slamming it shut. Yep, this was definitely a dude’s bedroom.

The top drawer is empty, like John B promised. You fill it with your paints and sketchbooks and pencils.

As the day ploughs on, the room becomes increasingly saturated with your personality. Postcards from Colorado, of the towns and cities you visited, photographs from school of your friends and classmates: you scatter them along them wall, amongst John B’s. Some of your favourite paintings, alongside artists which inspire you, join the mix. On the desk you add a few of your own books to the haphazard stack of abandoned homework and school reports.

At the bottom of your duffle bag is your penny board. You look around the room, searching for empty space to slot it without adding to already cluttered surroundings, and opt to slot it under the bed. Ducking down, you come face to face with a collection of empty beer cans. Clearly the spring cleaning only went so far. It’s noisy as you drag them out, but you’re certain you hear someone shouting. Pausing, sitting back on your haunches, you turn to peer out the open bedroom door. It’s silent for a moment, and then you hear footsteps.

“Yo! JB, you home?”

It’s a guy shouting. His voice sounds vaguely familiar. When he comes into the corridor, he glances into Big John’s bedroom (now claimed by your older half-brother) first. Blonde messy hair and well-worn combat boots instantly name him. JJ.  He turns to the spare bedroom and stops short the moment his eyes land on you, sat amongst a pile of trash.

“You’re not John B,” he says.

“What gave me away?” you reply with a lift of your brows.

There’s a long awkward moment where he stares at you. You can practically hear the cogs turning as he takes you in. When you lift your arm up to scratch the back of your neck, realisation dawns upon him. You imagine your scar on the outside of your elbow gave you away.

“Holy crap! Little Routledge?” he gapes.

You laugh. “Haven’t been called that in a minute.”

JJ steps into the room and you get to your feet. He tackles you into a hug. It’s too short, too sudden, and then he’s stepping away from you again, leaving you dizzy on your feet.

“The fuck? You’re, like, grown now,” he says.

Rolling your eyes, you reply, “well, I am sixteen.”

“The fuck!” he repeats. He then takes in where you’re standing, and the state of the room, and frowns. “Wait, what are you doing here? I thought you were in Colorado with your mom?”

“I was,” you say. You kick one of the cans out the way and fold your arms over your chest, shrugging. “I came back for the summer.”

“Oh, that’s sick!”

You laugh. It’s a nice reaction to have from someone who you haven’t seen for over two years.

“John B gave you his old room then?”

He walks into it as if it’s his own. You watch as he studies the new additions to the wall that you’ve added. Lingers on one of your paintings.

"Yeah, he’s moved into his dad’s, apparently.”

“Yeah, he moved in there a while ago,” JJ tells you. “I’ve been sleeping in here most of the time.”

Your mind flashes back to the bedside drawer stocked with teenage boy necessities. Ah, makes sense. You remember how JJ was when you were a dorky thirteen-year-old. At the ripe age of fourteen, he had girls fawning after him. He was shameless in his reputation. The conversations you overheard between himself and John B as he’d brag about his escapades are seared into your memory, as you felt your wasted preteen heart splinter with every tale. It’s no surprise now that he’s probably just as unruly. Especially considering how he looks. There isn’t much time to ogle though because he’s looking away from the décor, meeting your gaze again.

“That explains all the empty beer cans, then,” you say.

He cringes. “Yeah, uh, sorry ‘bout that.”

You shrug. “It’s cool. I need to toss ‘em out but I don’t know where the trash bags are…”

“Oh, right,” he says, breezing past you. His cologne lingers in the air when he leaves. There’s the smallest moment for you to catch your breath as JJ bangs around in the kitchen, and then he reappears with a roll of black bags. Tosses them to you and you catch. “Here.”

“Thanks.”

You begin to shove the cans into the bag and JJ starts to help. His black button-up gapes open as he leans over and it takes everything not to glance down his shirt like some pervert.

“How come you didn’t want to stay in Colorado for the summer, then?”

“Change of scenery,” you vaguely reply. It isn’t a complete lie, but it isn’t the whole truth either.

“Well, you chose the best summer to come back. Our mission this year is to have the best summer of all time.”

“Pretty lofty goal to set,” you chuckle.

JJ glances up at you, flashing you a grin. “Nah, we got it in the bag.”

You find yourself smiling back, held captive under his stare. When he takes the now full trash bag off you, tying it off, you snap out of it.

“So, where’s your brother at then?” he asks, heading out the room. You follow.

“At work. Said he does jobs for Cameron now.”

“Oh, yeah. Cameron sorta took him under his wing after his dad…went missing,” JJ replies.

You have a feeling that the way people talk about John B’s father is rather doctored.

“I can’t believe he’s gone,” you tell him, referring to Big John.

As you step on the porch, the sunlight warms your face. The floorboards creak as you make your way down them, to the garbage can outside.

“It was insane,” JJ says to you. He tosses the trash away. “I mean, we all knew Big John was a bit too into the whole royal-merchant thing but…we never thought it’d go that far, you know?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Scary.”

JJ looks at you a moment longer. Then, he laughs to himself and shakes his head. “Can’t believe you’re sixteen now.”

“Can’t believe you’re seventeen.”

“What? I look good or something?”

He does a small spin on the spot, arms held out by his sides. You roll your eyes, acting as if you’re unaffected. It’s hard to swallow the reflex reaction of yes.

“Or something,” you say.

JJ takes it in stride. “Well, you look pretty cute yourself considering you’ve been in the mountains for the last three years.”

“I don’t live in the mountains,” you snort. The word ‘cute’ rattles around your head like a pinball.

“You’re taller now too. Practically come up to my shoulders. I remember when me and John B could pick you up by your ankle like a marlin.”

“Yeah, I remember that too,” you not-so-fondly recall.

JJ grins and steps over to you. Despite both of your growth spurts, you still have to look up at him, and him down at you. His eyes are just as dreamy as you remember them. When you first left for Colorado, you hardly had time to pack. In the midst of chaos, taking a picture of your brother’s best friend didn’t seem all that important. Cut to you spending endless nights trying to remember his eyes, the exact colour and the exact shape. Trying to remember the dimples that popped out when he smiled. The pure joy in his laugh. The way your heart felt like it might explode whenever he looked at you, even if it were for a second.

But when JJ pats your head, your chest deflates.

“Well, see you around, little Routledge,” he says, stepping away. “Tell your brother I was looking for him.”

Because even after all these years, you’re still just John B’s little sister in JJ’s eyes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

You stare into your can of cider. In the night, the only light being that from the bonfire John B started up in the backyard, you can’t make out the colour of it. Just the swirling of liquid. You’d spent the last three days working on a watercolour of the marsh side to John B’s house, but you couldn’t capture the movement of the water quite right.

“Wait, I’m confused,” Pope frowns.

“What’s there to be confused about, Pope?” JJ sighs, seemingly exhausted from the questions. There had been an influx of them the minute John B brought you out of the Chateau. “His mom shagged her dad and boom, here she is.”

“Charming mental images there, JJ, thanks,” John B cringes.

You laugh into your drink.

“No, I get that. But…You used to live here, right?” Pope asks you.

You nod.

“But then you moved to Colorado?”

“Yeah?”

“But now you’re back here?”

“Apparently,” you say.

Pope’s frown deepens: apparently that cleared nothing up for him. You’ve never known someone so analytical. “This is complicated,” he observes.

“No shit,” Kiara quips.

It was complicated. Families usually are. You and John B had different dads, in short. Your shared mom cheated on Big John when John B was hardly a year old, putting you around 11 or so months behind him. She ran off to Raleigh with your dad to try and fix their tumultuous relationship, leaving you with Big John for practically thirteen years. Whilst he wasn't unkind to you, he never saw you as his. You supposed you were a reminder of his ex-wife's unfaithfulness. But John B treated you like blood, as did his friends.

Just after your thirteen birthday, your mom decided to flee the state, and she was taking you with her. It all came out of the blue. You weren’t exactly thrilled to go to Colorado. You liked Kildare, and North Carolina, and John B and his friends. Kiara was always nice to you. She never talked down to you, despite you being seen as John B’s little sister. You bonded over turtles and Bob Marley. JJ was different. He’d prank you with John B and tease you about your dolls, but he’d also patch you up if you fell and calm you down after a nightmare. Your crush on him evolved naturally over time. What started as childhood infatuation with the supposed delinquent of Kildare became real. You liked JJ. He was funny and rambunctious, but he had a kindness and tenderness that he kept hidden below. He was often at the house as his own family situation was far from perfect, so having him around became as familiar as John B’s presence. When you left, JJ gave you a hug that you wished would last a lifetime.

But you drifted away in Colorado. You didn’t have anybody’s phone number, save for Big John’s (which your mom refused to let you use), and you were too young to remember addresses to write to them. Social media was never something you latched onto and eventually it all faded away into a strange, dreamlike memory. Being back here is almost proof that you didn’t imagine the whole thing.

“We’re half siblings,” you say, whittling down your family history into a simple statement. “That’s all you really need to know.”

“Damn straight,” JJ whoops, downing the last of his drink. He crunches the can in his fist and heads to the cooler for another.

“You’re staying for the whole summer then?” Kiara asks.

You nod. “I’m tryna get a job at this restaurant in town to keep me busy.”

“Screw that. Just come smoke and surf with us all day, that’ll keep you occupied,” JJ grins.

He’s comfortable in himself, relaxing in a lawn chair, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles. His t-shirt represents one of Kildare’s small-town establishments and his shorts are stained with dust and dirt from riding his bike.

“She’s the good one out of us lot,” John B announces, gesturing to you. “Out of all the Routledge offspring, she’s gonna go places. You’re not gonna taint that, JJ.”

“And by ‘all the Routledge offspring’ you mean yourself and her?” Pope checks.

John B nods fervently. “I’m telling you! She’s madly talented.”

“You’re drunk; it’s giving you beer goggles,” you dismiss, finishing your drink.

“You were always the creative one,” JJ remarks. Everyone looks over to him. “Me and John B would be out on the water and she’d be drawing it.”

“Maybe you can show us some of your stuff,” Kiara says.

You laugh and shake your head. “Maybe not.”

The alcohol wizzes up your body as you get to your feet and you take it as a good time to call it quits.

“I think I’m gonna head in.”

“What?”

“No!”

“Come on!”

You laugh, shaking off the group’s disputes. “I’m tired!”

“Lightweight,” JJ teases. You flip him off as you pass, ditching your empty can in the garbage as you go.

“Night guys!” you holler as you head back into the house.

“Night!”

The bedroom John B offered you is starting to feel less like a guest house. You shrug off your cardigan – it stinks of smoke from the fire – and close the door. Through the window, you can hear the group chattering.

Pope seems nice. He hadn’t been around when you lived in Kildare, but you recognised his name. Heyward was a legend on the Cut; you could see his dad in his eyes. Kiara was just as you remembered her, if not more consumed by her environmental activism than before. JJ was the most staggering change of all. He’d grown into his looks, matured around the face. Any puppy fat that you remembered from childhood had vanished. Lithe and lively, he was an American heartthrob, through and through.

As you do your skincare, you glance out the window. You can make out JJ, sat with his back to you. His arms are flailing around as he tells a story. You can’t make out the details through the window but the looks on everyone’s faces tells you it’s pretty damn entertaining. He was always the joker, humour hiding whatever was happening underneath like he was arming himself with a grin. The unexplained bruises on his face and the painful batterings on his body were never explained whenever he’d stay at Big John’s, when you were younger.

The moment he shifts in his seat, you dart away from the window, scared to get caught, and finish getting ready for bed.

A bad dream rouses you awake. It was about Colorado. The warped memories keep you from falling back asleep, no matter how hard you try. Sighing, you stare at the ceiling. The room is bathed in moonlight, cosy in the wooden interior, and you contemplate sitting outside for a bit. The same cardigan from earlier gets pulled on over your vest top and you slip into some crocs.

You head for the front door, creeping past John B’s room, and step onto the porch. There’s a warm, humid air in the night. The crickets and owls harmonise with the faint buzz of mosquitos who surround the porch light. That’s when you realise that it’s already on, and you’re not alone. JJ’s on the porch, laid out on the sofa. He’s smoking a joint. The smell of weed merges into that of the dying embers from the abandoned, extinguished bonfire. You rap gently on the wall as you approach, hoping not to startle him.

“Hey,” he says, looking up at the sound.

“Hey.”

“Can’t sleep?”

“No,” you say. “I thought everyone went home.”

“They did. I’m crashing here tonight. My dad’s…”

He falters, glances up at you, and shakes his head.

“Don’t need to bore you with it.”

“You’re not boring,” you hear yourself tell him.

Smiling, JJ offers the joint to you. You take it, sitting down in the red armchair at the foot of the sofa. The weed consumes your senses when you take a drag, hitting the back of your throat and dulling your thoughts.

“Haven’t smoked in ages,” you say.

“Big smoking community out in Colorado?” JJ asks.

You laugh. “Not where I live, no.”

He takes the joint back when you lean over to him. Tilts his head back as he takes another hit. He’s in the same clothes as earlier, hasn’t even taken off his boots; his hair is tousled like he tried to sleep but couldn’t. You’re caught in the act of staring at him. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even make a joke. Instead, he holds your gaze. It’s almost like a silent challenge: who’ll break first?

“Can I say something kinda inappropriate?” he asks.

“I feel like you have to, now.”

JJ grins at that, amused. “You’re way cuter than I remember you.”

“Oh? You mean sweaty thirteen-year-old, chalk-highlight-pink-hair wasn’t cute?” you joke.

Shaking his head, he adds, “No. Well, yeah, but not in the way you are now.”

Your stomach tightens and heart constricts, and you wish you had the joint to have something to distract yourself with. You hope you sound calm and collected when you say, “thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself.”

“Oh, you’re too kind,” JJ jokes. He takes another long, deep drag. “Is it nice? Being back in Kildare?”

You glance off to the marsh. You forgot to check the time when you got up but judging from the endless navy blue of the sky, it’s still late.

“Sure.”

“Sure?”

You look back to him. “It’s better than Colorado.”

“So, you’re not missing home then?”

The blunt is passed back to you. Taking a drag, you ponder his question. “I don’t think I know where home is right now. I don’t think it’s Colorado, but I don’t know if it’s here either. Maybe I don’t have one.”

JJ doesn’t say anything and you remember yourself. Laughing self-deprecatingly, you shake your head.

“Sorry, think this joint’s going to my head. That was dramatic.”

“No, no, I get ya,” JJ assures. “I know what you mean.”

“You don’t like Kildare?” you ask him.

His expression darkens like a shadow has cast over him. “It depends.”

“Hm,” you say. Nothing more is said on the matter. You get the sense that JJ was vague on purpose.

Pulling your legs into your seat, you glance around at the clutter on the porch. A surfboard is lent against the nett lining of the porch; a rusting duck ornament balances on one of the beams. What looks to be a broken radio sits beside a half-full bottle of rum on a small table by the couch.

“I think it’s good for John B, having you back.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” JJ smiles. “He sorta spun out when his dad disappeared. You’re kinda the only family he has left.”

“You’re his family too. Been around longer than I have,” you tell him.

JJ’s smile softens. He glances away from you, fiddling with the paper of the joint, almost as if he’s flustered. “Thanks.”

“So,” you say, “you got some poor girl on this island falling after you?”

“Rude of you to assume there’s only one,” JJ grins wickedly.

You roll your eyes.

“What about you? Some West Coast jock waiting for you back in the home state?”

The sarcastic ‘har har’ that he gets has JJ frowning, bemused.

“Definitely no guy, and definitely no jock.”

“Now that I find hard to believe,” JJ says.

Before you can ask what he means by that, or spiral out by thinking too much about it, JJ’s getting to his feet. He puts the blunt out on the window ledge, ditching the empty butt in a filthy dish. Stretching his arms over his head, sighing, you watch as his t-shirt rides up. The tensing of his abdominal muscles is like torture. God, to run your hands up his chest, over his shoulders, tangle them in the salt-soaked strands of his hair…

“Right, night Little Routledge,” JJ says.

You blink away from his chest and meet his gaze. There’s a strange expression on his face, one you don’t recognise, and you want to scrutinise it and find out what it means. But it’s gone in a flash, as is he as he heads back into the house. You watch through the window as his silhouette drops onto the pull-out sofa.

It takes a minute to regain your composure.

You can’t think of JJ like that. He certainly doesn’t think of you like that, and that childhood crush has long been put to bed. Shaking it awake is the last thing you need right now. Besides, he’s John B’s best friend. Your brother’s best friend. The same brother who’s taken you back into his house, offered you a room, free of charge, without complaint or question. And it seems like John B needs as many people around him as possible right now. But it’s hard to maintain that line of thought, when as you lie back down in your bed, desperate to get some sleep, you can vividly picture the slit of JJ’s chest that you were privy to just moments ago when you close your eyes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

You follow Tom through the restaurant. He’s the supervisor, eighteen and a fresh high school graduate. It’s hard to keep up with him as he points things out: waiter’s station; kitchen; storeroom…You’d forgotten how overwhelming job orientations can be.

“And this,” he pushes a door open, “is the staff room.”

You glance in and take in the messy pile of shoes, the overflowing trash can, and the three coat pegs overwhelmed with bags and hoodies.

“Love what you’ve done with the space.”

Tom laughs. He closes the door and leans against the doorframe. Broad shouldered, he stands taller than you by a couple inches.

“So, what made you want to work here?”

“I’m really interested in not being broke,” you reply, making him laugh.

“You new to the island? Feel like I haven’t seen you around?”

“This island that small?”

“Or you’re just that unforgettable,” he smoothly returns.

Your face fires up. Laughing nervously, you shift your stance. “I just moved in with my half-brother for the summer. Need something to keep me busy for a few months.”

“Ah, sweet. Anyone I’d know?”

“Dunno,” you say. He starts back into the main restaurant building. They haven’t opened yet. It’s void of life. “John B Routledge?”

“Oh shit, yeah. JB,” he says, flashing you a grin.

He’s charming in a disarming way. The kind of face that a modelling agency would swipe up because of his easy marketability.

When the two of you approach the bar, there’s a girl stood polishing wine glasses. She looks to be about your age, maybe a couple of years older. Her smile is sweet and welcoming like warm hot chocolate on a winter’s night.

“Hey, Lizzy. This is the new starter,” Tom introduces.

“I’m guessing I got the job then?” you ask him. He nods. With that, you offer a hand to Lizzy.

“Nice to meet ya,” she says, shaking it. “Could do with more girls around here.”

“Happy to help,” you reply.

“So, you think you can cover a shift tomorrow night? I figured cause you’ve waitressed before it shouldn’t take too long for you to learn the ropes here,” Tom says.

You nod. “Sure. Sounds good.”

“We’ll see you tomorrow then,” he says.

You bid farewell to himself and Lizzy, seeing yourself out the front door. The restaurant is in the heart of the cut, surrounded by other small businesses and hipster start-ups. You begin the journey home, plugging in your headphones and submerging yourself in Reggae music. Children play in the local park and preteens chatter as they speed past you on their bikes. There’s a warm breeze that brushes past you; it smells of sea water and fried fish. You’re passing the harbour. Eyes land on Heyward’s store, the logo just as you remember it from all those years ago. It’s surreal being back.

When your phone buzzes, you pause your sightseeing to check it. It might be John B asking after the interview. Your throat closes up when you see your mom’s contact pop up. A text. ‘Call me back.’

Just like that, you’re dragged out of Kildare and are back in Colorado.

It’s impossible to ignore the text, but you do your best either way. You don’t even remember half the journey to the Chateau as you walk through the door. JJ is home. He’s sat at the messy dining table, eating a bowl of cereal and scrolling through his phone. Tugging out your earbuds, you give a small wave hello.

“How’d the interview go? That was today, right?”

“Smashed it. Got the job,” you say.

“Oh, sweet. Congrats.”

“Thanks.”

You ditch your bag by the door along with your phone. Taking the seat opposite him, you sit cross-legged on the wooden chair. The sketchbook you’d abandoned earlier lays dormant. Opening it up, you flick to your latest piece of the marsh. It’s coming together rather well. You’d decided to add the H.M.S Pogue, sat harboured on the grass. JJ peers over his bowl to the painting.

“Holy shit. That’s sick,” he says through his mouthful of Captain Crunch.

“Thanks,” you smile. “I’m pretty happy with how it’s come out, considering how old these paints are.”

JJ watches as you crack open the aforementioned watercolours. The smell of artificial paint teases the air. Dampening a thin brush in the mason jar of water, you dip into the blue.

“They bad quality or something?”

“A little. They best ones are Winsor and Newton, but I can’t justify spending over twenty bucks on paints.”

“Why not? You’ve clearly got a gift,” JJ says.

You hate how casual he is when he says things like that to you. Like it doesn’t knock the breath out of you like a sucker punch to the chest.

“S’just practice,” you mumble.

You can feel his gaze as you paint. Resting your chin in your hand, you work at the water under the jetty, trying to perfect the shading. You want to feel as though you can walk into the painting; like you could drown in the crystal clean waves.

Painting had become an escape when you were in Colorado. Whatever you could remember of Kildare, you’d paint. When that well ran dry, you began to paint places you wished you could go. Anywhere but the dilapidating family home you’d found yourself in. Secret gardens made of twisting ivy and crumbling, ornate statues hidden amongst orchids and rose bushes. Cosmic planes with make-believe ice cream stations snuck onto Mars and Venus; whales which bathed in the stars and caught a tan in moonbeams. Underwater societies full of sea kelp and multicoloured coral reefs, with octopi hiding amongst crabs and shellfish.

You glance up to find JJ transfixed on the painting. There’s a crease between his brows as if he’s the one concentrating. It makes you laugh, quiet and under breath, and he looks up. Holds your stare.

“That’s amazing, that you can just do that,” JJ says, remarking to your work.

You swallow the sickly rush that his words give you. His tongue dampens his lower lip, tantalisingly slow. You feel it hit somewhere deep inside of you. Something in the air shifts.

Then, so quiet neither of you can be sure he really said it, he utters, “you’re amazing.”

“Yo!”

The door swings open with your brother’s arrival. Your head spins over your shoulder to the front door. John B stands holding a bag of takeout burgers in the air beside his head.

“Y’all hungry?”

“Hell yeah,” JJ says.

When you look to him, it feels as if you could have imagined the whole interaction had just moments ago. JJ’s sat in his seat as he was before, unfazed.

He abandons his cereal and follows John B into the kitchen like a starving dog, begging for food. You place your paintbrush back into the water and join them. John B unpacks the burgers and fries onto half-clean plates. You watch JJ toss a fry into the air and catch it, whooping in celebration. A plate is handed back to you, over John B’s shoulder.

“Beef burger with cheese, no pickles.”

“Thank you,” you sing-song, taking the plate off him.

JJ turns around and looks at you with faux disgust. “No pickles?”

You shake your head, heading back to the table. JJ and John B join you with their own quick dinners, and the three of you eat. You tell John B about the summer job you secured, and he tells you and JJ about Sarah Cameron and her new boy-toy Topper. JJ says he’s “biceps without a brain” when you ask which one Topper is.

“That can’t be his real name,” you snort.

“Oh, it is,” John B replies.

“His name is almost as dumb as he is,” JJ sniggers.

There’s the sound of chewing and swallowing.

“Two official weeks into summer,” John B randomly announces.

You quirk a brow. “Two weeks since I came back to Kildare.”

JJ holds his cup of soda up in a toast. John B wipes his mouth and raises his own, as do you. The three of you clink cups, smiling at the stupidity. As you bring your cup to your lips to drink, you find your eyes meeting JJ’s across the table. He holds your gaze as he sips, swallows and licks his lips of the sugar. You feel it hit somewhere deep, deep inside of you. JJ looks back to John B and starts recounting his tales of the day fishing, leaving you stumped.

What the hell was that?

~*~*~*~*~*~*

As your days in Kildare stretch on, your imagination becomes your most loved and loathed place all at once.

The Pogues had taken you under their wing without a second thought. It felt as if it wasn’t just because you were John B’s younger sister. Kiara would spend hours talking to you about music and star signs. Pope would discuss books and artists that he’d read about, falling into a huge debate about whether Andy Warhol is as legendary as everyone makes him out to be (the answer is, of course, yes). You and John B connected as brother and sister, filling that hole of ‘family’ that had been taken from both of you within the past year. Movie nights sharing popcorn and critiquing corny horror films, and mornings spent tending to the yard and fishing at the jetty: you felt yourself coming back bit by bit, in the company of the brunette.

But spending time with the Pogues came with spending more time with JJ. That little childhood crush that you’d claimed had succumb a long, undisturbed slumber…Oh, she had been awoken. Him staying over more and more on the pull-out when him and his dad ‘got into a thing’ meant the throw pillows smelt like his cologne and soap. He’d offer you his sweatshirt when sat around the bonfire on evenings drinking, and the warm distinct smell of him would consume you, drown you in the pheromones, affecting you like some pathetic animal in heat. Days spent surfing and sunbathing at the break gave you space to shamelessly ogle his bare chest, splattered in sea water, scorched and tanned with sunlight. The ripple of his lats when wearing his useless muscle tees as he waxed his board in the surf shack. His jawline strong and steely when annoyed or focused, with faint blonde stubble a week after shaving. But you swear he knew how it affected you. Swear he knew it drove you crazy whenever he’d fleetingly touch your back, brushing past you in the kitchen to grab a drink, or adjust your grip when helping him fix up his bike. When sharing a blunt on the porch (as you often did when sleep couldn’t come), he’d take his time passing it to you, fingers brushing. Innocent, incidental touches that felt calculated and planned. The way his eyes would gaze into yours, like he could read your thoughts and decipher your wants. A vague, barely-there smirk to his lips, constantly tortured by his tongue and teeth…

God, your whole body feels as if it has been on fire for the past week.

You blame your overactive thoughts of JJ on your boredom. Working at the restaurant hadn’t been sufficient distraction from the mess that is your life right now. Even now, as you stand before the till, typing through an order for the kitchen and bar, you feel your mind wandering. To thoughts of the Chateau, and to a certain blonde-haired guy sprawled on the pull-out sofa, shirtless, back on proud display…

“You gonna be much longer?”

“No, I shouldn’t be,” you say to Tom.

You hope your embarrassment doesn’t read on your face. It’s not as if he could hear your thoughts, so you’re not sure why you feel caught in the act. You finish selecting the sides for table 16 and press ‘store table’. Stepping to the side to grab some side plates, Tom takes over the till.

He’s nice. Makes you laugh a lot at work, as you slander rude tables and gush over those that tip an extra twenty.

After depositing the side plates at the table, you head to the bar to run the drinks you put through. Lizzy is mixing the cocktail you ordered. She pours rum into a shaker and then passionfruit puree.

“Can I ask you something?” you say to her.

She glances over. The two of you had gotten closer at work. You were hoping to hang out with her one time down at the beach, or maybe grab lunch after a morning shift. She runs a hand over her buzzcut hair style and nods.

“Do you think there’s such a thing as bad thoughts?”

“Bit deep to be asking that at eight o’clock at night, don’t you think?” she smirks.

You roll your eyes. As she goes on making the cocktail, you elaborate. “I have this dumbass crush on this guy which I know I shouldn’t have…I just feel bad for thinking about him so much.”

“Well, that’s dumb,” she snorts.

There’s the loud rattle of ice against stainless steel as Lizzy shakes the cocktail. Then, as she strains it into a martini glass, she looks up at you once more.    

“Who’s this guy? Do I know him?”

“Maybe.”

Her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. “Is it Tom?”

And, no, it isn’t Tom, but maybe saying it is means she won’t keep digging. You’d rather keep your embarrassing years-long infatuation with your brother’s best friend close to the chest. So, you do your best to look meek as you nod.

“Holy shit! Well, if it makes you feel better, he’s totally into you,” Lizzy tells you.

“He is?”

“Hell yeah. Guy practically ogles you across the room,” she says.

You glance over to Tom. He’s stood before a table, talking away, scribbling down their order on a notepad. At the feeling of being watched, he looks up and meets your gaze. You flash him a small smile and he mirrors it quickly before returning his focus to the task at hand.

“So, do you?”

“Think there’s such a thing as bad thoughts?” Lizzy checks. You nod. She ponders the question whilst garnishing the cocktail. “No. No, I think only actions talk. I mean, I think bad things all the time about customers who are dicks. I could put glass in their drinks: that’d show them sort of thing. But I don’t actually put glass in their drinks, so I’m off the hook. Nobody’s the wiser.”

It’s a somewhat extreme example but it gets the point across. You take the tray and nod.

“I mean, maybe fantasising about it might be cathartic. Get it out your system, you know?” Her sly wink speaks volumes as to what these ‘fantasies’ are about. You roll your eyes.

“Thank you for your advice, Lizz. I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Anytime sunshine.”

With that, you walk over table 16 and deliver their drinks. The rest of the shift passes by rather quickly. You end up making a bet with Tom that you can sell more pints of larger than him and come up victorious, leaving work with an extra ten dollars in your pockets.

The streets are painted sunset purple, orange and pink. You spot John B’s campervan, known as The Twinkie, in the parking lot; he’d promised to pick you up after work tonight. But as you walk up to the passenger side, you realise it’s JJ behind the wheel. You’re not sure if the feeling of your organs shrinking is a good thing or a bad thing.

“Where’s John B?” you ask, climbing in beside him.

“Nice way to say, ‘hi JJ, it’s so good to see you!’”

“Okay, hi JJ,” you say, rolling your eyes. He starts the engine. “Now, where’s my brother?”

“He had to go do something for Cameron.”

“At ten at night?”

“Dude, I just work here, a’right? I do as he says so he lets me stay on his sofa,” JJ says. You laugh.

The radio kicks on and ‘Downtown Lights’ starts to play. You look out the window as he drives, watching the houses fade into overgrow and trees.

“Hey, you hungry?”

“Starved.”

“We can swing by a Wendy’s on the way home, if you wanna,” JJ says.

You smile as you look over to him, nodding. With that, he takes the next left and the two of you make your way in comfortable silence to the drive through. At the worker’s request, JJ recounts his order: two hamburgers, both with cheese, one without pickles. Oh and a large Pepsi.

As he pulls forward to pay, you say, “you remembered I don’t like pickles?”

He glances over to you like you’re stupid for even asking. “Course.”

Food secured, Pepsi in the cupholder for you both to share, you start the journey to the Chateau.

“Feed me a fry?”

You laugh and oblige. It’s the least you can do, considering he bought you takeout, after all. You turf one out the brown paper bag and hold up to his lips. His breath fans against your fingers as he takes it. Chews and swallows. You managed to tear your eyes away. That man could yawn and you’d be mesmerised, you swear. It’s pathetic.

“Thanks.”

“Course.”

The ride back is over way too soon. You take what’s left of your food and your bag, opening the door. “You staying over tonight?”

JJ contemplates a moment before shaking his head. He studies his hands as they run up and over the steering wheel when he says, “no. No, I gotta go home sometime.”

“Right,” you quietly say. The last fight him and his dad got in was ugly. He came over, shaking with anger, a purple bruise forming under his eye. It scared the shit out of you to let him go back there alone. “Well, thanks for the food.”

JJ looks up from the steering wheel and takes you in. His lips move, like he wants to say something, but he seems to abandon the thought. You take it as your cue to leave.

“See you soon.”

“Yeah. See you soon, Little Routledge.”

You hate that nickname. The resentment is thick to swallow as you say goodnight, stepping out the van.

John B isn’t home when you walk into the Chateau. The lights are off, dirty dishes piled up in the sink. The sofa bed is unmade from the last time JJ slept on it. You contemplate crashing on it for the night, just so you can feel as if you’re near to him, but you know that’s insane. If John B were to find you there, he’d only be concerned that something was wrong with your own room, either way. So you trundle back to your bedroom and strip out of your uniform. Makeup rinsed off and teeth brushed, you crawl into bed and drift off easily.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

His lips are hot and wet on your skin, kissing down your stomach. Your breathing’s laboured like you’re fighting an adrenaline rush. He seems to notice, laughing darkly against your tummy.

“So wound up already and I’ve barely touched you,” JJ croons in his southern drawl.

Your eyes slip shut, fighting back a whimper as his fingers dip teasingly into the waistband of your panties. A moan finally lets slip at the sensation of his lips pressing against your crotch, over the cotton.

“You want it?”

“Please,” you whisper.

“Yeah? You want my mouth?”

“Yes, JJ, please.”

It’s embarrassing to beg but you don’t have much left in your mind other than thoughts of him to even care.

Fingers knotting into his hair, you try and coax him lower still. And he obliges. Drags your panties down your legs like time is a luxury. You wonder if he likes teasing you; if it brings him pleasure like the feeling of his hands on your body does for you. He leans back on his haunches and runs his palms up and down your thighs, staring at you exposed pussy. His shark tooth necklace sits against his toned chest and you’re jealous of how close it gets to be to him.

“Fuck,” JJ groans as you open your legs.

He leans back down and nuzzles your inner thigh, pressing a sharp kiss with his teeth, sucking in the skin and relishing your pleasured yelp. It feels as if he’s marking you as he leaves the hickey: mine.

“Been dreaming ‘bout this.”

Before you can let out another pathetic plea, JJ situates himself between your legs and goes down on you. Eats you out like a man who’s been lost at sea, like a man starved. Sighs at the taste of you on his tongue, kissing at your thighs as if to catch his breath, dragging you closer and closer to the edge. The damp of his tongue laps at your clit and your legs lock around him in a vice. He’s indefatigable, insatiable and…it’s too much.

“I can’t,” you whine hopelessly. Your fingers grasp at the sheets, eyes clenched shut.

“Come on,” JJ preens. “Wanna see you come.”

He leans close to your ear, taking your lobe between his teeth, and slips a finger into your seeping hole. Your orgasm comes like waves crashing over splintered rocks; breathing jagged and vision blurring behind eyelids. Somewhere in the euphoric haze you cry out his name. Flashes of colour blending into a mercurial high as he works you through your ecstasy, unrelenting.

You gasp awake.

Had you been sleeping?

Your forehead is damp with sweat, throat parched and chest heaving. Anyone would have thought you’d have just sprinted three miles. When you sit up in bed, you register the pulsing between your legs and the telltale stickiness of your thighs.

Shit. Good thing there’s no such thing as bad thoughts.

Wiping at your face, your skin feels red hot. You venture to the bathroom and drink water from the faucet. Making eye contact with yourself is too hard right now, considering you just had the most incredible wet dream about your brother’s best friend. Now that the high is passing, you’re overcome with shame and guilt. You’re delusional. Maybe you should submit yourself to be sectioned. Would be a good way to kill some of these summer weeks…

Heading back to bed feels like returning to the scene of a crime. Instead, you head out onto the porch, dressed in nothing but a t-shirt and panties. John B’s a deep sleeper, you’ve come to learn. You’ve never heard him get up in the night, in all your moments of insomnia. There’s no risk of crossing paths with him out here.

Stepping out onto the paint-peeled floorboards, you notice he forgot to turn off the porch light when he came home. Great, I guess I know where my wage is going. But as you head to your favourite red armchair, ready to gaze out at the marsh and watch the waterside plants dance in the breeze, you freeze.

JJ’s on the sofa. And he’s awake. You can tell just from where you’re stood.

Before you can flee back to your room, the floorboard creaks. JJ jolts up and looks around, eyes landing on you. You swallow. The moment you lay eyes on him, part of your dream comes screaming back to you. The way your voice cracked as you cried out his name, tumbling over the edge. You quickly shun away the thoughts, slamming them closed in a box, before your body can lose itself to the fantasy once more. Please God tell me that I didn’t actually scream his name.

“Hi,” you dumbly say.

“Hey.”

“I thought you were staying at your place tonight,” you say.

JJ shrugs. “Change of plans, I guess.”

“Oh.”

He looks back ahead at the armchair, back to you, and you can’t help but pull a face akin to holy shit what the fuck do I do? When he holds up a joint, you decide to stay. Panties are just the same as a bikini anyway, and he’s seen you in those. You make sure to wear your cutest ones when he’s surfing with you. The ones that are tight in all the right places and hug your figure in a way that you wished he would. Oh my God, shut up. You wordlessly take the joint as you quickly step past him, planting yourself in the armchair. You pull your legs up and sit atop of them, taking a long drag to try and calm your racing mind and heart. Inspecting the floor seems a good thing to do, suddenly. The divots in the wood from worms and the strips of paint. Looking up, you find JJ’s eyes trained on your legs. His gaze diverts when you lean forward, offering him the blunt again. As he lifts himself to take it, you see him wince, and now in the light of the porch, fully taking him in you, you can make out the bloody cut beside his eye.

“Jesus Christ, JayJ.”

“It’s fine,” he reflexively says. He takes another hit. “Just need some self-medication.”

“Bullshit. You need to clean that thing ‘fore it gets infected.”

“Be my guest,” JJ scoffs.

With that, you get to your feet and head back into the house. The first aid kit is under the bathroom sink. It’s probably the least dusty thing in the whole room. Returning to him, you forget all about the reason that you got up in the first place and shove it to the back of your mind. This was more important than worrying about some dumb dream. Shoving his legs off the couch, you force him to make space for you. You place the first aid kit on your lap and open it. JJ keeps smoking. The smell of weed clouds your senses. Picking out a disinfectant wipe, you turn to him.

“This’ll sting,” you say, opening the packet.

“That’s what she said.”

You frown. “What kind of kinky ass sex are you having?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he grins.

For a moment dread drops down your body, chilling your spine. Did he hear you? No, no he couldn’t have. You probably didn’t make a noise. He’s just being his usual, salacious self.

You take his jawline in hold gently between your fingers. The bone is hard beneath the soft of his skin; fine stubble scratches your fingertips. Leaning up, you try not to get distracted in his eyes as you dab at the cut. You apologise as he hisses. It doesn’t look as intimidating when clean of blood, which is more than a relief. You dip back into the first aid kit and offer up two band aids. One is plain nude and the other Hello Kitty.

“Take your pick.”

He rolls his eyes with a small smile and grabs the Hello Kitty one, holding it out to you. You shift onto your knees, bending over him to plant it over his cut. You notice a bruise forming on his cheek bone on the other side, and a cut lip. You should have insisted he stayed over when he dropped you off. He looks up, as if he can hear your thoughts, and meets your gaze. You can’t seem to find it in yourself to move away.

“It’s not your fault,” he quietly says.

You swallow. It’s scary how easy he can read you. Makes you worry what other thoughts he can tell from your face. “Wished you just stayed here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Hate the thought of you going back to that house.”

“That’s sweet,” he smiles. “But if I didn’t go, I wouldn’t have you here taking care of me.”

“Oh, was it all part of your masterplan?” you joke, finding your smile again. His seems to grow at the sight.

“Something like that.”

When his lips press to yours, you’re taken aback. It feels like fire, searing hot, and you flinch like you’ve been burnt. You gape at him, wide eyed, and it seems to register what he’s just done. You both move to put as much space between you as possible, as if trying to keep the blaze from spreading.

“Shit, I—”

“I should go back to bed,” you hurry out.

JJ nods. “Yeah, yeah. Course.”

In your scramble to get back to your feet and back in your room, the first aid kit falls to the floor, the contents spilling out. You cuss and drop to your knees, rushing to retrieve all the clutter. JJ joins you, passing you gloves and bandages. You find some nerve to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he says. The sincerity in his voice…It’s painful.

“It’s okay. I don’t…It isn’t…”

You sigh. Your speech is just as messed as your mind. Closing your eyes, gathering your words, you take a deep breath. Looking back to JJ, you shake your head.

“We can’t.”

“I know,” he replies, almost sadly. Nods once more. “Yeah, I know. I’m just…high. And tired.”

“Right. Course.”

And whilst his excuses should sting, they don’t, because you don’t believe them. JJ smokes enough weed to not be affected all that much by half a joint. But you don’t argue. Instead, you close the box and go to head inside. You stop in the doorway.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you say.

You spare him one last glance. He’s on the floor, head hung and back to you, and you consider staying. But you don’t. You go straight to bed, acting as if a fresh start tomorrow will reset the entire thing.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

In the morning, JJ’s gone. John B doesn’t seem to have even realised he’d stayed over. You find your older brother in the kitchen, washing up the dirty dishes. Swiping up a towel, you come to help.

“Hey. Sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” you lie. “You?”

“Like a rock,” he grins. “You still up for that keggar tonight, at the boneyard?”

“Oh shit, that’s tonight?”

“Yeah. All the others are going,” John B says.

“Yeah, I’ll go. I think I’m catching a ride with Lizzy from work.”

“Alright. Just stay safe.”

“I will,” you drawl. He smiles at you before turning back to the washing up. “Hey, John B?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For letting me stay here.”

“Yeah, course,” he says. He pauses his handy work, turning his attention to you. “You’ve always got a bed to crash on here, even if child services are up my ass.”

“I appreciate it. I really needed to get out of Colorado.”

The seven missed calls from your mom slip into your mind. Her texts go unanswered, but she knows you read them. You don’t want her to think you’re in danger. Talking to her is just too much right now.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I needed you back too,” he says. “Things have been kinda messy since my dad…disappeared. I don’t know what I’d do if I was on my own.”

“You’re never gonna be on your own, though,” you smile. “The Pogues would do anything for you. It’s actually kinda scary.”

John B laughs at that. “Yeah, yeah, they’re, uh, not the smartest.”

“Apart from Pope,” you point out. He nods, smiling as he looks back to the soapy water.

“Yeah, apart from Pope.”

“JJ cares about you a lot,” you feel the need to add. His voice last night, apology ready, after your kiss, echoes in your mind.

“I know. I feel like you two are the best things in my life right now,” John B admits. The guilt multiples by tenfold with that. You fix your face when he looks to you. “So, thanks.”

“No worries, big bro,” you reply, nudging his shoulder with yours.

He laughs. “Thanks, little sis.”

With that, you both continue cleaning the pots. The shame from last night gets shoved down into the deepest, darkest pit of your stomach, and you try to go about your day without sparing another thought to JJ.

On the way to the keggar, Lizzy grills you about your ‘crush’ on Tom. “He’s gonna be there tonight, I think.”

“Oh, really?” you say. You know you don’t sound enthused. It’s too much effort to pretend.

“Everything good?” she frowns, glancing away from the road.

You nod and plaster on a smile. “Yeah, yeah. Just tired, I think.”

“Couple drinks in you and you’ll be wide awake, I promise,” she assures.

Nodding, you shift in your seat and look out the window. Your skirt rides up in the processes. It’s a little short but it’s so ridiculously hot tonight, you can’t seem to care. A crotchet style crop-top dresses down the outfit. You don’t want to seem like you’re trying too hard for a beachside keggar. As you pull up closer to the boneyard, cars line the roads. Lizzy finds a spot and parks. You grab the crate of Budlight and her the box of White Claw, and you hop out the car towards the beach. Her stories about work and school have brightened your mood.

She’s tall and remarkably cool in a way that you never will be. She has stick and poke tattoos on her knees and elbows, and nine piercings on one ear. Her nose ring and snake bite piercings are far from intimidating on her cherub like features. The buzzcut has been dyed neon blue, standing bright against her dark skin. As you pass groups of teens, she shouts hello to those she recognises and shares the odd bro-hug.

You add your drinks to the pile of booze before grabbing a can, cracking it open. A quick scan of the scene tells you that the Pogues are still pre-drinking at the Chateau. You’d managed to dodge JJ so far.

“This is a pretty decent turn out,” Lizzy tells you, swigging from her can.

“Know a lot of people here?”

“Sure,” she says. She points to a gaggle of polo-shirt wearing pretty boys who look like they could snap you with one finger. “Those are the gym rat kooks. That tall blonde Topper is with the princess of Figure Eight, Sarah Cameron.”

JJ was right: biceps without a brain. You watch as he shotguns a drink and cracks the can on his forehead. Sarah Cameron, blonde hair straight flowing down her back, does not look impressed.

“And her brother Rafe. That guy’s all kinds of whacked out,” Lizzy mutters. You follow her finger to spot a tall, short haired guy. He looks unapproachable, even from far away.

“Yo Lizzy!”

You both turn to find a crowd of girls and guys. One of them is waving at Lizzy and she waves back.

“Come on, I know these guys. They’re cool,” she tells you, taking your hand and guiding you over.

You’re introduced to everyone and soon enough are roped into beer pong and shots. It’s fun though. Everyone’s having a laugh, cheering each other on. You hear about some good spots to grab food and learn Michael, Lizzy’s closest friend, can drink you under the table. A few hours in and there’s a comfortable buzz to your bones. You haven’t thought about the Pogues, or JJ, or the fleeting kiss all night. As you laugh along to one of Michael’s soccer stories, someone taps you on the shoulder. You turn around to come face to face with Tom.

“Hey,” you smile, squiffy.

“Hey! I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

“Yeah, I came with Lizzy.”

“Hey, Tom,” she smiles before sending you a more than suggestive look. Oh, shit. The lie. “Hey, why don’t you go get my girl a top up?”

Before you can contest, she’s taking your half full can out of your hand and coaxing you away with an assuring smile. Tom takes it in stride and walks with you to the coolers. He grabs two cans of beer, passing one to you, and you cheers him.

“How you finding Kildare?”

“Good.”

“Yeah? You been hanging with John B’s crowd, right?”

“Most of the time, yeah,” you smile, nodding. He makes a face before taking a drink. You frown. “What?”

“Nah, nothing. They’re just kinda…well, I mean, some people think they’re bad news.”

“Some people, huh?” you say cautiously.

“Just reputations and all that. Like that JJ guy. He’s got slippery fingers, if you know what I mean,” Tom says, wiggling his own in demonstration.

Suddenly this conversation is very unappealing. You glance off to Lizzy and the others. “I should probably get back to them. Thanks for the drink, though.”

“No, hey, no,” Tom says. He grabs you by the wrist. “Come on, I was being a dick. I’ve had one too many. Let’s just hang, alright? I really wanna get to know you.”

You look between him and Lizzy and sigh. Taking a swig, you shrug. “Alright.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tick you off.”

“I like the Pogues. They’re a good group,” you feel the need to defend.

“No, yeah, they are!” Tom agrees. You can smell the stench of liquor on his breath. “I just don’t want you to get corrupted by them.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just, you’re new here—”

“And so I’m clueless on how to judge people?” you finish sardonically.

Tom rolls his eyes and it makes your anger tick. “Come on, you don’t gotta be a bitch about this.”

“What did you just call me? You know what? Forget it,” you scoff, snatching your arm away from his hold. “Have fun drinking on your own.”

But you don’t get very far before he’s grabbing at you again. “Calm down, would you? Just gimme—”

“Let go!” you demand.

His grip only tightens. The strong front you’re putting on begins to crumble under the panic of this guy is way bigger than me.

“Just quit bitching and we can talk,” he says harshly.

“I don’t want to talk. Now please let go of me,” you firmly return.

He doesn’t let go. Keeps chattering away, insisting that you have to hear him out.

“Let go, Tom!”

“Everything good here?”

Your wide eyes look away from Tom and land on JJ, and your whole body relaxes. He’s looking at you and the panic must read clear on your face because his demeanour changes in a split second. Jaw tight, he turns to Tom.

“I think you should let go, man.”

“You think I’m gonna listen to you?” Tom scoffs.

JJ takes another step towards him. He towers over Tom by enough to be intimidating. “Think you should listen to her.”

“Oh, I get it,” Tom snarls. He lets go of you and you can feel your skin breathing. You rub at the pink marks, easing the sting. Tom gets into JJ’s face, undeterred from a fight. “You wanna keep John B’s sloppy sister for yourself, huh?”

JJ’s fist flies at Tom’s face, making an ugly, visceral sound as it lands on his left cheek. You gasp. Nearly knocked off balance, Tom stumbles on the sand. The commotion has drawn in somewhat of a crowd. Before you can intervene, Tom’s throwing hands. He aims an upper cut to JJ’s jaw but he’s quick to dodge, landing his own punch instead by Tom’s eyebrow. That one seems to deter him. He trips backwards. The chanting of the crowds egging it on makes you feel sick. You’d just finished patching JJ up last night, and you’ve seen his anger before. It takes control quickly and blinds him to reason. The last thing he needs is to wind up in a cell. So, before he can land another hit, you’re stepping forward and grabbing at his arm, stopping him.

“Come on, let’s just go,” you say pleadingly.

His chest is heaving with anger, breathing short and jaw heavy set and tense. He hesitates, looking between yourself and Tom. He’s still cradling his last hit, trying to regain his composure. Sighing, JJ lets you lead him away. Tom’s heckling is laced with slurs directed at you, and you have to keep a steady grip on JJ to keep him from going back.

“He’s not worth it, JayJ,” you mutter.

“You’re so wrong,” JJ darkly returns, but he doesn’t go back.

Away from the beach, back on the road, you let go. He paces for a moment, trying to calm himself. Tugs off his cap and rakes his fingers through his hair, breathing deep and slow. You don’t speak: just let him go through the motions. Babying him through this isn’t going to help anyone.

Whilst violence isn’t the answer to anything, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t grateful for JJ’s help.

Letting him cool off, you take a seat on one of the fallen tree trunks.

“Hey.”

Looking up, JJ walks over. He’s mostly back to himself.

“You okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No. Just freaked me out a bit. He’s not usually like that. He’s just drunk.”

“Like that’s an excuse,” JJ scoffs. He takes the spot next to you, sitting worryingly close.

The culmination of last night and tonight makes your head spin. The effects of the alcohol vanished the moment Tom took a hold of you. Now you just want to forget the whole thing.

“Wanna get out of here?” JJ asks.

You turn your head to face him and smile smally, nodding.

“Come on. I brought my bike.”

His red bike is parked beside the Twinkie. He climbs on first and offers a hand to help you onto the back. Your arms slot around his middle, circling around his taught chest, pressing yourself against him. Face resting on the middle of his back, you try not to inhale the smell of him. It might be too much for tonight. His calloused hands on yours have you shifting your hold, ensuring your tight against him like a backpack.

“Good?”

“Good,” you quietly reply.

He kicks off the stand and starts up the engine. You pull away from the keggar and up the road, zipping down the isolated streets. There’s nobody around at this time. Not a soul in sight. It feels so right, wrapped up against him like this, safe in his presence. Tom was wrong: JJ wasn’t bad news. Sure, he was a klepto, but he was the same guy who learnt how to sew to fix your favourite pair of shorts when you were little. The same guy who stepped up when some dirtbag was harassing you. The same guy who remembered you don’t like pickles on your burgers. Who looked at your paintings as if they were Picasso.

Somewhere along the ride, one of JJ’s hands comes to rest on your own. You don’t ask why and don’t pull away. Just let the reassuring weight of his hand on yours stay there and ground you to him like an anchor. Here, flying through the night, you can pretend like all the other shit doesn’t matter. It’s just you and him.

He starts onto a dirt track, slowing down, and a house emerges. Pastel yellow painted exterior hidden behind porch netting. There’s clutter of engines and fishing gear amongst surfing supplies. He pulls to a stop and kicks on the stand, turning off the engine. It’s quiet now, without its rumble. “Your dad home?” you can’t help but ask, staring at the front door.

JJ shakes his head. “No. He’s out on Friday nights. Kinda the only routine he has.”

You don’t ask where and he doesn’t expand. You step off the bike and watch as he clambers off too. Fixing your skirt, you wait for him to talk. He doesn’t. “I should probably head back,” you say. You’re not entirely sure why you came to his place instead. You’d assumed when you got on the bike that he’d take you back the Chateau.

“I mean, we can share a joint first if you want. Help you calm down and stuff, after that shitshow,” JJ half-chuckles.

There’s something heavy in the humid air. It’s hard to describe, hard to place, but you can feel it like static electricity. You find yourself nodding. He nods too and starts up to the house, hands in his black short pockets. You watch his feet sink into the grass and guide your eyes up his figure. His shoulders are tense, dressed under a thin t-shirt. He ditches his cap on the kitchen counter when you walk through the door. Through the house, past the neglection, and to his bedroom. He flicks on the light and clears his throat as he goes to his desk drawer.

You stand, leaning against his door until it clicks closed, and look around his room. There’s a world map pinned to the wall but no markings on it asides from one: Kildare, North Carolina. Print outs of palm trees and pressed, framed butterflies and leaves seem less innocent when placed between posters of models on the beach. The floor is a mess of dirty clothes and empty beer cans. Several dead vapes litter near the overflowing bin, and cigarette and joint buds scatter the windowsill and beside table. But the smell of JJ hangs strong in the air; it makes you smile to yourself.

“Alright,” JJ sighs. The desk drawer slams closed and he turns around, holding up a fresh joint and lighter. His initials are scratched into the metal: JJ. He sits on the bed and places the blunt between his lips, flicking at his lighter. You watch him take a drag and take it off him when he offers it over.

No words are shared as you pass the bud for several minutes. You both glance around the room, at the floor, at the ceiling, anywhere but each other.

“How’s your face?”

“Huh?” he asks, finally meeting your eyes.

You nod to his cheek. “Your cut from the other night?”

“Oh, right,” he mumbles. He lifts a finger and strokes it absentmindedly. “It’s alright.”

“Good.”

JJ hands you the joint again, you take a drag, you pass it back to him. That same feeling from earlier, when you first climbed off the bike, has only amplified.

“So…”

You brave clearing the distance between you. You take the spot next to him on the bed.

“We gonna talk about it.”

“What’s there to talk about?” JJ deflects, studying the floor.

“Well, you kissed me,” you eventually reply, taking the joint back. “So, there’s that.”

“I already told you,” he sighs. “I was tired and doped up.”

When you say nothing, he looks up at you. "What? You think I'm lying?"

You take a drag. Shrugging, you honestly reply, “yeah, a little.”

He holds your gaze as if challenging you to back down. You don’t. Beating around the bush won’t help anything here, and its obvious you can’t go back to acting like it didn’t happen. You can’t move past it until you know why he did.

“S’just weird,” JJ mutters, looking away. “What happened last night, with me and you. S’just weird.”

“Yeah, it was weird for me too,” you agree. Swallowing, you take another hit. “But not bad weird, right?”

JJ’s head lifts once more. His eyes flash across your face like he’s searching for some kind of trap. He sucks his teeth in contemplation. “No. Not bad weird.”

Your heart stutters, breathing shaky and unsure. You feel your eyes dart down to his strawberry pink lips, and his to yours. But then he’s shaking his head. “What are we doing?”

“I don’t know…” you breathe. You’re transfixed on his lips. Can’t move away, can’t bring yourself too. The blunt in your fingers is burning away, ash dropping to the floor, but you don’t care. All of it, everything but JJ, is white noise.

The moment you flit your eyes up to his, something shifts in him. His jaw ticks as he clenches it. Your brows pull in thought but there’s no time for you to ask.

“Fuck it.”

His lips are on yours within a breadth. He consumes your senses like a drug, dulling down anything else until all your thoughts are on him. He grabs for the blunt in your fingers, haphazardly putting it on the bedside table, and then his hands are sliding up along your sides, up your back, into your hair. One finds purchase on your cheek, and you rest your jaw in his hold like a bird settled in its favourite branch. The way he holds you like you’re something holy is different to how sinful his kiss is. It’s pure passion: raw, animalistic heat from weeks of build-up. And, God, it feels so right. The way his tongue brushes against yours, warm in your mouth, heavy in your head. The nip of his teeth on your lips and the fanning of his breath when he has to break for air. You’ve never been kissed like this before, not by anyone. It’s dizzying.

Until it isn’t, and he’s pulling away. His forehead rests against your own. You’re both panting. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” he says.

You slide a hand up his neck, tracing his jawline with your fingers. He practically melts under your touch, eyes slipping shut. “I know,” you whisper distractedly. Your thumb traces his lower lip. It’s swollen from your kisses.

He blinks his eyes open. “I’m serious. He can’t know.”

“He won’t,” you say, going to reconnect your lips.

But JJ stops you. “No, he can’t. He’d…God, he just can’t.”

You want to cry, seeing the moral dilemma weigh on JJ, feeling you share the burden. But the thought of walking away from this, of not feeling every inch of him, of never hearing him fall apart, makes you want to sob.

“Maybe just one time,” you murmur. Your finger traces down his chin, along the centre of his neck. “And we can just get it out of our system.”

“Yeah,” JJ mumbles. “Yeah, one time.”

“Yeah?”

You meet his gaze. His pupils are dilated, heavy with lust, and you feel your body ignite. “Touch me, please.”

With that simple mark of consent, JJ’s unchained. He doesn’t hold back when your lips reconnect. Somehow it becomes deeper, rougher, better. It’s such a strange oxymoron, the way he touches you and kisses you. You pull away to remove your crop top, and he takes the moment to strip off his shirt. The two of you are shameless as you take in the other. Reaching out a hand, you run your fingers up his chest in the way that you’ve imagined so many times before. It’s funny how in your head, you’ve already done it. His eyes dip down, watching your hands explore. You lean forward, pressing a kiss to his left pectoral, then his right. Sighing, his chest drops up and down with uneven breathes.

“So pretty,” you say through your kisses.

His fingers tether into your hair. There’s a slight tug that sends ripples of pleasure through your body in ways that it shouldn’t as he pulls you away, guiding your lips back to him. As he crawls atop of you, you inch up the bed, skirt riding up. You settle on our back. JJ’s greedy in his touch. Strokes your skin, explores your body, like it’s his own. And in a way it is because you’d give him anything if he asked. When his fingers slip behind your back, searching for the clasp of your bra, you lift yourself onto your elbows. He holds your gaze as he unfastens it, guiding it off your shoulders, helping it off your arms.

“Fuck,” he sighs.

A smile teases at your lips. It takes a certain type of guy to make you blush at the sound of his curses. Your head rocks back, eyes sinking closed, as his lips latch around your nipple. A hand palms at the skin, teasing your breast, exploring your reactions. You sigh out your pleasure, bringing a hand up to mess with his hair. It’s better than you imagined. Tops every fantasy, every wet dream, every sinful thought. And it’s only just begun.

“So fucking sexy,” JJ groans, kissing up your body until he finds your lips.

You don’t want him away from you. He looms over you, encasing you in the safe, consuming feeling of his presence, trapping you in the smell of his cologne and soap that you’ve tried so desperately to avoid. Through the kisses and love bites marked into necks and collarbones, you feel one of his hands ghost the outline of your figure. Traces down so slowly like you might not even notice. Down, down, to your panties. It’s there that he sweeps over your cotton covered mound. You sigh against his lips in anticipation.

“I know you’ve been thinking ‘bout this,” JJ says.

His voice is just as you pictured it: deep and crooning, his Southern accent at forefront. You want to bottle it like brandy and drink it until you black out. His lips work down your neck as he lightly circles your clit over your panties and you can’t stop your moan.

“I heard you, the other night.” Your eyes shoot open. JJ meets your gaze. He’s dying, the desperation clear as day on his face. His eyes themselves could send him straight to hell. There’s the shadow of a smirk.

“Were you thinking of me, whilst you were getting off?”

You go to push him away. The last thing you need is for him to tease you about it and make fun. But he doesn’t let you. Instead, he kisses just below your ear.

“Cause I think about you. Every night since you’ve been back. Can’t jack off to anything else,” he confesses into the crux of your ear. Your only reply is a small, surprised gasp. Your body’s ablaze with his words.

His fingers finally dip below your panties, sliding between your soaking folds. He groans at the sensation and you feel your legs give way. He works at you for a while, toying with you like it’s a side hobby. You’re only half aware of the sounds you make. One of your hands has situated itself on his upper back, nails scratching at the skin. JJ can’t seem to keep his mouth shut. It’s one blasphemy after another, and it drives you deeper and deeper into the abyss. He seems to become impatient. He removes fingers to push your underwear down. You kick them off at the ankles with a small giggle.

The moment his finger sinks into you, you swear you’ve seen heaven. JJ worships you, taking his time to inch you closer and closer to the edge. Another finger, then another. The stretch is heaven. Your back arches off the bed, mouth agape, brain dumb with pleasure. He won’t be quiet. He whispers praises into your ear. Narrates his own fantasies he’s harboured about you. Know you’ve been teasing me with those tiny bikinis. I wish I fucked you on the porch the other night. The moment his thumb swipes over your clit, you know you’re close. And then he’s bending his fingers just slightly, hitting that spot. You abandon all religion: this is the only type of prayer you need.

JJ has the audacity to laugh as you climax. You grasp uselessly at his body, the bedsheets, anything. You use a shaky hand to push his fingers away, overstimulated, and he finally relents. Starts kissing at your neck like a Goddamn vampire.

“That good, huh?”

You can’t really formulate words. You just drag his face to yours, kissing him senseless. When you inevitably part for breath, JJ leans back. He pinches your chin between two fingers, gnawing at his lower lip, and parts your lips for him. Your body pulses at the submissiveness he’s placed you under. Then his used fingers are slipped into your mouth. You close your lips around them, holding his gaze as you suck them clean. The salty distinct taste is unfamiliar but not necessarily unpleasant. He gives a small laugh, like he’s in disbelief.

“Fuck. Why did we wait so long to do this?”

You pull his hand free, taking grip on his shoulders. Pushing him against his bedroom wall, you move to straddle him. His hands fall onto your hips. Somewhere in your heady make-out, you rock yourself back on him. JJ groans; his head knocks back against the wall. He’s rock hard. It must be torture. You shuffle off him to make room to pull his shorts off. They join the mess of clothes on the floor. The tip leaks precum, straining painfully. You go to jack him off but JJ stops you.

“I won’t last,” he admits, half-embarrassed.

You nod, biting back your smile. “You got protection?”

“Top drawer,” he says, nodding to the bedside table.

You lean over and dig about before finding a condom. You come back, tear it open, and gently slide it over him. He lets out a shuddering breath at your touch, eyes clenched shut in concentration. It makes you feel slightly guilty for letting him indulge you for so long, but this will pay it back.

Straddling him once more, you steady yourself with one hand on either shoulder. His find home on your hips once more, and he helps you line up. Then you slowly sink down onto him. The stretch stings despite the earlier efforts. Head hanging forward, mouth falling open in silent moans, eyes clenching shut, you take him in. JJ’s mumbling praises, eyes transfixed on where you connect, spurring you on. Taking me so good. Jus’little more. You rock against him, using whatever energy you have to ride him. He helps guide you, head resting against the wall. You love that he isn’t quiet. Love that you’re on top and can see every ripple of pleasure course through him, reflect on his face. But when his eyes slip shut, you take a hand and guide his face to yours. Pressing your forehead against him, you lean forward and steady yourself with a hand on his chest. The new angle is euphoric. You moan and whine against his lips, eyes staring into his own. It’s the most hideously lewd symphony as the two of you chase your highs. There’s only one thought in your mind. And when JJ comes unannounced, shuddering as he finishes, never looking away from your eyes, only one thought is in your mind.

If it can only happen this once, it has to be perfect...

to be continued (part 2 will be released later this week)

[barrackspredator]

Run for Your Life

Bowers Gang x Reader

Summary: fem!reader is being hunted down after discovering who’s been making the kids in town go missing

TW: Murder, blood, implied rape, violence, weapons, death, some small gore I suck at writing. Don't expect this to be amazing. note: as I finish writing this I realize how much I despise dark themes. oh well, I already wrote it. Also, yeah the title is stupid. It's okay.

“: ̗̀➛did you really think we would just let you off the hook so easily?‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ”

Seeing them shove that body into the quarry was the beginning of the end.

Perhaps it wouldn't have been if you had simply made a break for it as soon as you saw it, but how could you? Seeing the mutilated body of Chase Foreman was quite the sight to see, a sight so mesmerizing that your feet had cemented themselves to the ground. Any will to run or scream was paralyzed as your mind screamed at you to escape.

It was only after Belch Huggins had thrown Chase’s body off the edge of the cliff that you found the strength to turn around. But when you did, you were immediately slammed to the ground by Patrick Hockstetter’s hard chest.

"Didn't your parents teach you it's rude to spy?"

Patrick's sarcastic, shrill laughter of joy rang through your ears as he kneeled down beside your body, his knee pressing between your thighs. A large rotting Cheshire grin was on display before your very eyes, the smell of cigarettes assaulting your senses.

Your mouth opened pathetically, ready to sputter out any excuse to spare your life as tears threatened to spill out. Patrick, however, wordlessly put his fingers to your lips, softly shushing you in an oddly soothing way—as soothing as someone like him could sound.

"Don't fret, little bitch. I'll make sure to finish you off quickly. But what's the harm in a little fun?"

His dimly lit face turned up, looking behind her. The moonlight revealed the dirt and blood smeared across his face, casting a sinister glow on the deranged psychopath. Panicked footsteps crunched against dirt and gravel. A shadow came over Patrick and his grin vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

"Just make this quick, Hockstetter." It was Belch Huggins' worried voice coming from behind her. The crunching of dirt and gravel signaled a third presence.

"What's the fun in making this one quick?" Victor Criss mused as he knelt down behind you. He leaned over your shoulder before abruptly gripping your neck, pulling you back into his chest as he observed your face. A choked sob escaped your lips as you gasped for air, while his fingers tightened around you. "She's a looker. Got a pretty mouth too..." Victor trailed off, his tone filled with dark intent. Another shrill giggle came from Patrick as he climbed on top of your body, watching your eyes roll back into your skull.

"I like the way you're thinking, Vic." Patrick suddenly tore Victor's hand off of you, making the blonde grunt in irritation "But if I'm gonna fuck her, I want her to be awake." He looked down at you with that same grin, grabbing your jaw as you pathetically gasped for air. "Isn't that right, little bitch? You better look me in my eyes when I'm inside you."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Henry stood over the boys, watching with disinterest as Patrick eye-fucked the witness to their crime.

"Yeah, yeah." Patrick brushed off Henry's comment. "You're one to talk, Bowers. All high mighty 'cause you never stick it into our girls, huh?"

Henry's eyes trained on Patrick as his nostrils flared. His hands jutted out, lifting Patrick off of you by his collar. "Don't fucking talk to me that way, you goddamn pervert. One more word and I'm making you the next kid on a poster."

Patrick only grinned at Henry's empty threats. "You wouldn't dare get your pretty little hands dirty. That's my job." He had made it a point to get in Henry's face, enjoying how Henry's eyebrow would twitch in irritation. If there was one thing Patrick was good at, it was getting under Henry's skin. His comments had challenged Henry's masculinity, and for this crime, Patrick would pay the price.

It had all happened in mere seconds. Patrick’s body was slammed down, his head violently bouncing off the ground before hitting cold earth. Gasping sharply, he tried to recover the breath Henry had knocked out of him. Henry loomed over Patrick, straddling him with clenched fists. Patrick’s defiant laughter rang in the tense silence, his breath ragged as he laughed at Henry’s pathetic attempt.

Without hesitation, Belch lunged forward, ripping Henry off, while Victor rushed to Patrick’s side. Despite their lack of genuine concern for each other, the gang all understood their unspoken rule: no turning on each other.

Henry kicked and flailed like an enraged toddler as Belch manhandled him. "Get off of me! I ain't gonna hurt 'em!" He shouted, shoving Belch away and kicking dirt in Patrick's direction. The dirt hit Victor in the face, causing the blonde to sputter, spitting out any dirt that got into his mouth.

"What the fuck?" Victor complained, wiping his mouth repeatedly. The blood on his long-sleeve had now smeared across his lips, a stark contrast between his pale skin and the crimson streaks. Henry's rage had moved from Patrick to Victor, sneering at the smaller blonde.

On that cold earth, you laid there motionless, watching the boys through your peripherals. You felt a strange sense of joy when Patrick was thrown to the floor, and an even greater relief washed over you when the boys left you behind to break up the cat-fight. Your body was flooded with fear and adrenaline, and your mind went into overdrive, thrust into a survival mode you had never felt before.

Without a second thought, you pushed yourself off the ground, sprinting into the woods surrounding the quarry. Your absence hadn't gone unnoticed, and as soon as you made it into the woods, shouting ensued. Twigs and leaves crunched under your feet, drowning out the sounds of the boys chasing after you.

The boys you had known since childhood—whom you watched grow up as you went from playing with toys together to wanting to play together—were now hounding you like rabid wolves.

As you ran, a gunshot went off. You flinched violently, causing the bullet to only graze your flesh. Instinctively, your hand shot up to grasp your barely bleeding cheek in shock. "What the fuck!?" you screamed, your legs pumping faster.

Glancing over your shoulder, you noticed the distance in between you and the boys widened, giving you the advantage momentarily. Ducking under thick foliage, you followed a mini trail that would lead you to the barrens. With limited light, you ran blindly through dense woods. Branches and logs snapped against your face, pulling at your clothes, and threatening to trip you as you raced forward.

The shouting continued to follow you, except now it had split. Wicked voices bellowed at you from the surrounding trees, and with the dim light you could hardly tell what was coming from where. Your head tilted up, trying to gauge the sky from the trees, but it was entirely pitch black aside from the twinkling of stars and a melancholy moon.

"I'm coming to get you, little bitch!"

This time the voice was right beside you. Whipping your head to the right, you saw Patrick Hockstetter running, a wild grin on his face as he tried to swoop in closer, weaving through trees to get on your path. You swerved to the left, only to be greeted once more.

"You can't run forever, slut!"

It was Victor Criss this time, his baggy clothing whipping through the wind as he grasped a knife tightly in his right hand. He was weaving in towards you, both boys working together to trap you in between them. Your legs were aching and sweat drenched every inch of your body, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop.

Victor swiped his knife at you, nicking you in the stomach. A gut-wrenching scream followed as you felt the blade run across your tender flesh. Your hand immediately pressed itself against the bleeding wound, trying to stem the flow. Patrick's laughter drowned out your screams, his voice filled with eagerness as he closed in on you. His arms reached out, desperately trying to latch on.

“Fucking grab her already!” Henry’s voice roared from behind Patrick, filled with a frenzied intensity. His eyes locked onto you like a mad bull. He drew the pistol from his belt, aiming it in your direction. Fueled by a surge of adrenaline, your cramping legs pushed harder, desperately propelling you forward.

The bullet darted out, intent on killing. You instinctively shut your eyes but it never came. Victor's body collapsed on your left, abandoned as the group continued the chase.

"Fuck!" Belch wailed, maneuvering past Victor's corpse.

"Nice aim, moron!" Patrick taunted Henry with another shrill giggle. Henry only roared out in frustration. Your eyes were wide, body racked with fear and oddly enough, guilt. But you kept on going anyway, better Victor than you.

With ringing ears, you weaved through dense foliage and never-ending trees, feeling as though you were in a relentless loop. The constant barrage of Patrick’s taunts and Henry’s angry roars only added to your despair. You wanted to give up. To just collapse like Victor had on the cold earth and rest. God, death just seemed so tempting.

Something you feared for years suddenly seemed so desirable. And wrapped up in these thoughts of sweet death, you had hardly taken notice that Belch Huggins had swung his axe at you, lodging itself into your shoulder blade.

"Fuck!" You bellowed as the blade was pulled back. Your left arm dangled pathetically, blood oozing out as tendons strung your arm to your body. Immense pain took over and you collapsed, screaming as you cradled your arm.

The three boys stalked towards you, watching you intensely. Your sobs echoed through the trees, birds scattering out of trees hearing your screams of agony.

"Fuck, just kill me already!" You pleaded, tears streaming down your face. Belch solemnly crouched down beside you, a look of guilt on his face.

"Don’t take this personally…" he mumbled, glancing down at your bloody arm. Your eyes locked onto his, and you whimpered softly. Despite the situation, you couldn���t help but remember Belch’s kindness from long ago—how he had always been a big sweetheart, even back in kindergarten when you’d share a nap blanket. What happened to that kind soul?

Your eyes lowered to your arm, bile creeping up your throat until you couldn't help but pathetically keel over and vomit. Henry scowled, letting out an annoyed scoff while he panted heavily.

"Good going, tubby." Patrick sneered at Belch. "I can't enjoy her rockin' body when her arm is all fucked up. That's why we wait to cut them up after I've already dumped my load." The psychopath scoffed at this inconvenience, disregarding your dying body as just another dumpsite.

"Shut the fuck up," Belch mumbled, shooting a glare at Patrick. His attention moved back towards you, noticing how you were starting to fade away. He removed his flannel, gingerly put it over your body. He especially was trying to cover your arm. "I really didn't mean for this to happen," he whispered as he covered you.

Henry scoffed, "Don't tell me you're sweet on a dying girl."

Patrick snickered, nudging Belch. "The guilt getting you again, big guy?" His taunting laughter filled your ears.

Your eyes slowly rolled up to stare at the burly axe-wielding bully. With a small scoff, you groaned softly again. "Just fucking kill me..."

"If it's what you want," Henry grumbled, beyond annoyed that he had to run for so long. "Fuck, that's what we've been trying to do this entire time. Dumb bitch." He cocked his gun, aiming it at your head.

"Any last words?" Patrick cooed, his eyes glinting with a twisted excitement. His gaze darted back and forth between you and the gun, a dark smile stretching across his face. The anticipation in his voice was almost palpable.

You forced a sneer, even as your vision blurred to white.

"Yeah, fuck you," you rasped, your voice trembling.

The gunshot rang out, its echo a brutal punctuation to the silence that followed.

[blluespirit]

i wish that there was more time between the day of black sun and sozin's comet bc zuko's official desertion from the fire nation would have the most insane ripple effects (and it would be nice to see the gaang interacting a bit more than we got but hey i'll take what i can get)

zuko's desertion would have been essentially impossible for the fire nation to bury since it was such a big deal that he returned at all. so i imagine the smear campaign against zuko would have been craaazy. i think it would have been interesting for the gaang to try and deal with that when navigating the FN. zuko would be very recognisable i think at this point, and it would have made staying hidden much harder. would they still have chosen ember island? maybe the kids didn't recognise zuko and azula during The Beach , but with the prince of the fire nation committing treason would there be more wanted posters? would there be more talk around the island? would zuko have to remain hidden while the rest go out and get food?

i wonder if zuko deserting and very meaningly committing his loyalty to the avatar influenced other soldiers in the FN to also desert? or would it have had the opposite effect and made people feel more patriotic since zuko was banished, returned under the guise of having killed the avatar, and then left when aang announced his survival to world during the failed invasion?

SPEAKING OF THAT!! the rumours around this would be INSANE. we know what really happened, but the public don't. did zuko and the avatar plan this so that there would be an inside man during the invasion and then zuko used that chaos to escape? what really happened in ba sing se if zuko didn't kill aang, but azula thought that he did? (again: we, the audience know the truth, but the general public don't). if zuko and the avatar where working together... for how long? was iroh involved somehow since he also disappeared the same time that zuko did? did iroh get captured on purpose to be close to zuko to possibly help him if needed? did zuko break iroh out of jail or did one of the guards or was iroh alone? you could spiral on this as just an average person in the avatar world for years like. if youtube existed in atla imagine the video essays breaking down all the conspiracies

its a kids show so obviously Nothing Bad Happened BUT in the Boiling Rock, zuko getting found out as not only an imposter (already, a very bad situation), a traitor (extremely bad), AND the traitorous (ex) prince of the fire nation (devastatingly terrible) would have been... incredibly dangerous for zuko. in zuko and iroh's original wanted poster, the official translation says “Permission is granted to kill them on sight” and this was before zuko has gone right ahead and committed Treason On Purpose. the warden is not going to be nice. when the warden visits zuko in his cell he literally tells him "If these criminals found out who you are, the traitor prince who let his nation down, why they'd tear you to shreds." the boiling rock would be hell trying to survive. it also puts a lot more weight on zuko refusing to leave sokka in their first escape attempt. also ozai obviously knew that he has his son was in prison bc he... broke in to the prison bc azula was there but then zuko manages to escape with sokka (another imposter) and suki and hakoda (POWs) and chit sang (a prisoner) and two of azula's trusted friends end up in prison for treason as well i just. that is literally insane for the average person to hear about. again, THE CONSPIRACIES!!

when zuko eventually does take the throne there's a lot of conjecture around what zuko did while he was banished and moreso, what he did the second time he left, this time voluntarily. i think zuko's loyalty would be questioned a lot; by other world leaders who are understandably wary about the fire nation and its motivations, but also by its own people - some who believe that zuko is a traitor to his country and is trying to sabotage it since he helped end the war.

idk these are all just me rambling but it would been so interesting to explore the implications of zuko leaving the fire nation and how that would have impacted the gaang and how they interacted with others in their travels. there are so many fic where zuko joins the gaang early, but neither myself with the aus that I have written, nor many that ive read have explored this very much or at all.

[infiniteglitterfall]

the worst part about the i/p discourse

it's NOT the posters of Nazis with the swastikas on their flags replaced by stars of david. or the pages and pages of blood libel conspiracy theories in instagram posts about why local pride organizers are such big meanies. or the newfound insistence that jews just exaggerate and make up antisemitic incidents to smear the pro-palestine movement....

it's the fact that every. single. time. i try to post anything about any of these things, i end up in a rabbit hole SO DEEP IT'S IMPOSSIBLE TO GET TO THE BOTTOM.

Yesterday, I saw a --

YOU SEE? I went to Reddit for a second to find the link to the post about the Melbourne protest this week that had people carrying the Nazi-star-of-David posters. But first, I saw a post that began, "All I see on social media and the news is more and more attacks. Who beat up a Jewish family here, who stabbed a 1 year old in front of a synagouge. Those are two examples, I've lost track of all of the other ones."

and I was like, SOMEONE STABBED A ONE YEAR OLD IN FRONT OF A SYNAGOGUE?!?!

And I started to look that up. AND THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENS. EVERY SINGLE TIME.

Two days ago, I saw an article about Cincinnati Socialists setting up a table at North Kentucky Pride without asking, it sounds like, to hand out flyers saying the war in Gaza was Netanyahu's "Final Solution" for Palestinians. Cincinnati Pride organizers alerted the NKY Pride organizers, who kicked them out.

I was like, "okay, well, let's see what Cincinnati Socialists say about it." Then I discovered that their instagram not only "names and shames" the two Cincy Pride organizers and one NKY organizer. Which led to the Cincy ones getting so much harassment and violent threats that they resigned....

But also has a related post that goes on for pages and pages of pure blood libel.

So then I sat there fact-checking all their blood libel and finding out that not only was it untrue and impossible, but half the stuff they referenced didn't even exist.

Then I ended up fact-checking things in the "article" that they'd clearly used as their source. Fact-checking things I found while fact-checking those.

Trying to write a Facebook post about how fucked up it all was. Giving up on the Facebook post after several hours because it made more sense to write it on Tumblr, or at least to write it on Tumblr FIRST.

Then I'm also looking at the post they made "naming and shaming" the organizers, which is like... "the Cincy ones are partners! two days after Hamas's incredibly violent and brutal massacre, one of them changed his profile picture to a photo of them honeymooning IN ISRAEL two years ago! they did it through some group that COVERS A LOT OF THE COSTS FOR HONEYMOONS IN ISRAEL!!!!" and "the other one went to a protest of Hamas's massacre!!! with a sign saying to free the hostages!!!"

oh no. the fucking horror. truly how did these genocidal monsters even end up on the pride organizing committee. this is a shanda scandal.

then I'm responding to people's comments, trying to talk them down from horrible positions. telling people things like, "I know it's asking a LOT, but if people could grasp the idea that "going to Israel for your honeymoon" ISN'T "committing genocide," it would be really great. Or that wanting the hostages freed is actually something that both Israeli AND GAZAN protests have called for, and it's only Westerners who are opposed to it. Or that in fact, saying you "Stand with Israel," a few days after an incredibly brutal attack that burned multiple towns to the ground in one day, killed entire families and their pets, an attack which Hamas has promised to repeat "again and again and again" till Israel is violently destroyed... is opposing that attack, NOT calling for genocide."

then i'm like, "oh, i should edit these images to show the correct info, and i can explain that I drew arrows and added the correct info!" so then i'm doing that and working on writing alt text, and holy shit??? how many fucking hours??? did i spend on this?????? just because i read a frigging reddit post that linked to an article about it?????????

and like. i can go through and debunk all that shit in the comments. (and did. i responded to every single comment that believed this shit.) but ultimately, everyone who pulls this shit has way more reach than I do.

just. like. THAT'S ONE ORG IN ONE PLACE. And it was bad enough that I persevered and finished debunking it and commenting on it today and started telling people about it. Do you even know how many more of those I've seen?! How many I would see if I looked for them on purpose?!

The tsunami of deliberate disinformation is SO FUCKING BAD. All of it is SO FUCKING LAYERED. In any single bullshit post, there are SO MANY horrifically bad and wrong assumptions. So many of them are DESIGNED, BY HAMAS, to lead people down the path to "All Zionists should die! Israel should be violently destroyed!"

There were so many comments on a "Free Palestine Melbourne" group's instagram post (Sydney? Could've been Sydney) asking, pointedly, how many Jews are Zionists. What percentage of Jews are Zionists, again?

One (1) had a response telling them it doesn't matter what the percentage is, no percentage would justify collective punishment of Jews.

The rest all said things like, "Too many."

It feels like constantly being lied to. Just constantly being lied to about things I have looked up and verified myself from solid sources, now and in the past, by people I counted as my community.

Then just now I opened Instagram because I hadn't taken screenshots of a couple of the pics I wanted to add. And I'm hit with these:

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by jewsinschool (@jewsinschool)

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Jewish on Campus (@jewishoncampus)

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Jewish and Proud (@jewishpridealways)

Then some brighter posts (including one of a baby bat!!) and then a post which sums up a lot of what I'm feeling right now.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Jess Cook (@jessicagcoook)

It's like, yes, that, plus the uncomfortable sense that some people are getting thisclose to going, "Most Jews are Zionists anyway, so YEAH, I DO think most Jews deserve to die."

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

CRUSH- J.B BARNES

Pairing: Biker! Bucky x Innocent! Fem! Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: home for the summer, you plan on spending it in isolation, too shy and innocent to get into trouble. bucky barnes- the head of the local biker clan, has other ideas in mind.

Warnings: teasing, heavy flirting, pet names, drinking/ drugs mentioned, swearing, lap sitting, enemies to lovers trope

“can you read my mind? i've been watching you couldn't fight to save your life, but you look so cool camo' jacket, robbing corner stores hard odds to beat when you're on all fours good men die too, oh, i'd rather be with you”- crush, ethel cain

PART ONE OF THE CAIN SERIES. 

You could hear the revving of the bikes from where you stood, safety guarded behind the glass doors littered with posters and signs, peeling and jumbling over each other- colours starting to fade from the summer sun. 

It was loud, their voices somehow seeming to overlap the roaring engines as they slipped on their glasses. You knew the men in that group, puffing out smokes in the convenience store parking lot. 

All of them. 

And you didn't know what that made you. Cool, for perceiving the closely, tight knit biker gang? Or shameful- for being seen anywhere near them?

 They were troublemakers. They had always, flaunting their tattoos and leather, never needing an announcement whenever they stepped into a room. You just knew who they were, that they were there and they meant business. 

Bucky Barnes and his posse never expected less. You, on the other hand, were the opposite. Shy, quiet, reserved. A girl who was headstrong yes, but knew that the bark and bite was not always the best strategy. 

You were polite, the kind of person an older person would think ‘What a sweet girl. I like her, so modest!’. Perceiving others, but not wanting to be perceived herself. Innocent. You were like that at school, and you were like that while being home for the summer. 

The gang was the same, and you dreaded the fact Bucky’s father lived right near yours. Which is why you felt your stomach drop at the bustle outside, clutching your plastic bag tighter, feeling the handles twist and pinch at your fingers circulation. 

You didn’t want them to notice you. But the rest of the parking lot was next to dead empty. Only an older man glared at them as he bagged things in the trunk, too far down in the parking lot for the group of men to care. 

Eyes stared at the back of your neck as you debated how to approach your old pickup truck, trying to assess the situation at hand. 

Not that there was a situation. Why did there need to be a situation? Just walk to your car. Don’t engage. 

The cashier, lifted his eyes from the newspaper, eyebrows cocking in concern. “H-have a good day. Thanks again.” you murmured, wanting to smack yourself. 

You had already said that. Just shut the fuck up and get home. The sticky, warm air of the west in the summer hit you as you removed yourself from the air-conditioned shop, and you took a breath before you fumbled for your keys. 

One step, then two. One step-  

“Hey sweet thang.” the leader called out, accent thick as all heads turned towards you. Your eyes met his, shades protecting the baby blues you knew were hidden under as he smirked. You felt your breath quicken, stomach turning in on itself the longer you stared. 

It was like a battle off. You were a Capulet. They were the Montagues. He reached for the smoke between his lips, throwing it down on the pavement before twisting his boot sole on it, ash smearing.

 “You shouldn't do that, you know. It’s bad.” you blurted out before you could stop yourself, wanting to shrink back as soon as the words left your mouth. 

Little ooo’s and chuckles rose up from the other man, and you recognized some of them, even without the names on the back of the jean vests. Rogers. Wilson. Stark. 

He stepped towards you, cocking his head. Examining you. You couldn't tell if that was a good thing or not, and you weren't planning to stick around and find out. 

“Whatever you say Y/N.” he chuckled, making your eyes widen. Sweat broke out down your neck from the beating sun, and the fact he knew you. He knew you and that scared you. 

But also excited you, just a smidge. 

He noted your tense stance, and couldn't help but get a form of satisfaction out of it, even if his boys teased him for having such a crush on someone so unlike him. 

You rushed off before Bucky could say anything more, the breeze brushing the silky white sundress against your thighs as you slammed the truck door shut. Backing up without sparing a second glance, you sped out of the deserted parking lot, down the highway and away from him.

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It had been days since the last time you saw him, yet it replayed in your mind as if it had happened only a minute earlier. 

The way he noticed you. Had called out for you, as if he had been waiting the entire time you were in the store, wandering through the isles.

 It haunted you, in a way. You weren't sure if you cared for him or not. You had been watching him for quite some time now, though it had been mainly to steer clear of his antics. 

Bucky was a bad boy. You were a goodie two shoes. It didn’t fit. Intimation seeped your bones whenever you passed him, caught wind of his husky voice from whichever parking lot he crawled out from. 

So why were you still thinking of him? He scared you. Frightened you. But he was beautiful. 

Dangerously beautiful, like you couldn't say no to him no matter the question or cost. He was high strung with authority, a maturity about him that made you want to cling to him and never let go. 

Bucky was indescribable you decided, as you swung back the bottle of red wine, the sweet, tangy liquid caressing your throat as the cool night breeze blew through your hair. 

He looked like he worked with his hands and smells like marlboro reds, was all you could place in the category that you had organised in your mind. Though it was foggy, the lines slightly blurring the more you drank, the higher the moon rose in the night sky and the more the wooden railings creaked from the wind, you knew there was a reason he was constantly on your mind. 

It was silly really, how much your deep subconscious clung to the idea of him. Intoxicated or not. 

You heard the mosquitoes swarm towards the dim porch light by the old screen door, cicadas chirping in the tall grass. It was peaceful out here, alone. You let yourself dawn on how much you really missed home, the feeling of the freedom out in the middle of nowhere. 

“Drinking is bad too, ya know.” a low voice called from the shadows, making you jump- heart hammering in your chest as Bucky emerged from the darkness.

 Air whosed through clenched teeth as you sucked on your cheek, admiring him. Though he was in his ‘gear’, a rolled up henley, jeans and a smoke between his lips, he seemed different. 

Calmer.

 Like his guard wasn't up as much as you had seen it around his friends, or anyone else for that matter. “Why are you here Bucky?” was all you could muster to ask, not even knowing where to begin. 

You knew he knew where your father lived, as the two of you grew up on the same street. You just never expected him to show up. 

“Ah so shy girl  knows my name eh?”

 “Of course I know who you are. I’m not stupid.” He threw his hands up in defence. “Hey, I never said you were. Quite the opposite, from what I’ve observed.” 

He hinted towards the empty spot beside you.

 “Can I?” 

You nodded, watching as his beefy body adjusted to the smaller spot, knees brushing yours as he hung his head low. 

“Why are you here?” you repeated.

 “I don’t know. I guess seeing you the other day made me want to know you more. Is that bad?”

 “Yes.” you stated firmly, taking another swig of booze as he fumbled with his lighter. Your own answer startled you, words abruptly coming out of your mouth. It was the wine talking. But it was too late now. “Its a bad thing because you're a bad guy. You shouldn't be hanging around me.” 

He smirked, hand running through his dark, messy locks, tugging at the back of his neck. “Is that right? I forgot you're such a goodie two shoes. Are you too good for me?” he mocked, and you rolled your eyes.

 “That’s not what I meant. It’s just… we’re so different. And I don’t know you, like at all. You’ve done… bad shit.” 

“Like smoking pot? Or are you talking about that guy I murdered?” Your eyes widened, mouth forming an O shape as you whipped your head around to face him fully. Anxiety churned like angry waves in your stomach, and you feed the acid would rise up to the surface.

 “Kidding! Jesus you’re so fun to nag doll. It’s too easy, should’ve seen the look on your face! Priceless.”

 “How was I supposed to know that?!” you hiccuped, knocking the glass bottle against the bottom step, setting it down before you finished it all. That was a bad idea. Especially around a pretty boy with as much charisma as a snake charmer. 

“No idea, but some faith in me would be nice. I’ve put plenty of faith in you, ya know.” he bumped your shoulder, as if the two of you had been life long friends. 

You were baffled at the thought of what was happening right now. Never in a million years could you have pictured this, the teachers pet paired with the notorious bad boy, allowing him to sit on your porch and unwind with you when the minimal interactions the two of you had left nothing but mysteries in your mind. 

Who was he, really? Why were you so intrigued by him, though you knew he was nothing but trouble? And why, oh why did you find yourself actually enjoying his company? 

“How so?” you asked, looking down with interest at the dog tag that swung on his neck, silver shimmering in the gloom of the night. You didn’t want to look into his eyes. It scared you. 

“Well I had faith you’d come around, and let me talk to you. You’ve always looked so timid. I didn’t want to scare you.” 

You felt your breathing stop. “Why did you want to talk to me?” you asked, hesitantly. 

“Because you’re interesting to me. Like a puzzle. And I feel like there’s a lot more to you than from what I’ve seen and I want to know more.” 

You let Bucky's words settle, rest in the western air. They hung low over you, like a physical force. You're interesting to me. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction that feeling was mutual.

 “I’m glad you think I’m entertaining.” you shrugged, trying not to show how his words made you feel. 

“Come with me to the Lounge.” Smoke trickled from his rosy lips, and you watched the ash fall to the dirt before squished the but into the wood. What like… right now?” you asked, confusion spewed across your features. 

The Lounge was the towns local bar, its dark and grungy vibe off putting to you. The bikers often hung out there, the misfits throwing back drinks like it was no tomorrow You had never been to a bar before, let alone one where Bucky and his crew practically owned. 

Between its southern gothic walls was nothing but smoke and cheap booze was what your father told you, highly suggesting you steer clear of the towns local hangout. So naturally, you flinched. 

“Everyone's there right now. It’ll be all good, I promise.” 

“So why aren't you there then? At your ‘spot’” you air quoted, making him laugh. It was low and husky, tinging your skin warm with heat despite the cooler air.

 “I left to come invite you. Don't make me look stupid. I can't show up empty handed.” he teased, and you felt an obligation to follow in his footsteps as he rose, brushing off his jeans. 

“I know its a Saturday night and all and I’m supposed to be out but I’ve never… its not my territory.” you shrugged, rubbing your arms in comfort. 

“You're welcomed there. I promise. But if you don’t feel safe, or comfortable, don’t worry about it. I just wanted to see if you’d be willing, is all sweetheart.” 

You sighed. The right thing to do would be to shake your head no, grabbing the bottle and heading in for the night. Leaving him on the porch, with his bike parked down the street for himself. 

But you couldn't leave him. Not now. Not when you finally had the guts to properly answer him in a conversation, even if it was ambushed onto you on your own property. 

“Fine. But don’t make me regret it.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If the wind was chilled before, it was crisp as ice now. You clung to him as he sped down the old roads, barley daring to breathe as the engine throttled, revving onwards as he laughed. 

The breeze roared in your ears, whipping through your hair that escaped your the helmet he had conveniently packed, an extra. Fingers were clenched tightly to the deep maroon of his henley, bunching as you hugged him tighter. 

This was the closest you had been to him, ever. On the back of his Harley, zipping down back roads you knew took you the longer way to the bar, as if he was intently wanting you to cling to him tighter the faster he dared to go, for as long as possible. 

It was frighting, but exhilarating. Like a wave of cool water on a hot day. It was refreshing to see the endless bounds of wheat fields and old barns through he shade of the viser, a taste of his lifestyle. 

You almost wanted to throw your hands up, to feel the air rush through your fingertips. 

“You doing okay doll?” he roared over the whip of the wind, glancing at you with a smile though the side mirror. You nodded, to frightened to speak, throat parched dry. 

Before you knew it, you emerged from the cool, undertones of deep blue,bright light shinning from the distance. You could already make out the bundles of people scattered in the parking lot, gripping Bucky tighter as the two of you slowed. 

Bikes were parked everywhere, and you could remember some of them from the other day from the gas station. No familiar faces. The world came into focus as he parked, helping you down and slid off your helmet, bursts of talking laughter and music swarming your ears, the lights seeming brighter without the blur of your viser. 

It was busy, but that was expected. Bucky had already told you everyone in town was here- the misfits at least, but it didn’t quell your anxiety any more. 

Part of you wanted to grab his hand, scared of loosing him in the crowd you were about to face, but he had already done that for you. His large, slightly rough, callused hand was warm as it enveloped yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“We can leave at any time. I’ll be with you honey. Promise.” he reassured as you nodded, looking over at the dozens of bikers that scattered along the outside of the bar. 

They took no notice in you, minding their business as they chatted away, smokes in hand. Good. No one was gawking yet. You hoped it would be like that the whole time- but you knew it wouldn't be. You stood out too much, and it was because of your lack of spunk for once, and not the other way around. 

Plus, anywhere Bucky went, people stared. It was hard to look away from him. You knew from personal experience. 

Loud bustles of music streamed from the speakers with the murmured of dozens of voices, swarming your head as you took in the scenery. There was leather everywhere, smoke blending in with the neon signs. Dart boards and pool tables were all occupied, bartenders buzzing like bees in a hive as they poured drafts and shook cocktails. 

“Where are we going?” you asked him, leaning in closer as you squeezed by the other bodies that crowed the space. 

“Where it’s quieter.” 

You prayed it was also more secluded, as the eyes began to follow you. Your little white dress was no match for the sea of dark neutrals here. Bucky’s group appeared, sprawled in booths around the back wall- like it was their territory. 

You didn't know if you felt welcomed or not, feeling like a show pony on display as the stared at you. ���She’s here!” the blonde on called, smirk wide on his face as he looked at you. 

Steve. You knew him right away, always seeing him appear next to Bucky, front and center. The right hand man. 

Then there was Sam you learned as you sat down next to Bucky, giving you a little wave before downing the shot he had in front of him, always seeming to be in the shadows. 

There was at least ten of them, all of them as eager to meet you as the last. Like they were infatuated with you. Before you knew it, dozens of drinks were sent your way, and after about two beers you had somehow landed directly on Bucky’s lap. 

“So your the girl who turned Barnes soft eh?” Sam asked you, making your eyes widen.

 “What do you mean?” you asked timidly, wiggling your hips anxiously. 

“Oh doll he doesn't mean literally.” Bucky chuckled, and you felt a very prominent bulge press into your ass as his hands guided your hips downwards. 

Your cheeks burned with heat. Sam laughed, the smell of smoke heavy on his jacket, and whisky on his breath. Your head spun, and you felt yourself slumping  against Bucky the longer the night went on, starting to forget you barely knew him the way you wanted to- that this wasn't your crowd. 

“You okay?” he murmured against your head as you gripped his jacket, blinking slowly. 

“Mhm fine. Jus- drunk.” you hiccuped, breathing in the ceadarwood and smoke that clung to him. 

“I shouldn't have let you drink that much.” 

“You don’t get to decide that for me.” you snapped back at him, standing your ground. Bucky was already unravelling you in a way that made you feel vulnerable enough, you didn’t need him making decisions for you too. 

“Shes got a point Barnes. Pretty soon it’ll be the other way ‘round.” Steve announced, seeming to reappear from thin air as he slide in the booth next to Sam- twirling his keys around his ring finger. 

“Where’d you come from?” Bucky asked, eyebrow raised. You wanted to ask the same question. He looked like he was on cloud nine, eyes wide and sparkling, the booze giving his cheeks a tinge of pink. 

“Jus’ beat Romanoff at darts n now shes all pissy.” he laughed, and you leaned your head over the side of the concave to search for her.

 You liked her. She was the only girl in the gang, but her personality shined bright enough to be at least four. Her red hair was as fiery as her personality, and you would be terrified to piss her off. You were surprised Steve wasn't worried about her grabbing the dart and gouging his eye out with it. 

“She’s gonna beat your ass man. I wouldn’t put it past her.” Sam shrugged, making you giggle. You didn't know if it was the alcohol or the quiter atmosphere in the back, but you found yourself enjoying their company. 

The fact you had made Bucky ‘soft’, whatever that meant- made you happy. You wanted to be the only person who made him feel that way. “Cmon.” Bucky said suddenly, waking you from your drowsy state, leg bouncing to startle you. 

“What are we doing?” you asked as he shimmed the pair of you out of the booth, ignoring the looks the guys gave him as his large hand slipped in yours, thumb rubbing your skin in a soothing motion. 

He just smiled, that cheeky little smile you had seen him slide your way so many times- the one that intimidated you because there was no one a man like him could look at you like that and not be pulling your leg. 

But here he was, with you. Looking at you like that- and making it authentic. It was crazy to you how easy it was for you to be caught up with him, wanting nothing more then to seek his attention and validation. 

Though he was bad- and you knew he had done some very, very bad things- the warnings seemed to falter in your mind the second he flashed you that dangerous smile.

 “We’re dancing.” he shrugged, as if it was the most average thing for the leader of a biker gang to do.

 “Dance? But no one else is dancing.” you noted, confused as you looked around the room. Though more people had dwindled out over the night, there was still plenty of people here. None of them dancing, all of them staring. 

This establishment seemed much like a fight club and less like a dance club.

 “Awh you shy?” he teased, guiding you away from the bustle and the lights, towards the entrance. Of course he wasn't. He had no reason to be. You were sure Bucky had never felt shy a day in his life. 

“Do you blame me?” you demanded, eyes wide as he tugged you a little harder, nearly making you stumble over your own two feet. You wished you weren't so clumsy. Especially now. 

“We’ll go outside where its quiet. And then we’ll dance up a storm.” Bucky sung, spinning you around as he pushed open the front door, clearly drunk. 

You laughed, the chill air making goosebumps rise on your skin through your little dress, though the wine sloshed in your tummy made you feel giggly and warm. “I didn't think you were a dancer.”

 “Looks can be deceiving.” he replied, wrapping his arms around your middle, swaying you side to side as he guided you over towards his bike, parked next to the others. 

It was far enough from the human eye, but close enough you could hear the music as clear as day. Hands were wrapped around his forearms, gripping him tightly as he moved you, guided you to a state of serenity. 

“It's gonna be a fun summer shortcake.” he whispered, kissing your cheek softly, as if you were a piece of glass china, scared to hurt you. 

You let him. The sweet, soft melody trickled from the speakers, lyrics intertwining you to Bucky. Like it was made for him. 

Something's been feeling weird lately There's just something about you, baby (there's just something about you, baby) Maybe I'll just be crazy (I'll be crazy) And piss him off 'til he hates me

Yeah right... he fuckin loves me...

[rafecameronsslxt]

Hooked

Warning: Smut and honestly Rafe being toxic like always. Angst.

Synopsis: Midsummers turns out better than expected until Rafe ruins it. Adriana runs away with her friends, but decides she can't carry out what they want and heads home only to meant with a knock on the door by Rafe. They'll always end up together one way or another.

Rafe Cameron x OC

Minors DNI, you will be BLOCKED.

Part FOUR of series. (Can be read as stand alone)

Part ONE- Part TWO- Part THREE- Part FIVE- Part SIX- Part SEVEN

Masterlist

A/N: One Red Bull and eight hours of work straight, so I apologize if the end got sloppy.

Words: 3,294

The balcony doors are open, letting the fresh sweaty breeze in that messes my mother up every so often as she does my hair. The vanity is shining brightly on my face, lighting up every detail of me. Had the light gone through me, you’d see I didn’t want to go to midsummers anymore. They’d always been fun, getting pampered and having a spa day with the girls, but all of my girls had left me, embarrassed that I started hanging around The Cut with the pogues. 

   My mother, Sabrina, a kook, her whole life in a stunning tan dress and pretty black leather opera gloves waiting to be put on while my father took her hand as if she was his entire world. Tears I have been holding back all day, waiting for me to be alone so they can fall, ruining the make-up my mother had so gorgeously done. Despair had finally washed over me. 

   I’d be interlacing my fingers with Rafe’s hand that fit mine like a puzzle. When we walk out, we’ll walk out without an expression on our faces until people start talking to us. Then Rafe will look at me and smile. His heart-melting smile that I always miss seeing. Then his perfect soft lips connect to mine; it’d be short and filled with sadness. My lip gloss smearing on his red lips that I’d wipe off with my thumb and fix his tie, and we’d be the poster couple. 

   “Sweetheart- Adriana.” My mother shakes my shoulders. Sabrina gets on her knees before me, looking at me like a concerned mother should. “Today is your day, honey. You loved midsummers; what’s wrong?” She questions me in a very soft and light voice. “Everything, mom.” My voice cracks like a breaking record. Sabrina stands me up and hugs my body tightly. I lay my head on my mom's shoulder, and we stayed there for a while.

   Suddenly I’m twelve again. 

   I was riding my bike around the pretty landscaped yard, cycling circles around the house, and nearing the edge of the pool. I’d been told more times than I could’ve counted on my hands not to go close to the water, but I always did, leaving my mom and dad to have a heart attack every time. 

   My legs peddled as fast as they could, making tracks from my wheels in the green grass that would have to be made perfect by people Sabrina had paid for the millionth time because of me. Finally, my bike turns the corner sharply. I laugh, not caring when I didn’t need to care about all the dangers in the world, little or big. 

   My hair waves in my face from the wind, and I try to brush it from my face, but then my only hand keeping me steady starts to lose control, and I fall. 

   The blueness undertakes me. My leg gets stuck in the bike. My throat opens, and water fills my body, stomach, lungs, and heart. I scream as my hands attempt to swim to the top but aren’t strong enough, with the bike weighing me down. My legs kick to get the bike off me. The water starts rippling from the top, and someone grabs my waist, pulling me quickly to the pool's edge. 

   My dad picks me up and throws a towel over me while my mom hugs me. She brushes her hands through my hair, crying while her chin lies atop my head. The tears pour from my eyes like an ocean. I cough up water that could’ve been my end. My head falls onto my mom’s chest, and I breathe in and out, counting as she’d always said to do if I felt overwhelmed. 

   Inhale and exhale. I take in my baby blue dress that matches Rafe’s blue suit. My heels are Saint Laurent, white with pearls and modern straps, bought when I went on vacation with Rafe’s family and my parents. The seller told me they had been great for a wedding. Also, my mother had done my hair which would be ideal for a wedding. 

   “Fuck it. I can do this. Yea, I got this. I’m Adriana Albright. I’m good.” I pull away from Sabrina, convincing myself that I will do this. “Language.” My mother says, smiling at her daughter. 

   Before I walk out with the Cameron family, I connect my hand with Rafe’s. Our hands fit together like a complex ocean. He cranes his neck, looking down at my heels. “Midsummer heels now?” Rafe asks me. “Both.” I shrug my shoulder, and we walk out, following behind Sarah, who is not walking out with Topper. A smile crosses my face as Rafe grips my hand tightly. My head turns to his; he’s not smiling. My parents walk up to us. He starts grinning. 

   It makes me happy how comfortable he is with my parents. Rafe has told me how my mom is like his own. Rose is his stepmother, but she hadn’t been precisely caring. Sabrina has this love for Rafe, which Rose doesn’t have. 

   In simple terms, Rafe was a son she never had, and she cared for him like he was.

   “Sweetheart, ugh, you look handsome.” My mom brings Rafe in for a quick hug. I’m guessing Sabrina spots a hair-out place, and she starts patting his hair. I look to my dad to get my mom off Rafe. “Ok, Sabrina.” My dad takes her hands away from Rafe, and we giggle. “I’m just fixing his hair. We have other people to talk to, so I’ll see you two later.” My dad shakes his head playfully as my mom takes his hand and walks away, whispering. Most likely about us.

Rafe flashes me a grin. He leans down to kiss me. I kiss him passionately, and he kisses back with lust and a hint of sadness like we could’ve been an alcoholic drink. It was short-lived when Topper got between us. “You’re not mad?” Topper raises an eyebrow while he spews his lovely question at me.

   Rafe rubs his neck, looking away, knowing we still haven’t talked about what happened. I look at Top with a sarcastic smile. “You know, brother, you just need to shhh sometimes. We are at midsummers, leave it be for now.” 

   He nods his head quickly, leaving the topic. “I gotta go real quick. See you later. I love you, sis.” Topper kisses the top of my forehead. “Bye, love you,” I mumble to him. 

   The sun started setting, and the party was still happening. So I started walking around looking for Rafe. I walked into the main hall, where he and Kelce stood talking, not noticing me walking toward them. “Rafe, baby! Kelce, I’m going to have to take Rafe from you.” My voice turns an octave higher, and my heels clack against the hardwood floor loudly while I take Rafe’s hand. Kelce furrows his eyebrows, confused. Rafe shrugs his shoulders while I drag him to the bathroom. 

   We get into the bathroom, and I instantly hug him. Rafe locks the door and puts his hands around my waist. My head lies on his chest, and my arms are thrown around his neck. ‘What’s wrong?’ he mumbles into my hair. “Nothing, I just missed you.” My head stays on his chest while my eyes bore into the wooden door. “Missed me? We’ve been apart for an hour, baby.” Rafe’s voice makes me feel safe. He’s always had such a calm voice that he could make me fall asleep at any time. 

   Our love language was physical because if it had been words, I don’t think we could ever love each other. “I’ve missed this, Rafe. Us. You’ve been- you’ve been different. Distant, cold, and violent. This is the only day when it's actually- like, good. You don’t talk to me anymore.” I shouldn’t ruin this night, and honestly don’t know why I’m bringing it up, but it’s been taking my mind up like a storm. “Do you really want to do this right now?” He asks indolently. 

   “Yes. Kind of. No.” 

   He sighs and lets go of me. Rafe isn’t angry. Did he do coke today? If he did, I couldn’t tell. 

   Rafe lays his body against the beige wall observing me while I look at myself in the mirror. My eyes go to Rafe and then back to myself. “You’re smart, baby.”  I slide my tongue across my teeth and turn my body to Rafe. “You’re fucking sick, Rafe Cameron!” A chuckle slips past my glossed lips. 

   My heels click-clack against the wood underneath me. I unbuckle his belt without needing to look down. My hands pull down his zipper and pants, leaving only his underwear. I fall back, removing my hands from him, but keep close enough to feel his breath fanning over me. 

   I press my cheek against Rafe’s and whisper in his ear. “I know you thought I was going to get on my knees and start sucking you off, but I’m not. I want you to make yourself cum, and if you don’t, I leave this bathroom.” It comes out stern and demanding. I kiss his cheek, then his lips softly and bite his bottom lip, leaving teeth marks. Rafe lays his head against the painted wall, scoffing. I start picking up my purse, but he stops me. “I’ll do it, but I get to come inside you.” I nod my head reluctantly. 

   Rafe pulls down his boxers. His tip is reddening, and pre-cum has already settled. The dynamic of us during sex hasn’t ever been like this, where I was actually in control of Rafe, and it felt good because he always had the upper hand. “I feel weird.” Rafe states but puts his hand around his cock. “Now you know how I sometimes feel.” We make eye contact, and I grow nervous.

   He leans into my ear, “Oh, Rafe, baby. I want your dick inside of me. Fucking me until I can’t walk. Oh my god, Rafe!” mimicking what I’d say or have said before. I feel my face turn a deep shade of red. Rafe purposely rubs his tip on my dress, and I look between us. My light blue satin dress was stained with his cum. Luckily we could play it off that Rafe spilled some water on me, maybe not to our friends, but to our parents. 

   “Fuck, Adriana. I wish I could be fucking you. Stuffing my cock deep into your pussy, baby.” Rafe moans shamelessly into my ear as his serene tone contradicts the dirty things he’s whispering to me. I hold my thighs together and watch Rafe’s hand move faster by the minute. “Tell me what you want. I can’t cum off you being silent, baby.” He twists his wrist every so often around his dick.

   “I want your cock in me. I want my pussy filled with you, Rafe. I want your cum filling me up until it drips down my thighs.” I say desperately. His eyes roll back. “Shit, come on, baby.” I pull my dress up to my torso, he grabs my thighs, and I jump. Rafe pushes me against the wall, and I place his dick inside and let him do the rest as I wrap my legs around his back and my hands gripping his shoulders tightly. 

   Rafe thrusts into me hard, not once slowing his pace. 

   I finally feel Rafe’s cum inside of me. I kiss Rafe and slip my tongue into his mouth. We don’t see who can win. Instead, we take this moment in; his dick stuffed inside me while his cum dripped down my legs and onto the floor, which would have to be cleaned up later. 

   After we fix ourselves, Rafe and I walk hand in hand out of the bathroom, looking hopefully regular. “I’m going to look for Sarah.” I clear my throat, not knowing how to look at Rafe after having sex in a bathroom where anyone could’ve heard us. He unlaces our somewhat sweaty fingers from how hot the bathroom had become. Rafe nods, and I walk through the crowds of people to get outside. 

   The sun isn’t setting anymore. It’s finally night. It felt good to get a breath of fresh air. 

   Inhale and exhale.

   JJ pushes his back to me, wearing a waiter's uniform and “serving” drinks to people. “I think John B and I really got it this time. But, Jesus, you smell like that asshole.”

   JJ says quickly, moving back and forth every other second. He has cuts and bruises on his face. “JJ-” Before I can voice my concern Rafe and Kelce cut me off and start “talking” to JJ. 

   Rafe squeezes my ass which is a bold move from him as of right now that also makes me want to punch him in the face as he did to Pope. I stand there, winded, as JJ runs from them. I take a breather before I murder Rafe, especially after what we did. He can’t chill out for a minute. 

   I walk through the dining hall, seeing a chair in the middle of the walkway while people look around in shock that such a thing would happen at an event like this. I follow the hallway, finding two women whispering to each other about these crazy guys running by, and I walk through the men's bathroom; disgusting, but before I enter the locker room, I peek my head out and see the security guard. 

   “Tell Kiara she looks pretty hot for a pogue!” Rafe yells to JJ, provoking JJ even more, and then I walk out. I felt humiliated and repulsed at myself, not Rafe, but myself, because he embarrassed me too many times to count in front of my own friends. The security guard grabs my arm along with JJ’s. J looks at me, giving a pitied stare. 

   The guard takes us outside, and I jerk my arm away from him, but he has a strong hold on us. JJ takes a random drink from a stranger, and I do too. We cheer to each other and down the drinks making a complete fool out of ourselves. “Ok, let go of me!” 

   Next thing, I take off my heels and see Rafe looking at me from the steps. We both give each other the same disgusted look. Next, my eyes spot my parents, who look disappointed, even my mother. I smile and wave bye, running off with my other friends to Rixsons Cove. 

   “Hey, guys, so my dad is totally going to kill me. So what's this mandatory meeting about?” Pope says, already worrying, but so am I.

   To summarize our meeting, John B and JJ told us how the gold never went down with the Royal Merchant and that it was on the island and then this Denmark Tanny. So we have hope to find the gold, but John B brings up BRINGING Sarah, which went totally wrong with Kie.

   I had always been in and out, and the pogues had always been ok with that, but tonight I mentally couldn’t handle anymore. I felt weak for not going with them, but I took some time to myself while I walked home. 

   First, I let Rafe come inside me, then to top that off, he beats up Pope and almost JJ and thirdly hurts me, and now my parents will give me this disappointed lecture I don’t need to hear. 

   My stomach starts churning, and I throw up only liquid. It’d been the alcohol I so gladly borrowed from someone. I gaze around me, the stars shining but not too bright and the streetlamps making most of the light for me. A couple of cars pass by occasionally.

   I open my front door. The lights are off, and the house is still. My parents are sleeping. I make it to my room, and I only hear the creaks of our home and random buzzing that you only hear when too quiet. 

   My dress is ruined, and my hair which my mother had beautifully done, is also tainted by this night. I throw the white heels into my closet and take a shower. 

   Sabrina had covered the hickeys Rafe gave me the morning after the party, and now the foundation was coming off my neck and chest. I felt Rafe all over me even though he wasn’t with me. I tried scrubbing my body three times to feel better, but I couldn’t. The dirt could still be felt throughout me. My body slides down against the glass as I cry. Tears overflowing like a sea of turtles gone missing. 

   The sun shines on me even though I could’ve sworn I shut my curtains last night. “Adriana Albright. WAKE UP!” My mothers' voice rings throughout my room loudly. I pull the blanket over my face, and she RIPS it off me. “Ok, I’m up.” I stand up too quickly and almost fall. My mom has ‘the angry’ mom look on her face, but times a hundred. 

   She drags me down the spiralled stairs, and I start tripping over my feet until we finally reach flat flooring. “You were a DISGRACE to our name last night! Do you hear me!? I think you should apologize to Rafe for acting OUT of line last night.” She lowers her voice by the end. 

   “Me apologize. Do you know what Rafe did to me last night, mom!” I scream at her and feel tears roll down my cheeks. “He fucking hurt me last night, but you always take Rafe's side. IT’S NEVER MINE. I’m sorry I wasn’t the child you wanted, but just listen to me.” A pair of hands go around my waist and carry me upstairs. “Sweetheart, calm down.” My dad hugs me, and I start sobbing. My dad hugs me tightly, and then let's go. “Your mom and I will have a date night so you both can regroup. Does that sound ok?” I nod my head hiccuping. 

   Night time had finally hit, and someone knocked on the front door while I was watching TV. I open the door, and it’s Rafe. His eyes are glassy, red, and puffy, almost like he was crying at one point, but I highly doubt it. He’s high. My arms fold over my chest. “Nothing to say?” He shrugs his shoulders sarcastically, passing me and into the dining room. I nervously shut the front door.

   “You’re just going to look at me like you didn’t embarrass me last night, Adriana! Seriously.” Rafe raises his voice at me, which makes me jump. “You embarrassed me, Rafe. In front of all of your friends.” I stutter, and now he knows he has the upper hand in this situation. Rafe gets aggressively close to me. His breathing is out of place and heavy. 

   “Sometimes I think to myself, Adriana, that you are the worst girlfriend that ceases to exist.” He gets closer to my face taking in how my eyes are turning red, I’m biting my lip until I taste a metal flavor, and I don’t make eye contact with him. “Did I hurt your feelings, baby?” He whispers softly in my ear, which makes a shiver crawl down my spine. “Don’t you understand that I’m fucking hurting Rafe because of YOU! EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENED LAST NIGHT WAS BECAUSE OF YOU!” The sea overflows again. 

   Rafe takes a step back. My teeth let go of my lip, letting blood slowly pour out. 

   We had sex that night. It wasn’t rough nor controlling, just sad. Our tears mixed with each other as our bodies intertwined, leaving no room for any other emotion besides hurt. 

[occasionallyprosie]

"Harmless Little Lies"

Warriors was wandering one of Legend's era's towns when a paper on the notice board caught his attention. WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE LINK (OF KAKARIKO) REWARD: 5,000 And the image on the wanted poster was undoubtedly their veteran, followed by a list of extensive crimes… He tore the poster from the notice board and went to find the man whose image it held. He wanted to know exactly why Legend was wanted for serial murder, kidnapping, and several other crimes.

Febuwhump 2024 | Prompt 6: "You lied to me."

Event Masterlist

Read On AO3 Warnings: Major Character Death, Violence

Warriors put a paper onto the bar beside Legend, a near glare aimed at him while the veteran hardly glanced up.

"What is this?" Warriors demanded.

"I'm a bit busy," Legend said, pulling a needle through fabric, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth.

Warriors shoved the paper in his face and forced him to redirect his attention.

"What is this?"

Legend met his eyes over the waved paper. "A wanted poster."

Warriors glared.

He rolled his eyes. "My wanted poster?"

"Why do you have a wanted poster?"

Legend sighed. "Because we haven't gotten around to taking them all down yet. I was framed and even then, Zelda pardoned me. It's not a big deal and nobody cares anymore."

A few days later, Legend found himself separated from the other heroes and unsurprisingly he was promptly cornered by guards.

He decided a long time ago not to fight his way out of these things, these men's minds were altered, they literally weren't themselves and... he'd already killed far too many technically innocent knights because of this damned irreversible spell.

So he complied, he'd escape overnight easily enough. He usually did, sometimes it was harder than usual for... various reasons.

The moment they relieved him of his items and supplies, he had a feeling it would be harder to escape than usual this time. He was full on thrown into the back wall of a cell, stars filling his vision and losing the air in his lungs. The following kick to his ribs further cemented that feeling as fact. Some guard stations were more violent than others... some beat him within an inch of his life. It made it hard to get up and keep going, but he had defeated Ganon when he was beaten down and within an inch of his life, he had cleared whole dungeons, he could escape a drunken guard station.

When they finally left, he couldn't bring himself to move for a while. It may have been an hour, he wasn't certain, but it took a while before he could force himself to move past the pain and broken bones and blood filling his lungs.

When he finally stood, he mentally amended his internal tracker of "how many days it had been since he had internal bleeding" from 17 weeks, aka since his last encounter with guards and getting caught, to 0. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand as blood bubbled up and tinted his skin further red and a bit of black.

Great, he thought blandly. This might not be a one potion fix, and he really didn't need to deal with--

"You lied to me. Not a big deal, vet? Nobody cares anymore?"

--the other heroes finding out. The one knight Legend wasn't expecting to see was Warriors, yet when he looked up and strained to focus his eyes, that's who stood on the other side of the bars.

"Geez, you look awful," he realized, frowning.

Legend glared, letting his vision unfocus and lessening the throbbing in his head. "No, really? Get away from the door."

"Why--I have the keys."

He snorted, ignoring the flash of pain as he slumped against the back wall. "Am I supposed to believe you paid bail?"

"Yes," Warriors said bluntly.

He let out a laugh that quickly descending into a painful, coughing fit that sprayed blood over his hand and the ground in front of him.

"Oh shit!" The door clicked unlocked and when he glanced up, hands were coming toward him. He couldn't help but flinch away.

Warriors froze.

Legend wheezed, wiping his face of blood and likely just smearing it. "Calling me a liar, Captain? They still arrest me even though the Queen pardoned me. Nobody could pay my bail. You..." he swallowed the bubbling blood. "You stole those keys."

Oh this wasn't good. He needed to move and get a potion, now.

He tried to stand.

"Whoa, hey don’t do that. Oh golden three, what did they do to you?" Warriors whispered, Legend still heard him even beyond the cotton in his head, his vision began to tunnel and his attempt to stand was shattered by his legs giving out. "Vet!"

The older hero caught him but not without jostling his ribs into stabbing his lungs further, sparking pain throughout his whole body. A pained cry escaped him.

"Oh goddess--Hey, it's going to be okay, just hold on a moment. I'll get you--"

The cell door suddenly slammed shut, a bark of laughter outside and Legend managed to try and focus enough to see a knight outside.

"Seems the criminal actually has friends, too bad that it's not enough to overcome a Knight of Hyrule," the man taunted.

Warriors snarled. "No knight would do this to anyone, convict or not."

"That brat kidnapped the princess and killed dozens of our men, he deserves any fate he's given so long as it hurts."

The guard left, despite Legend hearing Warriors yell after him.

He needed to move. He had the magic, he wasn't good at controlling it unfocused but he could explode the door if he just got up.

"Hey, hey it's okay. Just breathe, you’re going to be okay," Warriors promised him.

"I--" blood leaked from the edge of his mouth. "I-I can break the door. S-Stay behind me."

"Vet no! I'll figure something out, just save your strength!" Warriors pleaded, but as Legend fought to stand, he helped him.

Legend held a hand out to the door and a blast of pure magic exploded it off the hinges and broke the doorway too, it slammed into the far wall.

Blood trickled from his nose and his headache increased tenfold. Warriors caught him as he nearly collapsed.

"C-Cap'n... I don'..." he wheezed and choked. Oh goddesses he couldn't see anything anymore, just blurred blobs of color.

"No, hey, it's going to be alright. You're going to be perfectly fine, I swear. It's okay."

Warriors picked him up and he whined, his senses overwhelmed with pain and blinding him for a moment.

"Don't--Don't lie to me," he murmured. "I'm... I know what dying feels like."

It felt like acid in his veins, it felt like fire on his skin, it felt like water in his lungs and panic in his mind. Dying was painful and suffocating.

His throat filled with blood. His body stopped registering the pain.

His head dropped against Warriors chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart but not hearing the begs to open his eyes.

"You lied to me," those were the first words Warriors spoke upon finding him in that cell.

Ha, Legend thought, a bit amused, you lied to me, actually...

You promised I'd be alright.

[escapetothelake]

Samuel and Ida for the ship asks :3

hi anteater!! hope you enjoy :)

tw: albert mention lol (but its not too angsty dw)

who made the first move: when samuel saw the poster of ida announcing her arrival at rusty lake, he was almost immediately infatuated. he went down to visit her and help set up, and then he brought her lunch after, which they ate in the grass in front of her newly-built tent.

who kissed who first: samuel was taught to be a gentleman by his mother, so he always thought to ask before a kiss. ida made him flustered though. she caught on immediately, and kissed him first. when he came home dumbstruck with red lipstick smeared on his lips, mary smiled and emma just laughed.

who started the relationship: there was a point when they both realized that they were pretty much spending every day together. emma teased samuel about it a lot, and told him to work up the courage to ask to officially court her. mary told him that it was improper to continue the way they were, and samuel's a huge mama's boy, so he listened. the next time he went to visit ida, he went with a bouquet of wildflowers in hand. emma is samuel's best friend, so she was the first one to know about it.

who remembers things: i'd say both of them, but mostly ida.

nicknames for each other: ida - "darling", "my love", and variants of the name "samuel" ("sam", etc); samuel - "doll", "my treasure", and "i" or "da". he also sometimes teasingly calls her "reiziger". on occasion, he calls her "my rose" for her beautiful red hair, and she always gives him a knowing look.

who is more likely to pay for dinner: samuel. ida gets the princess treatment, always.

who normally cooks: kind of a cop-out answer, but mary does most of the family's cooking. she taught samuel how to cook, and he enjoys it too. every once in a while, however, ida will cook a new romani dish for the family. they are always greatly enjoyed.

who remembers anniversaries: ida has an impeccable memory, so she obviously remembers something as important to the relationship as an anniversary. samuel remembers too, and he gets ida an anniversary present without fail. he tells her that her existence in his life is enough of a gift to him.

what would they get each other for gifts: samuel always buys ida jewelry when they go out. otherwise, it's usually flowers he's picked or a little trinket he carved. ida often does readings for him

most trivial thing they fight over: they honestly don't fight much??? the only thing i can think of though is that sometimes ida can be very cryptic and nonchalant, leading to samuel stressing because he thinks she knows something he doesn't, especially about the future. being around ida has 100% turned him into a believer, and sometimes he gets anxious looking at her crystal ball.

how often do they fight: like i said, not often.

who uses all the hot water: samuel. definitely.

who calls up the super/landlord when the heat’s not working: nobody! samuel can fix it himself 💪

who leaves their stuff around: samuel has a habit of bringing his carpentry tools into the house. it drives mary and emma crazy, if anything, but ida doesn't mind.

who remembers to buy the milk: this one's difficult because it's hard to know how the vanderbooms get groceries from the outside world. it's possible they have a cow??—in which case samuel would milk it—or they even get it delivered. i'd love to see them have a little old neighbor who's like "hmm they never go out so i'll just bring them groceries" and he becomes a family friend whom they have over for dinner often until one day he hasn't heard from the vanderbooms in a while and he rows over and albert's standing on the dock wearing a mask and he's like "your services are no longer required here, old man" and the dude rows away apprehensively, staring at albert who doesn't move an inch until the little boat is out of sight and AHH i'm getting carried away. the answer is probably samuel.

who controls the netflix queue: samuel loves his netflix specials.

who steals the covers at night: samuel. ida will pettily yank them sometimes, prompting samuel to wake up, and they'll both laugh.

who cusses more: samuel, but he has mary, emma, and leonard policing his behavior. the second he swears, leonard is holding a little hand out, waiting for money to add to the swear jar ida mde him.

who does most of the cleaning: kinda both of them? it's a huge house, so domestic labor is split pretty evenly.

what’s their favorite non-sexual activity: hard to say because they do so much together. they like playing games, picnics, traveling and exploring the area around the lake, cooking, and just relaxing together. sometimes they'll stay up late just talking and enjoying each other's company. ida light's samuel's pipe, and they chat until it's time for bed.

who’s the cuddler: samuel. sometimes he'll just pull ida onto the couch with him and fall asleep in her arms after a long day.

who’s the big spoon/little spoon: depends. it used to be samuel mostly, but he finds he really likes it when ida holds him. it makes him feel safe and appreciated.

who’s more dominant: we know it's ida bfr

who is the dirty talker: both. samuel also really likes it when ida speaks romani to him. this isn't dirty talking, but on a related note, he likes it when she holds him, runs her fingers through his hair, and softly says random things in romani.

what do they do when they’re away from each other: samuel does a lot of carpentry and woodworking on a daily basis, so he would just carry on as usual, especially because ida doesn't like to stick around. as for ida, if she were the one out, she'd just enjoy her travels. if it were samuel, she'd turn to her crystal ball and tarot cards.

what would they do if the other one was hurt: it would make samuel anxious to see ida sick or hurt. he would devote much of his time to caring for her and visiting her bedside. eventually, he got used to it when she was bedridden during her pregnancy with leonard, and he became much more relaxed about it. ida, on the other hand, is a very relaxed woman by nature, and she knows a thing or two about injuries since she's spent so much time on the road. she would take it on the chin, and deal with it in an appropriate manner.

a headcanon: leaving the lake was pretty normal before albert became the man of the house. however, samuel was still pretty sheltered as a boy because he didn't leave much after his father passed. ida loves traveling, and she takes him often. the first time they went together, samuel was a little dumbstruck, and in awe of the architecture especially. he spent twenty minutes staring through the window of a furniture shop, and then he finally went inside and bought like fifteen bottles of wood polish. they continued the tradition weekly, and eventually, they saw amsterdam together, and even brussels and paris.

[aemondslefteyeball]

It's The Everything For Me

[Modern!Helaena x Fem!Reader]

[Warnings: Sapphic yearning]

(Needed something a little bit lighter before cracking into the next chapter of Sic Transit Gloria Mundi so here's my first one-shot. Let me know if y'all want more Helaena.)

Word Count: 2.9K

Love the way you teach me,

Love the way you listen.

You glanced over to the corner of the room where Jaehaerys sat at the pottery wheel, a concentrated expression pulling at his cherubic face. A smile pulled across your face as your heart warmed at the sight, to the right of him Jaehaera was snuggled up securely in a sensory swing. The clock on the back of the classroom read 4:35 in angry red lettering. Normally you would be irritated at a parent being so late to pick up their children, but this time anticipation tugged at you. The twins had been an absolute dream since you had the pleasure of meeting them back in August. The first-day jitters hit you before every school year, and you had been setting up the last of your science posters when an ethereal voice broke the silence. Botticelli’s Venus stood before you, her silver hair aloft with light and a shy look on her face. From that day onward her soft lilac gaze flashed behind your closed eyes, the smell of her perfume haunting the classroom after she had left. She had come to talk with you about Jaehaera who was diagnosed with autism but left to fend for herself last year after her teacher gave up. The sadness on Helaena’s face broke your heart, the silent admission at how often her daughter had been othered by the people who were supposed to nurture her. You made sure to meet Jaehaera’s every need, and you loved the twins as if they were your own. This was the first time Helaena had been late, though you secretly hoped she would make a habit of it. The twins kept at their respective tasks until the blonde burst into the door, an apologetic look drawn across her angelic face. “I’m so sorry!” She made direct eye contact with you, her cheeks flushed and breath heavy, clearly having run from the lot. 

“Oh, it’s no worry.” You smiled at her before looking back down at the stack of spelling assignments you were grading. “They’re always a dream, they’re so well-behaved I barely noticed they were here.” You teased, though it was half true. There was an ease about them that you found soothing. 

“Either way, we should get out of your hair.” Helaena’s hands tugged at the sleeves of her powder blue cardigan. Please don’t go. She walked towards Jaehaerys and unsuccessfully attempted to pry him from the wheel. 

“Please Mom, I'm almost done!” Your throat dried as you tried to think of any reason to spend just a second more with her. 

Suddenly, your salvation dawned on you. You stood from your desk far too quickly, and Helaena looked back at you in shock as your chair rattled against the floor. “Well we have the tomb, maybe your Mom would like to see that?” You looked from the twins to their mother, holding your breath for a second. 

Helaena looked back at the boy on the pottery wheel, his glasses crooked on a chubby little face smeared with clay. The most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen pulled across her soft pink lips, and she nodded at you. “I’ve heard about this…” She brought a finger up to her lips, face twisted in concentration. “A Valyrian tomb, right?” You looked back at Jaehaerys and winked at him before looking back to the blonde and gesturing for her to follow you. 

“Yeah, we asked the janitors if it would be okay to clear out the closet while we have our unit on Valyrian history.” You gestured to a wall of Valyrian burial veils in the hallway, pointing out the two the twins had made. “Every student contributes two things, and the day after our test we’re going to have a Valyria party and explore the tomb.” Waving your fingers and adding a spooky lilt to your voice, your heart raced as the giggle broke out from the woman next to you. You smiled before looking down at the waxed tiles. When you two finally arrived at the tomb, you opened it and led her in, leaving the door propped open behind you. Maroon and gold tapestries soaked up the light, and different art pieces and knickknacks placed around the makeshift tomb cast an ethereal glow to the janitor's closet. 

“Wow.” Your palms began to sweat. Good wow or bad wow???? You smiled anxiously at her as her gaze panned back over the shelves you lined with miniature towers. “This is amazing.” Your heart pounded against your ribcage as you beamed at her, shifting your gaze to the art as if proud. 

“It’s the kids that do all of it.” Your hand came up to awkwardly rest at the nape of your neck, praying you didn’t look like an idiot in front of her. Thankfully and heart-wrenchingly, she didn’t seem to notice you at all as she glanced back over at the artwork. Helaena doesn’t say anything else, and you guide her back to the classroom where Jaehaerys had finished his vase and put it on the cart destined for the kiln. You sent the twins off with a hug, and Jaehaera squeezed you for an extra second. Helaena locked eyes with you for a second, and something unidentifiable stirred in her lavender irises. When you let go of Jaehaera her mother looked as if she was thinking about something for a second before she gave you an awkward wave and left the classroom. 

The snow had been piling up high around the classroom, and you found yourself grateful that Christmas break was starting. Cinnamon pine cones had been stacked on your desk and a wax burner filled the air with the scent of gingerbread. You were ladling out a cup of hot cocoa for yourself when her voice broke the silence. “I come bearing gifts.” The blonde held up a green gift bag, and ecstasy poured through your veins. 

“Well, I can get you a cup of hot cocoa and some cookies and we can call that a fair trade.” You suddenly thanked God that Baela brought you a glass of spiked eggnog after the students left. Helaena nodded, and you pulled out the prettiest mug you had available and filled it with painstaking care. Once it was suitably full, you added some whipped cream and peppermint crumbles. Grabbing her the few gingerbread men that were still intact, you brought the bounty to your desk, where she had pulled up a chair. The two of you spent the next hour talking about everything and nothing and were only disturbed by the darkness that fell dimly over the classroom. 

“Well,” Helaena said, looking at the unopened bag before you. She nodded to it, and you reached for it. Pulling out the crimson tissue paper, you gasped as you lifted the black bust out of the bag. It looked like it was an authentic Valyrian piece, the stone having clearly been tempered by flame. 

Your eyes widened in shock as you looked back up at her. Holy fuck she’s trying to kill me. Your mouth moved aimlessly before the words could come to you, and you cursed yourself once again for looking like a moron in front of this absolute goddess. “I can’t accept this.” You said finally, moving to hand it back to her. “This is so kind, really, but th-” Your train of thought derailed when Helaena’s soft hand was placed on yours. 

“Merry Christmas.” She squeezed your hand lightly before finishing the last bite of her cookie and grabbing her purse. When you got home you put the bust on the mantle of your gas fireplace and grinned stupidly at it for far too long. 

In the spring your unit on bugs had started. To give the children a hands-on experience you got a Praying Mantis as a class pet, and every child had been given a caterpillar that would grow into their own butterfly. You were tending to the habitats when her footsteps stopped beside you. The blonde sat and watched you for a few moments, and you tried to will the blood from rushing to your cheeks. “So pretty.” Your head snapped over towards her when she broke the silence, and you looked back at the enclosure, laughing awkwardly. 

“Yeah, they are.” The blonde took another step closer, and you prayed she wouldn’t be able to hear your heart pounding through your ribcage. Helaena reached into the habitat, ever so gently tilting a chrysalis so that she could look at it, letting out a small tut. 

The blonde turned to look at you, her face tantalizingly too close. “What kind of plants do you have?” You smiled at her, fidgeting with your hands as you shifted your gaze to the cocoon. 

“Milkweed, borage.” When the blonde nodded approvingly and turned her gaze back to the habitat you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. 

“Really, really beautiful.” She said one more time, your gaze still fixed on the array of chrysalises within the fabric cage. You had never really taken a hard glance at them, but you could start to see what she meant. When you turned to look back at Helaena, she quickly looked away. 

Over spring break you tried to enjoy the brief respite. The days were warmer now, and you ached to leave your house. Pulling on a sundress and grabbing your purse, you headed out to the Lyseni Market. The aroma of roasting cherries greeted you as you walked away from your favorite stall. Carrie had put out a whole new line of bath bombs that smelled as sweet as the spring breeze, and you made sure to pick a few up for yourself. You were underneath the blossoming cherry trees when she spotted you, holding a wicker basket full of produce. “Ms. L/N!” She exclaimed, a happy smile on her face as she held her basket. “May I?” She asked as she gestured to the open spot on the stone wall next to you. Helaena sat after you eagerly nodded, moving your purse to your other shoulder so she could sit closer to you. 

“We’re not at school right now.” You shot her a small smile as you bit into your crepe, savoring the taste of strawberries and Nutella. “You can call me Y/N.” Helaena smiled at you and leaned back slightly. 

“Where did you get that?” She asked, glancing back towards the crepe in your hand. “I’m famished.” 

You looked back down at the crepe, an apologetic expression drawing across your face. “Suze made them, but she closed up her stall a few minutes ago.” When the blonde’s smile dropped, your skin crawled. “Wanna split this?” You glanced back towards her, holding the crepe out. “I’m not that hungry.” You lied. 

The small wave of guilt abated in you when her face lit up and she took the crepe from you, taking a bite of it before moaning.  “I need to come out here more often, this is amazing.” 

“You should try her pumpkin cheesecake crepes in the fall.” Your tone was almost warning, and Helaena nodded. 

“Nope. That’s dangerous.” Chuckles broke out as you leaned into her and batted at her arm playfully. 

“You have twins, you can definitely handle a crepe.” You teased. 

“Speaking of them.” Helaena groaned, rubbing at her temples tiredly. “I could really use a cup of coffee. Any vendors here good?” 

You shook your head with a frown, “No dice. But…” Your heart fluttered when she snapped to meet your gaze. “There’s a really good coffee shop a few blocks away.” 

A grin pulled across the blonde’s face as she stood, offering a hand out to you. “Alright, I’m paying then.” She winked at you. “Since you got the crepe.” She held the wrapper up before tossing it in the nearest recycling bin. The walk to the cafe was filled with perhaps the easiest conversation you ever had. Helaena remembered things about you that you had never even told her, apparently having gleaned from the twins. Your knuckles brushed against each other as the two of you walked, and you both looked away. A cherry-red blush burned across your reflection’s face, but you swore for a fraction of a second you saw a similar one painting Helaena’s features. Telling yourself you were just reading into this, you held the door open for her and walked in. After the two of you ordered you settled into a little nook away from the view of the street. The black forest latte you ordered was as perfect as the cafe always made it, and you watched Helaena’s eyes widen after she tasted it. A few more hours of eager conversation passed, and as the rays started to wane into late afternoon, you glanced back toward the blonde. She looked uncomfortable for a few moments. “We should probably get outta here.” She admitted, one hand coming to play with a lock of silver hair. “But I know this uh…” She gestured idly, her face thoughtful. “Place,” Helaena said finally, her lilac gaze locking onto yours. “You interested?” 

You have no fucking clue. “It sounds great.” Helaena left a tip on the table and the two of you got up, to yet another destination. It was a bit longer of a walk, but the late afternoon sun cast a comfortable warmth onto your exposed skin. When your knuckles brushed against Helaena’s again, you let them linger for a moment. A large park stood before the two of you, but it didn’t seem designed for children. Large abstract sculptures were carved into the ground, with steps too high to be a playground. You looked at her in wonder for a moment before stepping onto a roundabout. “Can you push me?” You asked, and you held a careful hand down as the skirt of your dress waved in the breeze. You kept your eyes locked on her silver hair for as long as you could, but eventually stumbled off the roundabout giggling. Helaena reached to steady you, and your hand rested on her shoulder. The two of you looked at each other for a few seconds longer, and your heartbeat raced. When your lips locked you brought your other hand to rest gently against her face. She tasted like cafe mocha, and her lips were as soft as an angel’s. Electricity crackled wherever your exposed skin met. She tilted her head, and the two of you deepened the kiss, only drawn out of it by the sound of somebody settling onto the swings near you two. I hope that motherfucker gets audited by the IRS. 

“Shit.” Helaena cursed as she pulled away, your heart dropping as she did so. She licked her lips before turning her gaze to the ground. “I should probably get going…” She trailed off. “The twins.” You nodded and smiled politely. Your heart felt empty the entire walk back to your apartment, and you cried into your cat’s belly that night. 

After April 6th Helaena was formulaic. Methodical. She would drop the twins off with a wave before shooting you a terse smile and walking away. She waited in her car for the twins when school was over. Each day you mused might be the one the earth swallowed you whole, and time passed achingly slower. When the end of the school year came you felt some relief. If nothing else, the twins wouldn’t be in your class next year and the space would help you finally get over your stupid little crush. You were standing on a chair peeling sticky tack off the wall when she walked in. “Bae?” You called out. “I’ll catch up with you guys when I’m done.” You focused on your task, and Helaena let the silence hang for a second longer before you turned to face her. You turned back to peel another wad of blue tack off the wall, poker face engaged. “It’s great to see you.” You said politely. 

“I uhm…” Helaena held a wrapper up towards you. “I got you a crepe.” She offered meekly. You stared ahead at the wall, reminding yourself that you wouldn’t see her again after this. Desperately as you tried, you just couldn’t convince yourself it was for the better. 

“That’s very nice. Thank you.” Gathering the last wad, you took a step down from the chair before she had the chance to offer her hand. Helaena outstretched her hand and you took the crepe. The worst side of you told you to ice her out, turn away, and refuse to look to see if it affected her as much as it did you. But you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. 

“I wanted to ask you something.” You turned to look at Helaena, taking a bite of the crepe and looking at her as if to continue. “Now that you're not my kids’ teacher anymore…” She trailed off, and you bitterly swallowed the crepe. Here it is. She was going to ask why you kissed her, and you couldn’t think of any proper excuse.  “Would you want to go out sometime?” 

Your eyebrows knit together at the question, and you froze on the spot. The crepe started to shake in your hand as your heart pounded. You pulled your lips over your teeth before nodding enthusiastically. “I hear there’s a butterfly garden on the other side of town.” Helaena smiled, looking down and blushing before she held a hand out. You took her hand, and the two of you walked out of the classroom into the warm summer day.

[divinequo]

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH I WATCHED THE SEASON 2 EPISODE 6 TRAILER AND IM SO FUCKING PSYCHED I HAVE YO RANT ONG OMG OMG OMG OMG IT LOOS INCREDIBLE

⁉️⁉️‼️‼️‼️WARNING THIS HAS SPOILERS PLUS SCREENSHOTS FROM THE TRAILER SO LIKE UH SCROLL AND GO AWAY IF YOU WANNA REMAIN UNSPOILED YES YES MM MM YES⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️

OK FIRST OFF HOLY FUCKING SHIT.

I GOTTA RANT ABOUT THIS FIRST SINCE IT'LL PROBABLY TAKE THE LONGEST BUT WE HAVE BEEN THEORIZING ABOUT THIS GUY FOR YEARS.

YEAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRSSSSS!!! AND NOW ITS BEEN CONFIRMED HE'S SOME SORT OF ANTAGONIST IT LOOKS LIKE? WHICH HOLY SHIT OMG IM SO SIKED I LOVE HIM ALREADY HES THE BEST VILLAIN EVER ONG (I know the episode isn't even out yet let alone a English version but let me be delusional I'm happy and excited) but anyway AAAAAH HE LOOKS SO ORDINARY YET SO MENACING???!? from blending in with the background characters in episodes and appearing to be spying on Dee in his qna, as well as his wanted posters, we will FINALLY GET SOME SORT OF INFORMATION AND CHARACTER INTRODUCTION!!! (May I add he strikes a strange resemblance to Gustav? No? Just my opinion? Ok) OMG AND I JUST REALIZED HIM FLIPPING THE KEYS?? WAIT WAIT HEAVY SAID TO VICTORIA IN SEASON ONE HIW HE LOST HIS KEYS AGAIN, AND THATS ABSOLUTELY THEIR HOUSE KEYS YOU CANT CONVINCE ME OTHER WISE, IT LITERALLY COMES FULL CIRCLE, NOT MENTION LIKE, BRO WHY DOES HE WANT THEM TO NOT GO HOME? DOES HE WANT THEM AWAY FROM THEIR PARENTS? IS HE FORCING THEM TO TALK TO HIM? OR DID THEY FIND HIM AND NOW HES MONOLUAGING???? OMFG IDK, ONE THINGS FOR SURE IS HE IS DOING SOMETHING NEFARIOUS TO THIS ABANDONED AMUSEMENT PARK, TBATS WHY HES ON THE WANTED POSTERS INNLIFS INTRODUCTIONNEPISODE HOLYYY FUUUUCKKKKK GUYS I LOVE HIM, HES MY NEW FAVORITE VILLAIN, I really hope this doesn't age like milk me saying I love his little character *sweats nervously*

And can we just TALK and take a moment to ADMIRE the artwork of the backgrounds and main surrounding pieces?? LOOK AT THIS!!

And yk the metal families profile picture on YouTube? Yk... The clunky old sign no one cares about?

FUCKING LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOK

IT WAS PLANNED ALL ALONG GGGG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMGGGGEXDCRFVFY UGC YFDXYREXYRDXTDDXTD STD FDFH THEIR PROFILE PICTURE IS LITERALLY, GENUINELY FROM THIS EPISODE, it is NOT coincidental, THIS MADE ME LOVE IT ALL THE MORE!! it feels so special now knowing this knowledge and though this part isn't THAT important i still had to mention the shock I got from seeing it in the trailer :))

Last thing I wanted to mention is these two lovely little gumdrops!!!!!!!

ommmgggg THE SHIPPING BAIT ABOUT TO HIT HAAARRRDDD i paused on like a smear frame, basically their hiding from the security guard because it's night time and they snuck in!! Omggg do you guys even realize what this MEANS????!!!!?!?!?! this means we'll also get maybe a few scenes if our and Dee together ALONE, idk what is up with my brain but I never really shipped them that much or cared to ship for them until seeing THIS, maybe I'm just really pathetic in my own love life but the way lif is holding onto Dee (for protection and to hide yk) is SENDING me, it is cute, so special and precious, and I need them to start dating, I am officially their number one shipper now (omfg if they become canon in this I will cry myself to sleep istg I'll be so happy knowing I can rest over these cartoon lovers getting together XP)

Oh oh and what do y'all think heavy could be doing while we get some life and Dee scenes? Or while this scene specifically is happening?? My guess is they caught sight of the "glasses kid" and heavy volunteered to go follow after him in suspicion, omg I can't even fathom getting so much new heavy screen time, he's only my all time favorite character, aaaaAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!

That's pretty much it, I give my upmost respect and admiration to DiMA, Alina, and every single voice actor, artist, animator, inspirations, etc of this entire show, they all deserve the world and a medal for giving us this spectacular series, that upon now seeing this trailer has made my metal family hyperfixation AWOKE deeply and fiercely

I couldn't find a truly perfect reaction image to seeing this new metal family trailer, so here's this one I drew, have a lovely day/night everyone♡

[queenofthursday6599-blog]

Disney's centennial movie Wish is infuriating in every way as an artist.

Like the art direction legitimately pisses me off.

The 3d animation elements look bad, because it looks unfinished, because by modern 3d theatrical release standards it is unfinished.

2d animation might not have animation blur the way 3d does, but it does have stuff like smear frames, to help smooth out character movement, while also having different frame rates. So they really should have just used the motion blur, or gone further using 2d animation techniques the way spider-verse did.

The background looks like absolute shit at least 90% of the time, because they keep trying to pull off Sleeping Beauty's background vibe. Without actually trying to properly emulate the artstyle, while also trying to invoke the completely wrong medium for said style and vibe.

Why they tried to make the backgrounds look like they were done in watercolor is completely bewildering, because only 3 Disney animated films have actual full watercolor backgrounds. And none of them are Sleeping Beauty. They're Snow White, Dumbo, and Lilo & Stitch for those who're wondering.

[Pinocchio used a mix of watercolor & tempura paint/poster colors, so it's background paintings fall into mixed media paintings rather than watercolor paintings.]

Nearly all of the other background paintings for the old Disney movies from that era were done in gouache paints (Bambi wasn't, it was oil on glass because of it being shot using the multi-plane camera).

Which while able to get a watercolor kind of effect if properly used, could also be built and layered in a way watercolor can't, along with able to be made completely opaque, and thus create more depth.

These are watercolor backgrounds (lilo and stitch):

These are gouache backgrounds (sleeping beauty):

Please take note the considerable amount of literal pitch black in the gouache painted backgrounds, and it's complete absence in the watercolor backgrounds.

You just can't get that deep black using watercolors, because watercolor paint is translucent so the color of the paper it's painted on always shines through the paint to some degree.

If Wish really wanted to look like the old classic Disney movie, it should have gone for a gouache paint style instead.

Except it didn't, it wanted to look like an old story book.

Except not really, because the "old story book style" is done by way of relief printing, and the background doesn't look anything like that either. Because that artstyle also uses a considerable amount of black.

Which Wish's art direction seemed terrified to use due to stubbornly sticking to the "watercolor" background art style, even though the backgrounds don't look anything like a properly composed watercolor paintings.

And I have to stop here because I'm getting a rage headache because I'm on my cycle.

[talkfastromance4]

Made to be Mine—hockey!cal Valentine’s Day special

authors note: welcome Duke! In this universe Duke is a puppy😊

Warnings: allusion to smut, more like foreplay, other than that just some fluffiness

Word count: 2.3k

Feedback is always welcome!

•••

Whether it was fate or luck you and Calum were both free on Valentine’s Day. You spent the night before at his house staying up watching rom-com’s and The Greatest Showman until you both fell asleep in front of the tv.

“Want to go get breakfast at this diner I know? They have the best pancakes,” he grins at you with sleepy brown eyes.

“Sure, I should probably head home and shower first.”

“I think that can be arranged.”

You gather your things together while he takes a shower of his own, you’re scrolling through Instagram liking all of the cute Valentine’s Day posts that are already flooding in. You came across Ashton, the guy who owns the gym, who posted a picture of a large piece of paper with splotches and smears of two different paint colors; red and blue with some purple mixed in. Two handprints are placed next to each other with a drawn heart between them and he tagged a girl on one of the handprints.

‘You make the masterpiece out of my mess,’ he captioned it and you liked it. You’ll have to ask Calum if he’s got a girlfriend later.

“Ready to go?” Calum asks tousling his hair with a towel, there’s a few wet stains on his t-shirt from his hair.

“All set.”

***

“Can you make some coffee while I shower?” You ask him once you’re at your apartment.

“Sure thing, Princess,” he smiles and kisses your cheek.

You shower as quickly as you can but also make sure to take some time to shave in areas you like to be smooth. You’re hoping tonight will be the night you and Calum will have sex for the first time, it’s been going great so far and you’re ready for that next step. You apply lotion so you’re silky smooth and finish getting ready.

When you open the bathroom door to your room, you let out a gasp at what’s on your bed. There is a teddy bear with a red bow around his neck holding up a large poster board that says ‘WILL YOU BE MY VALENTINE?’ and a bunch of balloons. Calum is sitting on the bed with a single rose and a bashful smile.

“Did you do all of this while I was in there?” you ask in amazement.

“I made the sign a few days ago, but yeah, this was all hiding in my jeep. Do I get an answer?” he arches his eyebrows, twiddling the rose between his fingers.

“Of course I’ll be your Valentine,” you gush and sit on his lap. You cradle his cheeks in your hands and give him multiple kisses. “This is so sweet, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, but the day has just begun, Princess.”

At the diner they’re having a Valentine’s Day special with heart shaped pancakes and a bowl of strawberries with dipping chocolate.

“What else do you have planned for the day?” you ask stabbing at a piece of pancake.

“I thought we’d go see a movie and then there’s a surprise,” his eyes gleamed with mischief and excitement.

“Ooh, a surprise? Do I get a hint?”

“Absolutely not, that’s why it’s a surprise.”

After breakfast, you wander up and down the aisles of a convenient store picking out your favorite candies to bring to the movies. You strategically place your goodies in your purse so it’ll be undetected. The theater is playing ‘Valentine's Day’ and for the first half you eat your snacks and laugh along with the movie.

For the second half, Calum moved the armrest up so it was easier to kiss you. It started off innocent, with his lips lingering a little bit longer each time and then his hands were on your waist while yours were in his hair. You were making out like lovesick teenagers and you couldn’t get enough of his sweet, warm lips.

“Princess…” he mumbles when you trail your lips along his cheek and jaw, his hand is hot on your skin under your shirt. “The movie’s over…I have to take you to the next place for the surprise.”

“Can’t it wait?” you whisper and nibble on his ear lobe.

“No, baby,” he smiles, “I promise we’ll continue this later.”

“Fine,” you sigh and pull away from his warm neck. He chuckles and rubs at your bottom lip.

The surprise turns out to be an animal shelter and there’s red balloons sticking to the front door when you walk in. The sounds of dogs and cats welcome you as you walk in the doors and a middle-aged woman with a clipboard and pink scrubs walks up. She has on a headband with hearts that wiggle when she moves her head.

“Hello! You must be my four o’clock, are you Mr. Hood?”

“I am, and this is my girlfriend, y/n,” he introduces and your heart swells. That’s the first time he’s called you that since you started dating.

“Follow me.”

It doesn’t hit you until you’re in front of a row of dogs in kennels that you realize you’ll be picking out a dog with Calum. Your heart races, he really wants to get a dog with you? When he’s only just called you his girlfriend and you haven’t even slept together yet?

“Cal…”

“I want you to meet the little guy I’m adopting today,” he says squeezing your hand. “I filled out all the paperwork and I thought it’d be fun if we went shopping for him together.”

“Really?” you relax at the notion that he’s already adopted the dog. It alleviates some pressure from you and you find the act very endearing. “I’d love to meet him.”

“He’s right down here,” the woman says and you follow her to the back of the room.

Every dog you pass you want to adopt because they’re so cute but then you come in front of a kennel with a small dog sitting pleasantly. He’s multicolored in tans, browns and blacks with the cutest little face you’ve ever seen. At the sight of you and Calum, his tail thumps lightly on the ground.

The kennel door is opened up and the two of you enter the room, the little dog backing up a little but with his nose out sniffing you. You kneel on the ground holding out your hand, and the dog waddles up hesitantly.

“This is Duke,” Calum says holding out his own hand. Duke’s ears perk at the sound of Calum’s voice, sniffs at his fingers but continues checking you out.

“Hi Duke,” you coo, “you’re such a handsome boy, yeah?”

Duke’s nose is cold against your fingers, then he gives you a tentative lick with his tongue. He nuzzles his nose into your palm then crawls easily into your lap, his tail thumps against your legs.

“He likes me!”

“I knew he would,” Calum is staring at you and the way you cuddle into Duke’s neck.

You hold Duke in your arms while Calum signs the proper paperwork and pays for Duke. As you’re walking out of the building, Calum snaps a picture of you holding Duke in your arms back

to the jeep. Duke settles into your lap comfortably on the drive to the pet store. Duke is safe in your arms as you go up and down the aisles gathering food, bowls, a bed, treats, and some toys for Duke.

“I might just steal him from you, Tiger,” you giggle rubbing at Duke’s soft belly back in the car.

“You can steal him when I’m playing away games,” he grins.

“Really? Oh that’d be so fun, we’ll have the best sleepovers. You’ll sleep right under my covers, Dukey-poo.”

“Dukey-poo?” Calum snorts at the nickname.

“Yes! That is what I will call him,” you say smugly.

You and Calum follow Duke around the house as he explores and smells everything, your phones poised at his every move. He was a very photogenic pup and after his exploration, he found his doggy bed and plopped right in the middle of it. He was asleep in moments.

“I’m going to be here all the time to see him,” you tell Calum when you move into his kitchen.

“That was my whole plan, Princess. Let’s make dinner.”

You make a simple meal of pasta with a salad and share a bottle of wine. Midway through dinner, Calum takes Duke outside then feeds him some of his own food. After doing the dishes and watching a movie while also playing with Duke and his toys then notice it’s getting a little late.

“I’m going to take him out one more time, wait for me in bed?” he asks with a gleam in his eye.

“Okay,” you smile, feeling your stomach flip at his words and the meaning beneath them. He heads outside with Duke and you run to his room cursing yourself for not buying some kind of sexy lingerie or something.

You scan his room quickly, as if a sexy outfit would appear out of thin air just because you’re thinking hard enough about it. But life isn’t a wish granting factory so you settle for his old jersey and nothing else underneath. You try a few positions on the bed but you just feel awkward posing so you kneel with your hands in your lap. Your heart is racing as you wait for Calum.

You hear the door open and close, then Calum’s soft voice as he talks softly to Duke. You take a deep breath and wait.

“I think I’ll keep him in the kitchen to sleep, see how he does. What do you think–woah.” He’s blinking at you slowly and you rise up on your knees a little, grinning at him.

“I don’t have any kind of lingerie or something, so I thought this would suffice for now,” you twist your fingers together nervously.

“You don’t need the lingerie, Princess,” he shakes his head and then you’re horizontal on his bed with him on top of you. He groans when he feels your bare skin under his jersey, his hands hot and heavy as he explores you. “You’re plenty sexy on your own.”

You squeal in giggles as he starts to suck on your neck, the space right below your ear that has you squirming underneath him. Your giggles turn into heavy breathing when his fingers spread open your legs and tease your slit.

“Cal…” you arch into his touch, willing him to place a finger inside. He hums against you and you squeeze at his wide bicep. Then you hear a faint cry. “Is that Duke?”

“He’s fine,” he mumbles and moves his body down yours. He tugs the jersey up exposing your breasts to him.

“But he–ohh,” you sigh when his mouth closes around your nipple. His teeth graze the raised nub sending shivers through your whole body. The tip of his finger teases inside your entrance in the slightest yet most enticing way ever.

Your body is electric with his touch, craving him to be everywhere all at once. When he’s done giving your breasts attention, he drags his hot mouth down your stomach. His fingers tickle over your thighs bringing them up around his head, his breath hot on your core.

Before he can continue, there’s a loud yelping cry coming from the kitchen and a sad howl from Duke.

“Cal, wait–Duke’s all alone,” you shake him off you. He sighs against your thighs, staring up at you with those brown eyes you love so much. “You should go get him, he’s scared.”

“But–” he’s interrupted by another loud cry. He sighs, nods, kisses your bare leg and slides off the bed. He hops from side to side adjusting himself in his sweats and that gives you a bit of an ego boost.

You slip on a pair of underwear and try to calm your racing heart from what was about to happen. Calum comes in with Duke in his arms, Duke is licking at Calum’s chin.

“See, look how happy he is,” you smile reaching for Duke.

He leaps onto the bed and crawls onto your lap, his tail wagging happily.

“You’re supposed to be my wingman, Duke,” Calum shakes his head and crawls onto the bed with you.

“You got me without him,” you remind him.

“Yeah, but now I lost you with him,” he laughs rubbing at the dog’s ears.

“No, that’s silly, Cal. You’ll always be my Tiger,” you smile and lean over to give him a kiss. “Happy Valentine’s Day. I’ll make sure to make it up to you with my gift.”

“What’s your gift?”

“Let’s say it comes wrapped in tiny little red bows and lace.”

Calum groans and falls dramatically on his back. Duke crawls off your lap and onto Calum’s chest, sniffing at him to make sure he’s okay.

“See, he loves you too,” you laugh laying down next to Calum.

Calum watches you and Duke sleeping peacefully together an hour later. He snaps a picture and then goes onto Instagram. He likes Ashton’s post vaguely remembering a conversation he had where Ashton described his Valentine’s Day plans of ‘sexy painting.’ Now he sees what he means and wonders if you’d be into something like that.

He was really hoping tonight would be the night you’d sleep together. He really cares about you and wants to show you how much, in fact, he knows he’s in love with you but he doesn’t want to say it too soon and freak you out. It’s only been a couple months after all.

He sighs and makes his own post for Valentine’s Day showcasing the bear and balloons he made for you, the picture of you walking with Duke in your arms, the one you took of him and Duke and a few more of just Duke.

‘Made to be mine. A very special day with my girl and new boy Duke.’

He tagged you and posted it then snuggled against you and Duke, giving you a goodnight kiss. This was the first Valentine’s Day he’s spent it with someone he wants to spend all of his Valentine’s Days with.

Taglist: @calumance  @in-superbloom @calpalirwin @karajaynetoday @wiiildflowerrr @sunshineeeluke @littledrummeraussie @suchalonelysunflower @hoodhoran @thew0rldneedsmcreycghurt @sunshineeashton @ashtonsunflower​ @mymindwide​ @itjustkindahappenedreally @seanna313 @mulletcal @pandaxnienke @celestialams @in-a-world-of-fandoms @blairscott @writersdare

[mxnkeydo]

so scarlet (it was maroon) ✧ sokeefe

✧ ship: Sophie x Keefe

✧ what to expect: it all went down went a book went soaring across the classroom but sophie never expects it to end the way it does. acrylic smeared on cheeks, pigment-stained clothes, and a whole keefe sencen later, maybe she never despised him as much as she thought she did.

✧ genre: romance, fluff, humor, sarcasm - enemies to lovers trope, human au, and a love triangle to torment you guys 😈

✧ word count: 1112

✧ warnings: keefe having super super depressing and wistful thoughts

✧ link to masterlist

✧ link to chapter three

✧ link to chapter 4.5

✧ A/N: hey guys!! sooo this chapter is basically about keefe being depressed because he basically uses humor as a coping mechanism for the emotional abuse he suffers from at home. but the next chapter is gonna have some action, so bear with me through this one. love ya'll!

***

CHAPTER FOUR

“Your house?”

“My house,” Sophie confirmed, turning left instead of the usual right. This session—their fourth—was going to be at Sophie’s house, as she relentlessly insisted after meeting Keefe’s father. It was surprisingly close to the academy; two lefts and a right later, they were walking up the driveway to the front door. A large garden occupied the front yard, thriving with spiky rosemary and tall tomato greens. A hybrid cherry blossom tree made an arch to the front door, baby pink petals creating a beautiful carpet beneath. A ratty sign hung on the brown door, reading: This is Our Happy Place.

Keefe swallowed, only giving Sophie a tight-lipped smile when she glanced at him. This was what a real house felt like. His was just a structure with people inside. But Sophie’s house was a home sheltering a family, he could tell by the relaxed smile on her face. While he dreaded the bell signaling the end of the day, Sophie must’ve looked forward to it. How could she not? Her home was everything his wasn’t.

Sophie knocked on the door, and it opened to reveal a tall woman, maybe in her late twenties (although she could’ve passed for a college student). Her auburn locks shimmered under the noon day sun as she smiled at her daughter. 

“Hey, sweetie,” she greeted her with a peck on the cheek. Her eyes then fell on Keefe. “Who’s this? Oh, you know Grady’s going to go mad if he finds out you’re having a boy over.”

“Mom!” Sophie exclaimed, veiling her face with her hair. “Keefe’s my art tutor. I’m going to fail the semester if I don’t bring my grades up.”

“It’s still a wonder to me why you chose art over coding.” Sophie’s mom kissed her forehead. “Dinner will be ready soon, ‘kay?”

“Mhm. Thanks, Mom.” 

Keefe watched both mother and daughter interact with shock, their words filled with love and compassion. He knew this was normal in a regular household, but, well—he didn’t live in a regular household, did he?

“Hi. I’m Keefe. Keefe Sencen.” He held out his hand, and Sophie’s mother took it with both of hers.

“Call me Edaline. It’s wonderful to meet you, Keefe. Thank you for tutoring my daughter,” Edaline smiled with gratitude, her eyes warm. Keefe could only nod and smile tightly, jogging to catch up with Sophie on the stairs.

“That’s your mom?” He asked. He needed something, anything, to take his mind off his troubles. “Wow, you look nothing like her.”

“Yeah. Um, I’m adopted.”

“Oh.” Keefe’s awe and surprise only climbed higher; a family without blood relation, yet they were so close-knit. To put it simply, how? How did this come to them so easily, yet his own dad couldn’t even spare him an ounce of fatherly emotion?  And when his mother was alive, she never paid any attention to him either.

He would never understand them. Ever. 

“I have paints we can use, even though I've never opened them in my life.” Sophie opened the door to her room and Keefe followed suit.

“Huh. I wonder why.” 

“Very funny.” Sophie got out her paints and paper while he looked around. Posters of famous singers and movie stars hung above her bed against the sage walls. The setup was simple and aesthetic; a neat bed, a nightstand, a closet and dresser, and room decor. It all seemed alien to him when he lived in a messy room where he didn’t have the slightest clue where anything was.

“I think we need some music,” Sophie commented out of nowhere. Scrolling furiously through her phone, she clicked on a playlist that softly serenaded Keefe with the melody of Taylor Swift’s “You’re On Your Own, Kid”.

Keefe scoffed in disbelief, even though the tune was pretty. “Seriously? You’re a Swiftie?”

“Her music is amazing!”

“Yeah, if you’re a wannabe main character.”

“Well, you’re a disgrace,” Sophie declared, frowning. “Taylor Swift is a goddess.” They both plopped down in a chair as Keefe began his lesson.

“How about we paint nature today? Hey, I have a great idea, we’ll paint cherry blossoms! You got those ear-cleany thingies?”

“‘Ear-cleany thingies?’ You mean cotton buds?”

“You know what I meant!”

“It’s like you’re a literal child. Yes, I have them.” Rummaging through a drawer, she pulled out a handful. “Here are your ‘ear-cleany thingies’.”

Keefe grinned. “Thanks.”  In a blink of an eye, he picked up a brush and painted a trunk with brown watercolor, the trunk getting thinner as it reached the sky. From there, he drew branches. Sophie struggled to keep up, her work rushed while his was smooth.

“Can you just slow down?”

“No can do! Get on my level, Foster.”

“Ugh. Can you at least show me how to paint the branches?”

“I guess.” Keefe stood, leaning over her hunched figure, and gently took Sophie’s hand, guiding her hand as she painted the curved tree branch in cautious strokes. He couldn’t help noticing the subtle scent of pine in her strawberry-blonde hair and remembering the way she tucked it behind her ear whenever she was nervous. He took a deep breath.

“Thanks.” Sophie wiggled her way out of his grip and drew the rest, somewhat satisfied with her work.

“That’s better,” Keefe said, slightly hurt. “Your tree looks like it survived a hurricane and lived to see another day, but it’s definitely an improvement.”

“My tree looks fine, thank you very much!”

Keefe opened with mouth with a well-prepared retort when an angelic voice interrupted the bickering:

“Sophie, dinner’s ready! And bring your friend too!”

“He’s not my friend,” Sophie muttered under her breath, getting to her feet. Keefe placed a hand on his heart with a playful wounded expression,  tucking away the feeling he was really experiencing: disappointment.

“I’m not? Then what are we?” In the silence of Sophie’s thinking, Taylor sang gently, 

‘You’re on your own kid.

You always have been.’

And maybe he was.  Maybe he was alone, but somehow the thought of Sophie Foster managed to put a small smile on his face. It was a miracle he couldn’t explain, a miracle he accepted entirely, and a miracle he would never grow tired of.

Acquaintances,” Sophie said suddenly, interrupting his thoughts. “We're acquaintances, not friends.”

“Aren’t those the same thing?”

“Not really.”

“Oh.” Keefe cocked his head and smiled. Maybe they weren’t friends, but at least Sophie didn’t discard him like garbage, like how his parents had done in his early days. 

But when did he start caring how she thought of him?

Keefe shook it all off, bowing as he gestured towards the door.

“Well, after you, my acquaintance.”

[throne-for-queens]

"I vividly remember him saying he was on his way to the movies to see Transformers, and that he was wearing cologne for it". Yeah, because Megan could smell him through the screen, right? Or was it that usually he stank? He didn’t bother washing his bum (“old school kells probably had a smelly ass”) or using perfume if it only meant laying up with his baby mama, right? I mean, why bother with hygiene when you're not trying to impress anyone valuable? At this point, I’m honestly surprised neither he nor her or his fans have come out to say he was too busy staring at her—Megan’s image on the poster—while he was penetrating the girls East Cleveland had to offer. But hey, who could blame him? It's clearly way more thrilling to look at a movie poster than, you know, actually respect the people around you, not that they deserve it, right?

Even if it’s true that Fox was his crush—something he never mentioned—if Megan had to be twin flames with and married to every guy who liked her in that movie, she'd be married to about one-fifth of the men born between 1965 and 1996 who liked her in that film.

The only living person who could confirm this detail about the poster is his baby mama, with whom he used to sneak into his room and vice versa. However, I doubt she'll emerge from her anonymity just to confirm or deny it. Now, imagine if it were her who paid for those tickets or bought him that cologne. You gave a guy the food stamps you received, bought him personal hygiene and care items, and paid for your 'best friend's' dates together, only for him to turn around and make the moment you partly, if not entirely, made possible all about the white woman who ultimately led to his "dream child" (or at least that’s what the sources claim). Then, by exclusion, what was his Black child to the media? A "nightmare" child?

If there were one person who came out to expose him, I wouldn’t be angry with it being his first baby mama. I trust she’s rational enough not to smear his name for no reason, and she’d definitely bring receipts with her—especially since he admitted to putting the woman through some serious bullshit. The Vlad moment is just one of the few we know of. Fortunately for him, she’s too classy and values her daughter's mental health enough not to stoop that low—maybe when Casie is much older, one day.

Colson wasn't unemployed, he worked jobs so I'm sure he could afford a movie ticket. I tried to find the proof for his manager saying it but did not, but his manager may have been the one to take him. Let's also remember that he was living with Ashleigh at the time as well, so his shelter situation was covered. He also had a vehicle, that beat up old white car that he was roasting in an old kellyvision. He mentioned one line about her food stamps keeping him fed, and as someone who's been on government assistance as a child, it doesn't imply that you don't work, it just means your money doesn't stretch far enough for food. He even mentioned having Jay z tickets and trading them with is manager for a day off, the guy may have been homeless at times but that wasn't always his situation.

Now the cologne comment wasn't found in the original tweet, but he did live with slim and Dub as well, so he could have just borrowed some.

He admittedly put Casie's mother through trash for the first 5 months of her pregnancy, but they are friends and have been friends for decades, I can find no reason why she would come out of hiding to talk to the media, when colson has worked so hard to keep the privacy she has.

[thedysphoriadiaries]

Entry 5A - Mare Incontra Il Cielo (Sea Meets Sky) - 18 February 2023, 6:44pm

I was late.

Again.

...

I take after my mother. Truly.

Anyway, none of that matters. The past few hours are a blur. Words smear into drones, into acoustic fog. Expressions devolve into pink noise - the constant ringing I hear, when everything goes quiet (my birds made my hearing take a little bit of a beating).

There's only one thing I remember, and that's how I feel.

...

For as long as I remember, I have been swimming. I'm not alone. Others swim too, beside me. Others fly. Others, well, walk, for a lack of a better term.

The seas have been rough, but it doesn't stop me from looking up.

I've heard the stories, about those who would choose to forsake their wings. About those who'd choose to fly. But, I've never given them much thought.

I look up, as I have done countless times before. Up at those who fly. I look back down, to the sea, again. I'm not going to make the same mistake again, like last time.

...

A wave catches me by surprise. I go under. I gulp, expecting air. Water fills my lungs. I float, stationary, until someone pulls me out. I look up at their faceless body. Somehow, I feel their gaze bore into me, almost as if seeing something within me, that I didn't see. They swim off, and I watch the wake they leave behind, tasting disappointment.

...

I shake my head, dispelling the thought. I hate the water; it's far too salty. It smarts my eyes. It nicks and nips at my skin. I don't know how they do it. The air on my head feels sweet. What if...

What if I could fly?

I dive. As deep as I can go. I feel the water sting against my skin. I feel it lacerate my pores, but I keep going. I stop. The water slashes my every pore. It threatens to crush me in its grip. It hurts.

But I ignore it. I race to the surface, while the water burns me with its saline rage. While my joints scream.

The surface is close.

I burst out of the water. The others nearby look up at me. I taste the same disgust. The same worry. The anger.

But I don't care.

The air is sweet; welcoming. A reprieve from the constant assault of saline fury against my pores. Yet, I taste disgust. Fear. This time, it's not from my fellow swimmers.

I don't care. I take gulps, expecting it to burn, but, it doesn't. It lullays the burning. My gills burn, awakening from their slumber as they take in the air.

My fellow swimmers hated the air. It burned their gills, just as it did mine. The air is too sweet, but, not to them.

I wish I could stay up there forever. The cold splashing brings me back to reality.

...

The water burns more now, even though the sea is calm. It almost seems angry at me.

I stare, longingly, once more, at the sky. At the people who fly. I wish I could be like them.

Will it ever... come to pass?

...

Dove il mare incontra il cielo?

Where does the sea meet the sky?

When will I finally get the courage to grow my wings, and fly?

...

Note: I got this metaphor from a reddit post, only that the original poster referred to their experience as being unable to fly effortlessly, with others like them.

PS: This was kinda inspired by a song that describes how I feel, you can listen to it here: