#Janis' pillow pile

[janis-takes-requests]

Janis' Pillow Pile

+ Remus has a pile of stuffed animals in his room that he likes to hide in for fun. Most of them are gifts from Janus or Patton from when he was younger. He finds it very comfortable

+ Logan lets Remus recreate horror movie murders on him. While this terrifies the others, Logan doesn't mind at all, he actually uses it to prove to Remus that horror movies are unrealistic.

+ Patton and Janus often bake together in the kitchen, mainly because Janus knows how to cook and Patton, well Patton doesn’t, but he's getting better.

+ Roman insists that he and Virgil practice make up on each other, they also like to throw shade at Janus while they do this. While Patton doesn’t fully approve of this, he is glad to see the two get along and spend time together.

[greenishghostey]

Eddie wanting to spend time w you but you have sleepy bitch disease so he just does his normal stuff but ur taking a nap on his bed

As someone with the sleepy bitch disease, this is very much MY JAM

///

You and Eddie had been together for a little over a year, and in that time, Eddie had become intimately aware of your love for sleep. Sure, he loved lying in until noon as much as the next person, but you took it to another level. The term 'heavy sleeper' was an insult to you, in his opinion.

The peak of your sleeping ability - he had started thinking it was like a superpower of something - came during a stormy night in September. Hailstones, sheets of rain and violent wind battered his trailer for hours into the night. Eddie got maybe an hour or two of sleep that night, but you were essentially dead to the world once you got snuggled into his bed. He had opted to being your pillow that night since you had been pulling him to your chest and making little tired noises that made him melt - not he was going to openly admit that to you, obviously.

Once December hit, the trailer would be near sub-zero by the time the sun went down. Eddie and Wayne had done all they could to seal with windows and doors, trying to trap the heat in as best they could. Eddie suggested window sealant, but Wayne shut down that idea very quickly since he wanted to get his deposit on the place back eventually.

You had been coming to stay the night at the trailer, and Eddie was initially stressed about you being too cold at night. Which, in his mind, would lead to you never coming to stay again, and everything would fall apart afterwards. A cold trailer was not going to impede your deep sleeping, though. While Eddie wasn't the warmest person to cuddle up to, he had compensated by piling pillows and blankets into his bed.

Once Eddie had picked you up from your shift at the library, you would immediately beeline for the bed fort that he had constructed for you both. Admittedly, the cold had made you even more tired than you normally would have been after work. The heater that was kept in the office had started leaking that afternoon, so you and your co-workers had been working in your scarves and gloves until closing.

Eddie always had a small smile on his face when you dozed off. His girl bundled up in his bed, where you belonged. He was all too aware of how rough work had been on you lately, so he decided to get started on some chores and dinner for when you woke up.

Most people would think that Eddie was incapable of being quiet, but he was quite the opposite. If anything, him being so loud was a front for him enjoying the mundane hum of the trailer and you shifting around in his bed. He tried to walk as lightly as possible while gathering up laundry around his room - some of it was his clothes and some of it was yours. The washing machine would be loud as fuck but you slept through a snowstorm once, you’d be fine.

With the laundry on and a pot of spaghetti simmering, Eddie felt a weird but nice wave of domestic bliss. Would it be like this when you guys moved in together? Maybe the whole househusband thing could work for him - a bit unconventional, but that was basically his middle name. You had told him on several occasions that he looked good in an apron.

His bedroom door had always been squeaky, no matter how much WD-40 he caked on the hinges. Eddie wanted to grab his acoustic guitar to get some practice in while dinner cooked. You’d mentioned liking ‘Trust Me’ by Janis Joplin when digging through Wayne’s records, so Eddie was secretly learning it - Joplin wasn’t exactly his usual choice of music, but she was pretty hardcore, in his opinion.

His socked feet made it to his guitar before you mumbled and gestured him to you, “You’re in the apron.”

Your eyes were still closed while a sleepy grin wormed across your face. Eddie was about ready to pounce and forget about dinner. “‘M making dinner. And cleaning stuff. Was gonna dance with the vacuum for you, but thought that might be a bit too much.”

“When’s that ever been something you worried about?” You laughed.

“Didn’t want to wake you.” Eddie smiled, kneeing by your side of the bed and moving hair from your face. “Plus, I can’t dance. You said it yourself.” He pouted and wiped a fake tear from his eye.

“I only said that because you were drunk and about to get on that coffee table.” You fondly remembered that party from a few months back. Eddie had actually danced with you pretty well when you both went outside for some air. He did try to dip you and dropped you on the front lawn, but at least he tried.

“And I would have been fine. Five beers and I’m ready to go.” Eddie said, wiggling his eyebrows at you. You snorted and lightly shoved his face away from you.

“It was a glass coffee table, babe.”

“It was Steve’s coffee table, babe. His folks could afford a replacement.”

“Yeah, but it’d end up coming out of your pocket. His dad’s a big bitch about money, remember?”

He pouted at you once again, but decided to properly retaliate this time. You barked out a laugh when he gathered you up in one of the blankets and hauled you up.

“You’ve disturbed my beauty rest.” You grumbled, standing up still wrapped in your blanket cocoon.

“You don’t need it.” He quipped, giving you a big smile when you gagged. Eddie knew you liked his cheesy compliments, but the fake disdain was still funny. “Besides, we gotta eat. It’s almost 10.”

You grimaced when he placed a sloppy kiss on your forehead. “Is that why I hear a pot boiling over?”

“Fuck, fuck, shit fuck.” Instead of immediately run to the kitchen, Eddie started to essentially sheep dog you along with him. Like you, in your still sleepy state, would be of any help. But it was nice to be considered.

[justagalwhowrites]

Lavender - Ch. 4

Trying to get back to normal after sleeping with your boss is easier said than done. A continuation of chapters 1-3, found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Length: 8.3k

Warnings: Mild violence (full fic is pretty smutty so Minors DNI). No use of Y/N.

“Ugh, I’m so jealous of how cute you always make your apartments,” your friend, Cassie, was splayed out like a starfish in the middle of your living room floor. “Why aren’t we roommates? I want a cute apartment.” 

“You had a cute apartment,” you replied, stretched out on your couch, one leg dangling off the side of it. “When I helped you unpack it. And then you trashed it within a week. Which is why we’re not roommates.” 

“I’d keep it clean if I had the right motivation,” she pouted. You smiled. 

“No you wouldn’t. I’d keep it clean and you’d reap the benefits. Which is why we’re not roommates.” 

“I hate that you’re right,” she sighed. You laughed. 

“But thank you for helping me settle in to this place,” you said, looking around your freshly unpacked living room, a pile of broken down boxes sitting by your front door. “It made it a lot easier, having an extra set of hands.” 

It was true. After Joel and Tommy had left the day before, you’d basically just cried half the night, sitting on your couch and staring into space and trying to think about anything besides what you’d been doing the night before. When you went to bed, you told yourself you were getting up and unpacking in the morning. You had to keep going. Just because things hadn’t worked out with Joel didn’t mean you got to derail your life, even if that’s all you really felt like doing. 

When Cassie called to see if you wanted help unpacking, you’d jumped on it. You didn’t have a ton of stuff but you had enough that it seemed a bit overwhelming to do on your own. She helped you get through every last box, setting knick-knacks out on the bookshelves and putting plates in cupboards and hanging dresses in your closet. Now, the job was done, the Janis Joplin album you’d been listening to past the end, a pleasant crackle the only thing coming from your newly-set up record player. 

“Happy to do anything to put off studying for finals,” she sighed, her southern drawl thick. You snorted. “Haven’t actually been able to talk with you much lately, how was it living with the DILF?” 

“Cass!” You gaped at her. She smirked. “Come on…” 

“What!” She laughed. “I’ve only met him like twice but dude is hot. Like if he was in hell I’d buy a one way ticket hot.” 

“You’re insane,” you groaned. 

“And I can’t believe you haven’t made a move on him,” she said. “I mean, the set up could not be better. Or more porn-y. You’re the hot babysitter! All young and sexy hanging around his house all the time. All you’d probably have to do is drop one hint and he’d be all over you…” 

“Turns out all I had to do was strip and get in his pool while tipsy,” you said before you could talk yourself out of it. Cassie sat up so fast it looked like she was on a spring. 

“YOU WHAT?” She shrieked. 

“Shhh!” You hissed, waving at her. “I just moved in, I’d rather my neighbors not hate me already…” 

“You fucked the DILF?” She sat up on her knees and scooted across the floor until she was in your face. 

“Can you call him something else, please?” You groaned. 

“Did you fuck him?” She demanded. “I’ll call him that again if you don’t spill.” 

“I… had sex with Joel,” you winced as you said it. She squealed, grabbing a pillow and smacking you with it. “Ow.” 

“When?” She demanded. “How? How was it? What are you doing now? Details, woman!” 

“Friday night?” You asked more than answered. 

“Oh my God,” she got up, lifting your legs off the couch and putting them on the floor so she could sit next to you. You sighed and sat up, tucking yourself into the corner and clutching a pillow to your stomach, your legs curled beside you. “Wait, was that your first time? That was your first time, right?” 

“Yeah,” you winced again. She grabbed the pillow and hit your legs with it again. 

“Oh. My. God.” She smacked you with the pillow on each word and you groaned, burying your face in the pillow on your lap. “How’d it happen?” 

You pulled your face from the pillow and sighed. 

“I made him dinner,” you said. “Well, I made him and Sarah dinner but Sarah ended up at a friend’s house for a slumber party so it was just the two of us…” 

“Sure, sure,” she nodded along. “You’re a great cook, not surprised that seduced him.” 

“I wasn’t trying to seduce him,” you groaned. “I swear, I really wasn’t…” 

“You’ve had a crush on the guy for more than a year,” she rolled her eyes. “It was at least subconscious seduction.” 

“Either way,” you sighed. “I’d been cooking and it was warm and I asked if I could swim but I didn’t have a swim suit…” 

“So you skinny dipped.” 

“No!” You glared at her. “I… jumped in the pool in my underwear.” 

“Girl!” 

“It wasn’t even sexy underwear!” You replied. “But I did… take my dress off in front of him.” 

“Oh my GOD you big slut!” Cassie was giddy. You groaned. “I love it, tell me more.” 

“He seemed to like me taking my clothes off?” You more asked than said. You were still uncertain about that, just how much he’d actually liked it. 

“Well duh,” she shrugged. “You’re a hot young thing, of course he liked it, he’s a guy.” 

“I didn’t think he saw me that way,” your hold on the pillow tightened. “But I saw how he was looking at me… or I thought I did, anyway. So he got in the pool too, in his boxers…” She shrieked before covering her mouth and nodding you on. “ And then… one thing led to another.” 

“So was it good?” She asked. You blushed and nodded. “OK, how good? Like, I know you don’t have much to compare it to but…” 

“Cass,” you said earnestly. “It was… holy shit. It was so fucking good.” 

“Did you…” she raised her eyebrows at you. You just frowned. She rolled her eyes. “Oh my God you’re such a virgin.” 

“Not anymore,” you smirked a little. She glared at you. 

“You know what I’m asking,” she said. “Did you finish? Or at least get close? It was your first time, you can’t really expect…” 

“Oh, I finished,” you cut her off. She looked surprised. 

“You seem awful certain of yourself there.” 

“Because I finished a lot,” you said, smiling in spite of yourself. “And hard. So many times, Cass.” 

She blinked in shock. 

“How many times?” She asked. You thought for a second. 

“Well, there was twice in the pool,” you said. “Then once in the shower and two more times in bed… I think that’s it.” 

“How many times did you fuck him?” She demanded. 

“Just twice!” You said, defensive. 

“And he got you off five times.” 

You just nodded. 

“Holy shit,” she gaped at you. “I’d need to fuck Chad like 15 times to have five orgasms, and that’s just if he hits his average.” 

You just shrugged, not really sure what else to say. 

“That’s it,” she sighed, shaking her head. “Now that Chad and I are done, next guy I date is going to be a DILF. I’m not settling for anything less than multiple orgasms from day one.” 

“I’m sorry about you and Chad,” you said. She waved you off. 

“I’m not dating anyone who has friends like Jeremy,” she scoffed. “Fuck that guy. Fuck both those guys. Besides, now I’m free to find myself a DILF. Anyway, what are you guys going to do now? Have you talked about it?”

“We’re not doing anything about it,” you sighed. “I’m his daughter’s nanny and he said he has to do what’s best for her. Which he’s right, he does. And that’s not me.” 

You tried to fight the tears that were welling up in you but you didn’t do a good job of it, pinching the bridge of your nose to keep from crying. 

“Oh, sweetie,” Cassie’s voice softened, her typical bravado gone. She pulled you against her, running her hand down your back. “I’m so sorry.” 

“I did it to myself,” you sniffed into her shoulder. “He’s a good dad, his daughter takes priority. I knew that, I knew this could happen….” 

“Are you still going to work for him?” She asked, still holding you. 

“Yeah,” you said. “At least, I sure hope so. I don’t have another way to pay rent this summer.” 

She pulled back from you, a sad look on her face. 

“Think you can handle that?” She asked. “Being around the guy you love and you lost your virginity to that often?” 

“I never said I loved him,” you wiped your cheeks. 

“Oh honey,” she smiled sadly. “C’mon. I’m not that dumb and I know you’re not that dumb.” 

“I’ll just…” you shrugged. “I’ll deal with it. I don’t have another way to pay rent and I really don’t want to just leave Sarah like that. I’m an adult. When you do adult stuff sometimes you have to deal with adult consequences. Right?” 

She just sighed. 

“I’m sleeping over,” she said. Before you opened your mouth to protest, she cut you off. “No, I am. You need ice cream and you need liquor and I need… to have an excuse to not study for my chem final.” You laughed and she smiled. “It’ll be better tomorrow. Promise.”

She was right, it was a bit better the next day. The hollow ache in your chest was better when she was there. Cassie got bourbon and insisted that it didn’t really count as drinking it when you just poured it over ice cream. You ordered a pizza loaded with mushrooms and extra cheese and watched your favorite romantic comedies before eventually passing out on the floor of your living room, surrounded by the glow of TV static and empty wine bottles. 

Finals felt particularly hard that year. You’d always been a good test taker and studying had never been a major hurdle for you, but every class felt like a slog as you fought to get through your last week of the semester. It was like your brain was somewhere else entirely. You could focus on the exam for a few minutes if you really forced yourself to, but the second your mind drifted even slightly, you were wondering what Joel was doing. What was he feeling? Was he missing you or had Friday night barely even registered for him? 

Sometimes, when your heart and mind wanted to be especially cruel, your thoughts drifted to Friday night. Just how full you’d felt and how empty you felt now. How he’d carefully, expertly drawn pleasure from your body like it was an art form. The way you’d felt closer to him than you had to any other person. And then he’d cut you off cold. Hadn’t even called. Maybe it really hadn’t mattered to him. Which was fine. Or so you tried to convince yourself. Just because it had been special for you doesn’t mean it had to be special for him and that was OK. It’s not like you hadn’t enjoyed it. That’s all he’d really owed you, you supposed. A good time in bed. And he’d definitely delivered on that. 

That’s what you decided the night before you were set to start looking after Sarah again. It had been two weeks since you’d last seen or heard from Joel. You weren’t sure what seeing him again would do to you. It wasn’t like you were some heartbroken little girl but you weren’t going to pretend like it wasn’t going to hurt. It definitely was. But, if you thought about it as a one night thing - just an exchange between two people who wanted to have some fun - that made it a bit better. Like you hadn’t been let down. 

“You can do this,” you said to yourself as you stared up at the ceiling. “It’s just work. You’ve always had a crush on Joel. This isn’t any different than before. You’ll hardly see the guy. You can do this.” 

Your resolve wavered a bit as you knocked on his front door the next morning. There was no response but you could hear voices inside. You glanced at your watch. 7:25 a.m. He’d need to leave for work in 20 minutes. You’d always just let yourself in the summer before… You tested the door. Unlocked.

“You can do this,” you said again, opening the front door. 

“But I want to go!” Sarah was all but yelling at her father. “It’s not fair!” 

“I don’t care if it’s fair or not,” Joel said back, sounding exasperated. “You’re not going, you’re too young…” 

“But everyone’s going!” She whined. 

You went further into the house, frowning as you fidgeted with the pendent around your neck. 

“Don’t care if everyone in Austin is goin’ because you ain’t,” Joel’s accent was getting thicker. You half smiled. This fight had probably been going for a minute. You found them both in Sarah’s room, the girl standing defiantly with her arms crossed, staring her father down, Joel with his hands on his hips looking like he wanted to be anywhere but there. 

“Where isn’t she going?” You asked, leaning against the doorway. Both of their heads whipped around to see you, Sarah’s face lighting up and Joel’s mouth just hanging open slightly. 

“Maybe you can convince him,” Sarah said. “He actually LISTENS to you…” 

“I’m not exactly a great parent convincer,” you scrunched your nose at her. “I just let you get away with more than he does so you think I am.” 

Joel was still gaping at you. 

“Sorry,” you said, meeting his gaze. “Door was open, I don’t think you heard me knock over the thermonuclear war happening in here so I just let myself in…” 

“That’s fine,” he said quickly. “Just… How’ve you been?” 

“Fine,” you shrugged. “Finals are over, so that’s nice.” 

“Good,” he said, nodding. “That’s… I never did… Well I didn’t go to school so I don’t know shit about finals but probably good to have them done.” 

“Yeah,” you said. “Biochem was rough but I got an A-.” 

You just looked at each other for a moment. 

“Where isn’t Sarah going?” You asked eventually. 

“A pool party,” Sarah said. “There’s a boy at school…” 

“And there it is,” Joel cut her off, turning his attention back to his daughter. “You’re not going, I can’t be there so you’re not going. You’re too young to be going and hanging out with some boy in your bathing suit…” 

“It’s not like we’re going to be by ourselves, Dad!” She whined. “You’re being so lame!” 

“Sarah,” he sighed. 

“Joel?” You said. He turned his head to face you so fast it almost made you jump. “Can I talk to you? Just… 30 seconds.” You looked at Sarah. “No eavesdropping.” 

You led the way to the living room, pulling Joel into the corner of the room furthest from Sarah’s bedroom door. 

“Are you only opposed because she’d be going unsupervised?” You asked. 

“Well, that and she’s too young for boy girl parties,” he muttered. “I thought I had another three years before I had to deal with this shit. Two at least.” 

“Well yeah, she’s too young for THAT kind of boy girl party but she’s 10,” you shrugged. “I think you’re trying to make this more than it is. She’s got that one piece, right?” 

“She’s gotten taller since last summer though…” he looked back towards her room. 

“OK,” you shrugged. “I’ll take her shopping, find her something that she likes that you’ll sign off on and I’ll take her to the party and make sure all the boys behave themselves.” 

“I can’t ask you to do that,” he shook his head. 

“You’re not,” you shrugged. “I’m offering. It’s going to be a party which means plenty of kids. She’ll probably feel very left out if she doesn’t get to go and all her friends are going to be talking about it all summer if they’re not all together again until the school year starts. You really want to deal with her being pissy at you that long? Because tween girls are a whole different animal, they can hold grudges like no other…”  

“Fine,” he sighed. “But if she’s not a damn angel this whole week…” 

“Sarah’s always an angel,” you smirked a bit at him. 

“We both know that ain’t true,” he muttered and then sighed. “But she’s a good kid. A great kid. I should give her more credit, huh?” 

“Yup,” you nodded. “You lucked out with that one, Miller.” 

“I did,” he sighed again, before looking down at you. “Hey, um…” 

“I’d rather not talk about it if that’s OK?” You said quickly. “Just go tell your kid that you’re the cool dad and then go to work, OK?” 

His eyes searched yours for a moment. 

“Yeah, OK.” 

When Joel told Sarah she could go to the pool party, it was like a switch flipped. She flung her arms around her dad’s neck, leaping at him so he had to catch her. He smiled over her shoulder at you and you smiled back. It was so easy, making them both happy. You could do that. 

When Joel left for work, things got easier. It was easy to pretend that the house was the same as it had always been - definitely hadn’t been fucked within an inch of your life in here, no sir. You fell into an easy rhythm with Sarah, walking down to the new playground they’d put in at the park down the road - this one had a really tall slide that the bigger kids were all about. Walking back for lunch. You went to the mall that day to shop for a swim suit instead of going to the library and you found a suit that Sarah loved (it was a two piece) that you thought Joel could tolerate (it was a tankini that covered everything but a sliver of skin between the top and the bottoms.) Joel got home a little after five and you all but ran out the door even as he tried to make awkward small talk with you. 

It was odd, feeling accomplished about just surviving the day. But you’d seen Joel again and hadn’t even cried. Yet. You probably would later but you’d deal with that when the time came. You decided you’d earned a treat but your bank account balance was a bit dismal, so you stopped at your favorite coffee shop. Yes, it just so happened to be the one you’d met Joel at the first time, so what? You could do that. Just go there without thinking about him. Much. 

You got yourself an iced lavender latte and at a small table at the back, tucking yourself into the corner of the bench side of it and pulling out your book. You’d purposely picked something that you’d have to focus on - “The Count of Monte Cristo” in the original French - so your mind wouldn’t wander to dangerous places. Like how Joel still smelled like sawdust. 

“That final was a bitch, wasn’t it?” 

You jumped a little, looking around for who spoke. There was a man in front of you, about your age, smiling with open eyes, leaning on the chair across from you. 

“I’m sorry?” You asked, lowering the book. 

“Biochem,” he said, giving you a sheepish half smile. “We weren’t in the same lab but we were in the same lecture hall. You always sat near the front, on the side of the room with the wonky projector? You always got to class earlier than me…” 

“Oh,” you weren’t really sure what to say about that. You smiled anyway. “Yeah, that sounds like me. And yeah, that final… woof.” 

“Right?” He took the seat across from you. “I thought I was toast. Heard a rumor you set the curve, though.” 

“Seems like a vicious lie to me,” you smiled a little broader. “Couldn’t possibly have a reliable source for that…” 

“Just the TA,” he winked. You put your book face down on the table, keeping your place. “Are you pre-med then?” 

“Just bio,” you replied. “I’d love to do pre-med but I just can’t wrap my head around taking out enough student loans to become a doctor.” 

“Damn,” he said. “And here I’d hoped we’d have more classes together.” 

“Why would you hope for a thing like that?” You asked, smiling a bit bigger. 

“The pre-med lecture halls look real boring after a while,” he leaned on the small table. “Course, maybe that’s a good thing. Fewer distractions.” 

“I’m a distraction?” You asked, raising a brow at him. 

“A nice one,” he nodded. “Because without you there, I usually set the curve.” 

You chatted with him for a while longer. His name was Brad and he claimed to have been trying to work up the courage to talk to you all semester. He took running into you at the coffee shop to be a sign that he should actually say something to you. You didn’t fight him on the idea. He seemed… nice. He was flirting with you and it felt good, even if you weren’t especially interested in him. 

“Are you free Friday?” He asked. “My roommate’s band is playing and I’ll be honest, I’d love to have someone suffer with me.” 

“I mean, since you’re selling it so hard,” you teased. He laughed. 

“They’re actually not bad,” he said. “I just don’t want to show up with the prettiest girl and have her run off with the lead guitarist. Also, my roommate’s the lead guitarist.” 

“Oh, so the bassist is fine?” You raised your eyebrows. 

“Yeah, that’d sting less,” he said. “Plus the bassist is kind of a dumbass and you’re smart so you’ll get bored quick. I’d still have a shot.” 

“Well so long as the important things are settled,” you smiled. “Then yeah, I’d like to come.” 

You exchanged information and you put his number in your book as a bookmark, gathering your things and heading home as the coffee shop closed. 

“You need to dress like a slut.” Cassie was rifling through your closet Thursday night. You’d managed to avoid Joel for almost the entire week, saying only a handful of words to him since Monday. You practically tripped over yourself trying to get out the door when he came home, desperate to put some distance between you. He wasn’t exactly trying to stop you, either, seemingly happy to get you out of his hair as soon as humanly possible. You kept trying to think about Brad. He was nice. He was smart. He was definitely interested. He was even pretty cute. He just… wasn’t Joel. 

“I’m not dressing like a slut,” you sighed, flat on your back on your bed, your head hanging over the side as you watched her go through your clothes. 

“Want to borrow something from me?” She said, ignoring you. “You need something that says ‘hey Brad, I’m open for business.’” 

“Do I?” You asked.

“Want to get over Joel?” She asked, cocking her head all the way to the side to try to meet your eyes. “Fuck Brad.” 

“It’s a first date,” you said. “I’m not fucking Brad.” 

“Fucked Joel without a first date,” she muttered. 

“Hey!” You said, indignant. “That’s different. We’d known each other a while.” 

“Well Brad’s been gazing longingly across a lecture hall at you for half a year,” she replied. “That almost counts.” 

“I wish I could be more casual about sex…” you began but she interrupted you. 

“The way you become more casual about sex is by having casual sex,” she said. “Sweetie, it’s not that big of a deal, I promise it’s not. At least think about it, something to get that man out of your system. You need it.” 

You sighed, thinking for the millionth time about how good he’d felt sinking into your body. How close you felt to him when talking in the dark, his skin on yours. 

“Yeah,” you signed, trying to imagine what it would be like to feel Brad’s lips on your skin. But he kept changing shape until it wasn’t Brad in your mind anymore. “I do need it.” 

Friday was Sarah’s pool party, making it a pretty damn easy day for you at work. You brought a bottle of nail polish and you sat on the deck of the pool as you just watched Sarah and Lizzie play with Charlie - the boy that had Joel so worried, a red headed kid who looked like he was made of more freckles than anything else - and about a dozen other kids you didn’t know. You gave yourself a mani-pedi poolside, trying to keep from getting soaked by splashing kids. 

“So are you Sarah’s step-mom?” A woman smiled stiffly down at you, a small pile of towels in her arms. 

“Oh, no,” you laughed a little. “Just the nanny.” 

“Oh!” She laughed back, her smile becoming a bit more genuine. She sat down next to you. “I’m Clare’s mom, she’s the one in the blue suit.” She pointed her daughter out. She was leaping into the water, blonde pigtails streaming out behind her. 

“She seems like a fun kid,” you smiled before going back to your toes. 

“She’s the best,” she said. You felt her watching you. “So you’re just the nanny then?” 

“Last time I checked,” you said absently, cleaning up the stray polish on your big toe. “Why?” 

“Oh, no big reason,” she laughed a little. “I’d just… well, I’d be lying if I said just about every single mom here hasn’t had her eye on Joel Miller.” 

“Really?” You said, looking over at her. 

“Oh heck yeah,” she laughed. “I mean, you’ve met him. Obviously. A man who looks that good, knows how to fix things around the house AND he’s a dedicated parent? My goodness.” 

“Mr. Miller is pretty great,” you smiled tightly, going back to your polish. “Really nice boss. And Sarah’s a dream. I lucked out.” 

“I’m just relieved you’re not the girlfriend,” she said. “Not for me, of course. Happily married for 13 years. But my friend Susan over there would be heartbroken. She sent me over to do recon.” 

You glanced up and saw a woman in a lime green one piece eyeing you from across the pool. She had to be 20 years older than you which gave her a good 10 years on Joel. 

“Feel free to report back that Mr. Miller is - as far as the nanny is aware - very much on the market,” you said, closing the bottle of nail polish. Sarah shoved Lizzie in the pool and then jumped in after her with a shriek. “Susan should definitely give it a go, though. Mr. Miller’s busy but I think he’d make time for the right person.” 

“Thanks so much, sweetie,” she smiled broadly. “So nice to meet you! Hope to see you at more of these types of things.” 

“You too,” you smiled politely. 

The pool party wound down but Sarah and Lizzie were getting on like a house on fire. You found Lizzie’s mom - a nice if frazzled woman named Margie who you’d met a few times before - and invited her daughter over to keep swimming at the Millers’ until Joel got home around six. 

“Oh, you’re a dream!” She pulled you into a hug. “I’ve been desperate to go run some errands without Lizzie tossing stuff in the cart…” 

“No problem,” you smiled. “Happy to take the girls.” 

They sang Britney Spears on the top of their lungs the whole drive home and practically hurled themselves into the pool the second they were in the door. You just laughed, going to sit outside to watch them play, bringing your book to keep you occupied. You’d almost survived the first week of summer. You hadn’t caved and tried to fuck Joel again. You could do this. You were almost positive. 

***

Joel heard the shriek of girls in the backyard the second his truck door opened. He sighed and shook his head. So Sarah had conned you into having a friend over, even after the party. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised. He just hoped to God you weren’t in the pool, too. He didn’t think he could take that. 

He was surprised he’d survived as long as he had. He’d missed you the second he left your apartment the day he helped move you in. Regretted cutting things off with you almost instantly. It seemed like the right thing to do but it felt wrong. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this fucking alone. 

If Sarah had been at a friend’s house that night, he’d have just shown up at your door. The only thing that stopped him was the fact that he couldn’t leave his 10-year-old daughter unsupervised. He wanted to apologize to you, beg you to give him a chance. He’d get down on his knees, he didn’t care. 

But just because he wanted that didn’t mean that it was the right thing to do. It would be confusing for Sarah if it didn’t work out - and how could it work out? You were 21 and a college student with a bright future, he was 32 and his life hadn’t been his own in a decade. Sarah had kept him close to home, reminded him of what he should do. What he had to do. 

Then, summer started. You were there in the morning as he tried to get out the door, you were there at night when he got home. He knew you weren’t trying to turn him on - if anything, you were avoiding him like the plague. You’d hardly said two words to him since Monday. But your legs in those shorts, your breasts in those dresses, the ribbons you put on the ends of your braids when you were trying to keep your hair off your neck in the heat. You were so soft and sweet and fucking good and there in his house and he knew how it felt to be inside you… 

You’d better not be in his fucking pool. 

You weren’t. But it was almost worse. You were laid out on a lounge chair on the deck, your back to the door, in white shorts so short he was sure he’d see your ass if you bent over in front of him. Your pale purple tank top clung to you and he could see a hint of a pink bra strap below. You were reading a book in French - because of course you were reading a book in fucking French - and there were ribbons on the ends of your braids. Your nails were pink. He was sure they hadn’t been pink when he saw you this morning. You’d painted your goddamn nails. Why had you painted your goddamn nails? 

“Dad!” Sarah clambered out of the pool in the new suit you’d helped her find. You noticed him then, not having realized he’d gotten home. “Thank you so so so so so so so so much, the party was SO fun…” 

She threw her wet body against him in a hug. 

“Glad you had fun,” he gave her a squeeze and glanced down at you. You were watching him, shielding your eyes from the sun with your hand, smiling gently. “She behave herself?” 

“Of course,” you said, gathering up some scrap paper from the table beside you and putting it in your book. One piece of paper looked like it had a phone number on it. Joel frowned. “It seemed like everyone had a blast, no trouble at the party whatsoever.” 

“Good,” Joel said. Whose number did you have? Was it some fucking boy’s? Was that why you’d painted your damn nails? You checked your watch. 

“Lizzie’s mom should be here any minute,” you said, getting up from the chair and crossing your arms over your body. Like that was going to stop him from remembering just what you looked like naked. “You’re home a bit earlier than I expected. I can hang out for a bit until she gets here, I don’t want to saddle you with watching an extra kid…” 

“No, you go on home,” he waved you off. He couldn’t handle you being here any longer than you had to be. “Get a start on the weekend.” 

“You’re sure?” You asked, absently running your fingers over your elbow. 

“Yeah,” he smiled. 

“Thanks,” you smiled tightly back at him. “Have a good weekend, Joel.” You looked back to the pool, where Sarah had jumped back in. “Bye Sarah!” 

“Bye!” She waved quickly before going back to splashing Lizzie. Joel watched you go until well after you’d closed the front door behind you and he couldn’t see you anymore. 

Margie came by to pick up Lizzie not long after you left, both adults required to herd both girls out of the pool. 

“Would Sarah want to come sleep over?” Margie asked as the girls giggled and wrote new verses to songs Joel was sure he’d heard coming from the boom box in Sarah’s room. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to put you out,” he shook his head. “Feels like Sarah’s over at y’all’s place as much as she is here…” 

“Honestly, it makes life easier on us,” she smiled. “Sarah’s such a great kid, she keeps Lizzie occupied so I can deal with her brothers. The boys are such a handful… don’t have twins if you can help it, Joel.” 

“I’ll try my best,” he smiled. “If you’re really OK with it…” 

“Really, you’d be doing me a favor,” she insisted. So Joel gave in. And he was home alone for the first time since he’d slept with you. 

He showered and fucked his hand to the memory of making you cum in that shower. He sat on his bed, staring at his phone, telling himself not to call you. He dialed the first four digits of your phone number and then hung up. 

After a while, he called Tommy. 

“Shit, Joel, everything OK?” 

“Why’s something gotta be wrong for me to call?” Joel frowned into the phone. 

“Because it’s Friday night and you never fuckin’ call on a Friday night,” Tommy said. 

“Well, I’m callin’ on a Friday night,” Joel pinched the bridge of his nose. “You doin’ anything fun tonight?” 

“Why?” Joel could hear Tommy’s frown through the phone. “Gonna come drag the party down?” 

“No,” he replied. “Sarah’s just at a friend’s house and I was thinking I should actually get out of my house for a change.” 

“Hell yeah you should!” Tommy said. “I’m going to go listen to some music, should be just your speed…” 

“I could do that,” Joel said. He hadn’t gone to listen to music in a while. That could be fun. It’d get his mind off you, at least. 

“I’ll be by in 20, pick you up,” Tommy said, sounding excited. “This will be good for you, Joel. Promise.” 

And that’s how Joel ended up at a bar in Austin, watching a bunch of fuckin’ kids tune guitars on a Friday night. 

“We’re getting old,” Tommy handed him a bottle of Shiner. “I remember not showing up places like this until after 10. Now it’s not worth the cover charge if we show up that late.” 

“Tell me about it,” Joel muttered, taking a swig. “Barely remember ever being that young.” 

“When you were that young you had a kid,” Tommy said. Joel snorted. He was right. 

They drank and watched as the bar filled up, the band switching to soundcheck not too long after they got there. Joel was actually starting to have fun when the band started playing - they weren’t bad - when he caught a flash of white out of the corner of his eye. He looked instinctively and thought, for half a second, that his eyes were playing tricks on him. But they weren’t. It was you. 

You hadn’t seen him yet. You were wearing one of your dresses - one he hadn’t seen before, white and satiny and form fitting, stopping several inches above your knees. You’d put another fucking ribbon in your hair and curled it, making it look so full and soft. He wanted to tangle his fingers in it, he wanted to ruin it. You were wearing sandals with thick heels that made you taller and your legs look longer and there was gloss on your lips - he caught a glimpse of it when you turned to talk to the man next to you. A man who put his hand on your lower back. Fuck. 

He guided you to a corner of the room, introduced you to the band waiting to play next. Joel could only see you from behind, the white of your dress reflecting the lights from the stage, the man’s hand slipping around your waist. His pinky drifted down, brushing the top of your ass, his thumb running over your ribs. Joel squeezed the beer bottle so hard he was worried it would break. 

“Oh shit, that’s the Kid!” Tommy said, realizing where Joel was looking and getting down from his stool. 

“No, wait,” Joel said, but he didn’t catch Tommy in time, his brother pushing through the increasingly crowded bar until he hugged you from behind. Joel could just watch, like a fucking train wreck, as you realized he was there and that Tommy was all but dragging you and your date over to their table. You said your polite goodbyes to the band and turned and said something to your date, your eyebrows knitted together. 

“Look who I found!” Tommy said proudly, taking his seat again. 

“Hey Joel,” you smiled tightly at him. 

“Hey Kid,” he replied, taking a drink of beer. Fuck, your tits in that dress. He wanted to kiss you, starting at your lips and working his way down until his mouth was on your cleavage. 

“This is Brad,” you said quickly. “Brad, this Joel. I nanny his daughter, Sarah.” 

“Oh, so you’re the boss!” Brad smiled. He was abnormally tall, taller than Joel, with hair that looked like he was trying to be in a fucking boy band. He was all limbs, gangly, clearly never done a day’s hard work in his life. And he was out with you. He held out a hand. “Good to meet you.” 

“You too.” 

Tommy looked back and forth between you, your date and Joel. 

“I need another beer,” he said quickly. “Kid, can I get you something? Joel? Brad?” 

“I’ll take a Shiner,” you smiled. 

“I’ll come with you,” Brad said, giving you a quick squeeze before looking to Joel. “Look out for my girl for a minute, will ya?” 

“Yeah,” Joel said. He took another drink. Tommy and Brad left the table and you watched them go for a moment before turning back to Joel. 

“I’m really sorry,” you said quickly, biting your lip. “I had no idea you’d be here, Brad’s roommate’s band is up next but we can go…” 

“It’s just a bar, Kid,” Joel shrugged. “No reason for anyone to go anywhere.” 

“Oh,” you deflated a bit. “OK. Thanks.” 

“Yup,” he said, taking another drink. He needed to be a lot drunker than this. So much drunker than this. You watched the band, your head bobbing in time to the music. 

“So you’re his girl now, huh?” Joel said after a moment. 

“It’s our first date,” you said, tone sharper than usual. He deserved that. “I don’t know what I am yet.” 

“Seems to think you’re his girl,” he replied. 

“It’s a figure of speech, Joel.” 

“You fucked ‘em yet?” He asked, taking another drink. He did it to be mean. He did it to push you away. He couldn’t just sit here with you this close, not like this. Your mouth fell open for a second before you fixed him with a glare. 

“You don’t get to just ask me that,” you snapped. There were tears in your eyes, clinging to your eyelashes that were longer and darker than usual. “You don’t get to judge me for that. Just because you got bored with me doesn’t mean everyone has, I can fuck whoever I want. It’s none of your damn business!” 

“One Shiner!” Brad slid his arm back around your waist, handing you one of the beers in his other hand. You took it from him, taking a drink while blinking back your tears. Brad hadn’t noticed but Tommy had, frowning and looking between you and Joel as he wordlessly set another beer in front of his brother. 

“Thank you,” you sniffed for a second and smiled up at him before turning back to the table. “I think I want to get up closer to the band, but it was good to see you Tommy, Joel. Have a good weekend, guys.” 

You laced your fingers in Brad’s and pulled him behind you toward the stage. Your body disappeared behind his, Brad pressing himself against your back. One of his hands moved around you. Joel didn’t want to think about the parts of you he was touching with that fucking hand. 

“What the fuck was that, Joel?” Tommy demanded. 

“What was what?” He asked, not looking at him. 

“That!” Tommy snapped. “With the Kid! Don’t treat me like I’m a fucking idiot, what happened between you two.” 

“Nothin’ happened.” 

“Well I know that’s bullshit,” he said. “What happened to ‘she’s off limits?’ Or was that rule just for me?” 

“She is off limits,” Joel growled. “She’s especially off limits for me.” 

“She know that?” Tommy demanded. 

“Drop it, Tommy,” Joel snapped, smacking the beer bottle down on the table with more force than he’d meant to. 

“Did you seriously fuck your nanny?” He hissed at him. Joel winced. “Jesus Christ Joel. You’ve got a lot of fuckin’ nerve…” 

“I swear to God Tommy I will lay you out,” Joel said. “Don’t fuckin’ tempt me.” 

“What’d you do, convince her you loved her and then bail?” He asked. “Doubt a sweet girl like that woulda just jumped in bed with the dad of one of the kids she looks after, so what’d you tell her?” 

“Tommy,” Joel growled. 

“Was it before or after you told me she was off limits?” He demanded. “You worried I’d actually do right by her and she’d get wise to your shit? Just how drunk’d you have to get her to get her into bed with you?” 

Joel snapped. He stood up so fast the stool flew to the ground with a crash and he punched Tommy across the cheek, sending the younger man sprawling into the table next to him. It was like the whole bar froze. The band stopped playing, an eerie silence falling. Joel flexed his hand as his brother staggered back to his feet, holding his face. 

“You’re a fuckin’ asshole, Joel,” he said, breathless. 

Joel looked up and immediately found your face in the crowd around the stage. Brad’s arms were around you, holding you back. Your eyes were wide, your mouth open in shock. Or maybe horror. He couldn’t quite tell. 

“C’mon man,” a bouncer grabbed Joel’s shoulder but he shrugged it off. 

“It’s cool,” Tommy glared at Joel as he said it. “Just my brother. He’s a dick. We’re goin’.” 

Joel walked straight past Tommy’s truck, shoving the hand he’d hit him with in his pocket. 

“Where the fuck you goin’ asshole?” Tommy yelled after him. Joel ignored him. Tommy ran and caught him, his hand on his shoulder pulling him around to face him. Joel got ready to punch him again but Tommy’s hands went up. “Don’t make this worse than it is. You want some meddling asshole to call the fuckin’ cops?” 

Joel dropped his fist, glaring at his brother. 

“You made a goddamn fool out of yourself,” he said, his cheek already bruising. “And you fuckin’ deserved it. The hell were you thinking, messing with that girl?” 

Joel didn’t say anything, just went back and climbed in the passenger seat of Tommy’s truck. 

The drive to Joel’s was silent and he hoped that was the end of it. But it wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t. Tommy followed him inside, either stupid as hell or itching for a fight. 

“What happened, Joel?” He asked, voice calm for the first time since the bar. “With you and her.” 

“Sarah was at a friend’s place,” he said, voice pained. “We had some wine… Fuck, Tommy, I didn’t mean for it to happen.” 

“Shit,” he sighed, sitting on the couch. “When was this?” 

“Few weeks back,” Joel muttered. 

“And she’s still working for you?” Tommy asked. Joel just nodded. “And nothing’s happened since?” 

“No,” Joel said. 

“Because you’re not interested?” He asked. Joel glared at him. “Yeah, thought that might be the case.”

“Don’t matter how I feel about it,” he sighed. “She’s too young, too big a future ahead of her to get bogged down with me. And Sarah… Sarah fuckin’ loves her. I couldn’t ruin that for her just because I couldn’t keep it in my pants and I…” 

Joel went quiet. 

“And you what.”

“I think… I think I love her, Tommy,” Joel groaned. “I just want her here all the damn time. Want to hear her voice and see her things and smell her hair. I want her leaving her fuckin’ hair in my damn shower every day, I kept finding it for days after and I miss it. Keep hoping I’ll find more sometime. And that guy… He didn’t seem bad, not like that last fuckin’ guy but I don’t trust him, don’t trust any of them, not with her.”  

“You can’t live like this, Joel,” Tommy said quietly. “Obviously. You can’t just go punching people because you’re a jealous asshole. You either need to get away from her entirely - which means cutting her out of Sarah’s life, too - or you need to figure your shit out. Either get over her or get with her - if she’ll still have you.” 

Tommy stood up, clapping Joel on the shoulder. 

“Sorry I hit you,” Joel muttered. 

“Rather get punched in the face than deal with the shit you’ve got goin’ on,” Tommy smiled a bit. “You’ll get it together.” 

“Thanks.” 

He walked him out, locking the door behind him. 

Joel wasn’t any calmer when Tommy left. He paced the living room for a bit before stepping out back, staring down at the pool, the place he’d stood the first time he’d kissed you. You were so fucking beautiful. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been quite as happy as that night, felt quite so right with the world. He knew he should regret it but he couldn’t, he couldn’t bring himself to regret a damn thing when it led to touching you. 

“Fuck it,” he muttered, going back inside and grabbing his keys. 

He made it to your place in less than 10 minutes, driving faster than he should have. Your car was in the lot but that didn’t mean much if you were still out with that guy. Or - fuck - what if you’d brought him back here. Didn’t matter, he’d made up his mind. If the guy was in your apartment, he wouldn’t punch him. It’d be hard, but he wouldn’t. 

He took the stairs up to your door two at a time and started knocking before he came to a stop in front of it. But there was no response. He tried knocking again. Nothing. 

Joel leaned out over the railing, around to where the windows to your apartment would be. All the lights looked to be off. So you were still out with Brad. Maybe you’d gone back to his place. After what he’d said to you that night, he wouldn’t blame you. 

He sat down, back against the wall next to your door, crossing his arms and leaning his head back against the siding. He closed his eyes. He’d just be here when you got home. You’d have to come home sometime. He could wait. For you, he had all the time in the world. 

Luckily, he didn’t have to wait that long. He heard you before he saw you. 

“It was nuts, Cass,” you were trying to be quiet as you climbed the stairs to your apartment. “I don’t know what the hell happened. I tried to explain it to Brad but I have no idea what he thinks. Probably that my boss is insane…” 

You were at the top of the stairs now, holding your phone to your ear with one hand, a small orange and white Whataburger cup clutched tight in the other. You stared at Joel for a second. 

“Cass?” You said, still staring at him as he got to his feet. “Call you in the morning.” 

You flipped the phone shut, putting it in your bag and getting out your keys, watching Joel the whole time like you thought he was a wild animal who could do something unhinged at any moment. Which, he figured, was fair. 

“You’ve got some nerve,” you said, keeping your eyes on him as you went to your door and put the keys in the deadbolt, stopping short of opening it. 

“I know,” he said. “Can we talk?” 

You watched him for a moment before you sighed and opened your door, welcoming him in. 

[moonlightmile12]

“My job started in California, where the Stones lived for three months while finishing their album Exile on Main Street. The whole of Los Angeles seemed gripped by Stones fever, and fans were desperately searching for their idols' hideaway. But no one had traced them to Beverly Hills' Stone Canyon, where they all lived on the same block.

My life with them soon settled into an uneasy routine. Cooking itself was no simple matter...I'd be bringing the sauce to the crucial stage when one of the Micks would saunter in and shove a child in my arms. I became an expert one-armed cook.

[Anita Pallenberg] was pregnant with her second child when we met. We quickly became friends and often took long walks in the Canyon, where she would reminisce about the Stones' early days. "Everything was fresh then," she'd say. "We weren't snobby or pretentious and we didn't take on airs. Now the only thing the women are interested in doing is outdressing and outdoing each other."

How right she was - I soon saw many examples of what she meant. The most hilarious was Rose's relentless aping of Bianca. At one time Bianca started wearing riding suits and carrying a little riding crop, which she used to emphasize what she was saying. So Rose got one, too. I was playing on the floor with Chloe once when they both came in - identically dressed. When Bianca started lashing a pillow with her whip, Rose attacked a chair with hers. Bianca never seemed to realize she was being mimicked, and Rose never realized how ridiculous she looked.

Anita's own looks - and Keith's, for that matter - were marred by awful black teeth. This, she explained, was a side effect of heroin. "We've both decided not to have our teeth fixed," she said. "We want to leave something ugly and unglamorous about ourselves to show people like Bianca and Rose we're not trying to fake the agony."

Another thing that took some getting used to was the rolled-up $20 and $50 bills I'd find stuffed in the sofa. I was a bit naïve at the time. Rose had to tell me they were used to snort cocaine. I'd also been finding little piles of what looked like talc, and I'd promptly vacuum them up. When Rose caught me doing this, she said, "Janie, we like you very much, but you're costing us a great deal of money. You just sucked about a gram of coke into the hoover."

Mick Taylor was developing serious problems. He'd walk around the house muttering about his loneliness, worrying that the group was taking over his life. The atmosphere of tension got worse. He would spend hours playing the same riff over and over on the piano, while Rose would march about slamming doors. Once she actually collapsed in my arms, crying about not being married to Mick, anxious about the responsibility of the child.

As bad as the London days were, they were carefree compared to the next stage. To rehearse for their coming tour, the Stones had rented a big, empty movie theater in Geneva. With the exception of Bianca, the whole entourage flew to Switzerland.

Leaving London was especially disastrous for Mick Taylor. Cooped up in a hotel room, he and Rose fought all the time. At one point, Rose took me aside. "Mick has just seen a doctor," she confided, "and we all have to be very careful. He's on the border of a nervous breakdown." That touched me off - I became quite depressed. For the first time, I began to wonder how long I could hold out in this madness. I was getting much too involved in everyone's problems.

For me, the final blow came soon afterward, when Mick Taylor cracked up. One night he took his favorite guitar - the one he'd used for Exile on Main Street - smashed it over a vase of flowers, then spent the rest of the night weeping on the edge of his bed.

It was time to take stock of my life, especially of my life with Chloe. The child was nearly two then, still not talking, and developing the nervous habit of pulling out her short blonde hair. It was apparent that she wasn't seeing enough of her mother, and was getting too attached to me. A few days after Mick smashed his guitar, I said my goodbyes.”

Janie Villiers

[ophie-writes]

Cuddle Headcanons

Me? Posting twice in like a day?? Woah.

I said I'd post some cuddle HCs, and here are what came to mind for J.D., Mark, and Brian! I had sm fun thinking these out!!

Warnings: nsfw mention, otherwise nothing else!

Words: 758

Jason Dean

We know this boy is HANDSY

He already had an arm around you at pretty much all times.

His abandonment issues manifest in a million different ways, but one of them is holding you tight. Even when it’s clear to you that you’re not going anywhere, there’s a part of him that thinks you’re gonna leave, so he’s holding you as snug as possible.

It’s not uncomfortable per se, but you feel safe wrapped up in his arms.

You’re gonna get a lot of hugs from behind, sometimes when you least expect them.

Which by default means J.D. is the big spoon of course. Expect plenty of neck kisses and soft words of praise mumbled in your ear while his arms are around your waist.

Once he feels more confident in the idea that you’re sticking with him long term, he’s a bit more soft around you.

Sure, he’s still as dominating as ever, and is still pulling you aside for sloppy makeouts (and quickies) wherever and whenever.

But J.D. starts feeling more comfortable being on the receiving end of cuddles.

His back facing your chest in bed, with one hand on his chest under his arm, and the other running your fingers through his hair.

J.D. has never really been much of a sleeper, but he can find some much needed rest knowing that he’s the one who’s safe in your arms.

Mark Hunter

Being on top of this boy however you can is your favorite thing to do.

Mark shares in the sentiment.

He doesn't ever have a problem with holding your weight either. every time you brought it up he'd say you were like a cuddly weighted blanket.

It doesn’t matter where you’re sitting or laying down, he’s basically your pillow.

How are you not supposed to lie on his chest when he has such soft sweaters and flannels? His worn jeans are the perfect place to rest your head when he’s broadcasting on the couch.

Once when your head was in his lap, he plopped a small pile of letters on your stomach and started reading from them. It took everything in your power not to laugh and make them topple over.

Another instance of head to lap contact was being driven back from dinner after one of Nora’s art shows. Your social battery was dead, and you all had stuck around at the diner for a couple of hours.

Nora and Janie took the front while you and Mark were in the back. You were exhausted, but found the strength to play twister with your seatbelt, and move it about so that you could lay horizontally across the back seats, head on Mark’s lap.

He took the opportunity to trace your features. Index finger running along the bridge of your nose, your jawline, and making circles around your cheeks,

Next thing you knew, you were back home, and falling asleep on his chest again.

Brian Kelly

Brian is also the kind of guy who’d kinda always wanna be touching you in some way.

He’s not possessive like J.D.

Just,,,, fidgety???

And you’re right there, so expect near constant hand holding, and things of the like.

Cuddling with Brian is unconventional as all hell, but it’s adorable.

It’s always a mess of different limbs, but you make it work.

Someone’s leg always happens to find a way over someone else’s, hands are usually locked tight, and heads are resting wherever there’s space.

There are some cuddle positions that just stick though.

Like don’t get me wrong, you two can get comfy anywhere but one of your favorite positions is lying with your head on his abdomen, the rest of your body between his legs, with one of your own legs casually draped over one of his.

You utilize this position whenever possible. Whether it’s chilling at your place watching a movie, or capping the day off at the skate park at sunset watching the others have their fun.

It also gives Brian free hands to mess with you.

Man’s hands are in your hair, holding your hands, booping your nose over and over, or cupping your face and squishing it around until you both just collapse into a pile of giggles and a tickle fight ensues.

When you’re sleeping, it's kind of an equally chaotic experience. Brian is absolutely the type to splay out on the whole bed. And you know what? Fine. So will you!

Once again, another tangled mess of arms and legs and kisses.

[liron-ao3]

Cuddle pile

Based on this prompt

Magnus leans back in the rattan chair and chooses 'truth'.

"Are you a top or a bottom?" Jace asks.

Alec hits his parabatai over the head with one of the firm pillows from the sofa. They started to play stupid party games after realising that the born and raised shadowhunters never had heard of them. Alec is already regretting agreeing to it.

"Ouch!" Jace hisses, rubbing the painful spot. "It's just a question."

"He needs to answer," Izzy points out, sounding as if she were a judge proclaiming a sentence, and takes a sip from her wine glass.

"I have no problem answering that," Magnus says. Alec grabs his arm, eyes full of concern, but his boyfriend pats his hand. "It's okay, Alexander. I'm not ashamed of who I am." He leans closer to Jace and says, "It depends on the cuddle pile. I don't want too many people on top of me. But if it's six or less, I'm fine being at the bottom."

Jace blinks at him while Clary falls giggling against her boyfriend's shoulder.

"That's not what I meant," Jace grumbles.

"Wait," Simon calls. "You're fine with six people on top of you? I know you're immortal, but as a warlock you still need to breathe, right?"

"Of course. But I actually like it sometimes—the pressure, the surrender, the feeling of being one with everyone around. Back in the 1960s, we did it all the time. We cuddled a lot. I think at some point I had The Stones and The Beatles all over me, if you know what I mean," Magnus says and winks at Simon.

"You married the best and worst liar of all time, bro," Jace chuckles.

"I'm not lying, Jonathan. I'm embellishing the truth," Magnus says and snaps his fingers. Two photographs appear in his hand, one showing Paul McCartney kissing Magnus' cheek, the other Janis Joplin sleeping wrapped over his chest.

"Damn!" Simon breathes.

"Did you sleep with them?" Clary blurts out.

"A gentleman never tells, biscuit," Magnus replies and cuddles against his husband.

"Smooth," Alec whispers into his ear.

"I always am, my love."

"I still don't believe it. No one can enjoy lying buried under a pile of people," Jace says, mirth sparkling in his eyes.

"Is that a challenge, Mr Herondale?"

"It sure is, Mr Lightwood-Bane."

Magnus snaps his fingers, and the coffee table is replaced with a pile of pillows.

Magnus swirls around elegantly and lands in it with a giggle.

"Challenge accepted," he chuckles.

Alec rolls his eyes but joins him. Izzy, Clary, and Simon follow soon after, building a giggling and snickering pile of bodies.

"Come, Jonathan. I can take it."

"Why can't you say anything without sounding naughty?" Jace asks.

"It's a natural talent," Magnus quips.

"C'mere," Alec orders. "We all know you want to."

Jace rolls his eyes. "This is ridiculous."

"You started it," Magnus points out.

Jace shakes his head and carefully lowers himself onto Simon's back.

"Told you I'm a bottom."

[maybeimamuppet]

day 1: cuddles

oooh first chapter yaaaay!

a note: sometimes their ages just. aren't important to the plot. this is one of them! so. i imagined cady as ~21 and janis as ~22, but y'all can do whatever you want :)

enjoy!

—————-

Janis wakes to a weight on her back and fingers drumming on her cheeks.

"Caddy. It's seven in the morning. Sleep."

"But it's Christmas!" Cady chirps.

"It's December first!"

"I just wanna cuddle," Cady pouts. "Where's your Christmas spirit?"

"About two weeks away," Janis grumbles into her pillow. "C'mere." Cady huffs crankily as Janis shifts, tipping her onto the bed next to her and pulling her into a cuddle. "There. Cuddle and sleep."

"Noooo," Cady whines, but Janis is already latched onto her like an octopus and snoring into her ear. "Fine. You're lucky you're cute when you sleep."

She kisses Janis' nose gently and giggles as it wrinkles before nuzzling into her girlfriend and drifting off to sleep again.

—-

When Janis wakes the second time, Cady is nowhere to be found. "Caddy? Where'd you go?"

"Good morning sleepyhead," Cady chuckles, coming back into the room and handing over a mug of coffee made just the way Janis likes it.

"Thank you," Janis says, voice still rough with sleep as she rubs her eyes and takes it. "You look cute."

"Thanks!" Cady says, putting her hands on her hips with an adorable smile. She really does look cute, decked in her adorable snowman onesie. "It's so soft, feel it."

She holds out a sleeve for Janis to feel, but Janis sneakily puts her cup down and hauls her back on top of her. Cady shrieks in surprise, but quickly cuddles in.

"Let's just stay like this," Janis mumbles into her neck.

"That sounds nice," Cady agrees. "But I have a better idea."

"No, come back," Janis whines when Cady removes herself and reaches for her.

"Just trust me, we can cuddle all day after," Cady coaxes. Janis grumbles crankily as she throws the covers off and goes to her girlfriend. "Get all the pillows and blankets you can carry and meet me in the living room."

"Wh-" Janis tries to ask, getting cut off by a kiss as Cady dashes away.

-

"Oh my god, Janis," Cady laughs when Janis comes staggering out of the bedroom wrapped in their entire bedspread, tipping from side to side under the weight of it. Cady heads over and tugs the sheet away so she can see her face. "Hi."

"Hi," Janis grunts, stumbling her way to the couch and dropping everything.

"I didn't mean all at once, lovey," Cady chuckles.

"You said all I could carry," Janis retaliates.

"I guess I did. Either way it saves time. Come on," Cady says, grabbing about half and opening the door to the balcony.

"Outside? It's cold," Janis says in confusion. Cady plops her pile of blankets on the balcony and comes back to grab more.

"I'll keep you warm," she purrs, opening the door again.

Janis follows in confusion. "What are you scheming?"

"Just trust me," Cady says, beginning to make one of her little nests. Janis hands over more supplies until it's cushy enough for Cady's standards. "There! Now get your cute butt over here and let me love you."

"You think my butt is cute?"

"I think all of you is cute," Cady replies, holding Janis tight against her and wrapping them both in their thickest, warmest blanket. "My little Jellybean."

Janis gives a flustered squeak and hides her face in Cady's chest. Cady laughs and kisses her forehead, bringing a hand up to fiddle with Janis' hair.

"That's nice," Janis mumbles, muffled by Cady's warm skin.

"Don't go to sleep again, we just woke up," Cady murmurs back. Janis groans into her chest.

"Sleepy."

"You're always sleepy," Cady giggles. "I know how to wake you up."

"Oh?" Janis asks interestedly. Maybe it's something nice. Like a morning make out session, those are always fun. Cady holds her hand up and wiggles her fingers ominously. "No."

"I think so," Cady says. Her hand inches towards Janis' neck. Janis squeals and hunches up her shoulders. "I haven't even touched you yet!"

"You're going to," Janis defends. "I'm preparing myself."

"And you think you're not cute," Cady chuckles as she finally makes contact and wriggles her hand all over Janis' ribs. Janis shrieks and tries to wiggle away, but Cady won't let her go. "You have the best laugh."

"Mercy!" Janis begs, laughing hysterically and trying to grab Cady's hand so she'll stop. "I can't breathe!"

"Okay, okay," Cady giggles. "Can't have you dying on me."

"Like this?" Janis says, rolling over to pin Cady beneath her and going limp.

"Yeah," Cady giggles, wrapping herself around Janis and smiling as Janis kisses the side of her neck. "But with significantly more emotional distress on my part."

"Hmm," Janis hums. "I'll try really hard not to."

"Good," Cady says. "I love you."

Janis props herself up on her elbows and bends down to kiss her. Cady reciprocates eagerly, still clinging to Janis like a little sloth and refusing to let her pull away. She gently runs her tongue along the seam of Janis' lips, and angles her head to deepen the kiss when Janis allows her entry.

They lie there like that for a long time, as the wind blows around them and little snowflakes drift down from the sky. They just hold each other, warmed by their love and able to ignore the cold, tasting the spirit of Christmas on each other's lips.

"I love you too," Janis murmurs when they finally break apart. "I love you so much."

"Kiss me again," Cady says. Janis smirks slightly and cups her neck.

"Happily."

—————-

hope you enjoyed!!

see you tomorrow :D

[badlydrawn-denathrius]

(( Also oh my frickin' God there's a Denny body pillow in Jani's pile I love iiiit. 13/10. ))

Well spotted! I figured it would be a good place to shove some little Easter Eggs for haha funnies. :3 ))

[ts-agere-stuff]

Can you write the sides doing a video, then one of them slips, and Virgil

> (sent the other by mistake lol) and virgil who is the cg just helps them?

TONGUE TIED

Tw- inability to speak

Summary- Janus regresses while filming and can’t get a single word out, so Virgil has to get them out. 

Three minutes. Three minutes, then they could go off and do what they needed. At least they could if they could just speak right. Janus was trying one line. They just had one line and it wasn’t even a hard one, they just couldn’t say it. Their mouth wouldn’t form the word. They just rolled their eyes at themself, then gestured for the others to just give them a minute. Janus tried talking to themself, but the highest their voice would go was a mumble. The other sides were getting concerned, which just made them more frustrated, which just made it more and more hard to talk. Virgil sighed, “Come on.” he went over and offered a hand to Janus, “you probably need something. Ya’ll can continue, Roman, don’t you dare twist your tongue too.”

Roman pouted and rolled his eyes as Virgil and Janus sank out.

---- Virgil took a breath and sat on the ground with Janus, who was avoiding eye contact, “tongue?” He asked,

“Ha-du-l-ley-” Janus shoved their face into their hands and blew a long raspberry, then tried again, starting to tear up.

Virgil shook his head and cupped Janus’s face. 

Janus immediately pulled away and looked down.

Virgil nodded, “alright, alright, i won’t touch you.”

Janus took a breath, then got up and started looking around Virgil’s room.

“Like seven?” Virgil asked.

“sssssip’Ossssss.” Janus lit up at that word coming out even slightly well. 

Virgil smiled, “you weren’t much of a talker then, were you? Guess you were saving all of your words for our boyfriend.”

Janus stuck their tongue out and stomped their feet. 

Virgil nodded and handed over a plush to Janus, “let’s see… what do you feel like?” 

Janus pet the plush, then summoned a blanket with spongebob on it. 

Virgil rolled his eyes, “alright, plankton.”

Janus let out a hissy giggle, then shook their head, trying to sound a bit more evil in their laugh. 

Virgil smiled, then threw the pillows and blankets on the bed, “Come on, mister word savers gonna be here any minute. Gotta get you wrapped up in a cocoon before he starts some poetry.”

Janus pouted, laying on the bed, making grabby hands. Virgil stared for a moment, “thought you didn’t want held.”

“No bbbb-” THey huffed and tried again. Then again. Then again. They could not get the word right and it was so frustrating. They started bouncing angrily at the words, whining and shaking their head. Virgil sat next to Janus, “hey- hey- hey-. Janus, it’s alright, Jay. Here.” He handed over a pile of foam letters. Janus stared at the letters for a moment, then took a breath and started rearranging all of the letters to say ‘no scin’. 

Virgil took a breath, “yeah, you’re really small.”

Janus pouted at that and whined for hugs. 

Virgil nodded and flopped onto Janus, which Janus happily giggled to before fumbling for a remote. 

Roman slowly opened the door, “Jany, you feeling okay?”

Janus hid their face into their hat.

Virgil looked up, “Roman, it’s okay. Yeah, come on, Jan probaby wants to hear a story about something.”

Janus let in a deep breath that clearly meant, yes, they did want to hear a story.

Roman took a breath and pulled a chair up, then took Virgil’s hand, “There was once two knights, both of the queen, sent to defeat the monster….”

Roman continued on with his story long after Janus had fallen asleep.

Virgil sighed, “you need to stop listening to the lizard poly podcast.” “Hey, I like my rep where I can get it.” Roman laughed and kissed both of their heads, then crawled onto Virgil and tried sleeping.

[sprnklersplashes]

written in ink (cadnis one-shot)

Ever since Janis could read, she's known one of the biggest plot twists in Harry Potter. Not because she worked it out, but because it's been tattooed on her skin all her life. Her soulmate spoiled Dumbedore's death for her.

The AU where the first words you hear your soulmate say are tattooed on your body, Cadnis style.

Since she was old enough to read, Janis had wondered what her soulmate’s first words to her could mean. It’s pretty scary, especially for a kid, knowing that the first words you ever hear your soulmate saying will be about someone dying. She’s puzzled over who the future death might be even more than she has about who her future soulmate might be. She doesn’t want to ask her parents for fear it’s someone close to them, nor does she think to look it up at her young age and so for the first few years of her life her world is dominated by one, huge, unavoidable question; who in her future dies, and what they are to her soulmate.

But then she’s old enough to know about Harry Potter, and she doesn’t need to wonder any more.

Her soulmate tattoo, etched in black across her ribs, reads I just can’t believe Dumbledore died.

She got two pages into Philosopher’s Stone before she made the connection and flung the book across her bedroom, her eyes popping out of her head and her jaw on the floor. The first question on her mind is “what kind of insane author kills off the main character’s mentor?”, but soon she’ll learn that frankly, that is the least of JK Rowling’s problems. The second question is “so… my soulmate is into Harry Potter?”. And then the third question comes slowly, creeping into her brain with tentative steps and simmering excitement, “so when do I get to meet them?”.

She doesn’t get a quick answer to that last one.

It’s a bit of a pain really, having a major spoiler to everyone’s favourite book series permanently written on her body. For one, there’s always a surge of pity in her chest when she sees people with the books, oblivious to the impending death of a beloved parental figure. Like God’s cursed her with forbidden knowledge that places her above her classmates, where she can watch them live in blissful ignorance until they reach the fated book or movie or just Google it because they’re too impatient. Janis is denied that luxury, her knowing of events yet to come too much for her to even give the books a chance. They’re not worth the way her heart clenches painfully in her chest whenever the wise old wizard comes in.

Okay that was an exaggeration. There are far better books out there that she’s happy to read. But that doesn’t change how the words seem to burn on her skin. No one likes spoilers after all.  So when she changes before PE it’s in half the time it takes the other girls and she covers it up with make-up during the summer. And then kids start to get nosy and what should be an intimate secret is tossed around carelessly, and she starts teaching herself the art of lying.

Regina’s the one who asks first. They’re 12 and it’s a sleepover and she’s sprawled across her bed, her chin resting on her closed fist, her eyes glinting dangerously in the half-light.

“Okay Janis. Truth or dare.”

“Truth,” she chooses. She’s not scared of dares, but she’s smart enough to know better than to take a dare from her.

“Okay,” she says, her lips curling into a sly smirk, one that makes Janis bite on the inside of her cheek and wish she could take it back. Sometimes she forgets how slippery Regina can be, especially on days like today when she’s been nothing but bouncy and fun and kind. She forgot that this side to her best friend even existed, the side that takes jokes too far and tries to pry Janis open like she’s a treasure chest. All that comes back to her when she tosses her perfect hair over her shoulder and raises her eyebrow, and she’s reminded that sometimes she doesn’t actually like hanging out with Regina.

She’s also reminded that she hates Truth or Dare.

“What does your soulmate tattoo say?”

“That’s private,” Janis reminds her, hugging the pillow tighter against her chest. “You’re only meant to tell your soulmate.”

“I know,” she scoffs, rolling off the bed and shuffling towards Janis. “But everyone tells people. And if you can’t tell me, your best friend, who can you tell?” Her tone is like the satin sheets on her bed, soft and comforting and familiar that Janis almost falls for it and tells her. Besides, Regina doesn’t even read Harry Potter, right? So it’s not like she would care… But other people might. And Regina might tell other people. Or Gretchen. Or Karen. Most likely Karen. And Karen could tell who-knows-who, who could tell who-knows-who, and then before she knows it she’s ruined Harry Potter for her entire grade. And then anything could happen to her. Taylor Wedell got her head shoved in a toilet for spoiling the end of Gossip Girl. And Janis really likes her head.

“I’m not telling, Regina,” she says, shrugging. “I’m sorry. That’s private.”

But there’s no word Regina George hates more than ‘no’. Her eyes narrow and her face falls into a pout even as she shrugs it off, telling Janis that she’s making a big deal out of nothing and if she won’t tell her that’s her problem. Janis tries to make it up to her, saying that she can ask anything else, but Regina won’t listen, deciding she wants to braid Karen’s hair instead.

They spend the rest of the night in a prickly silence and it takes a week before Regina returns to normal after that.

Damian is her next friend and he’s far better company than Regina is. He shows her his tattoo of his own volition, proudly extending his arm so she can see the words ‘can you do that again?’ written there in a rushed scribble. He confesses that he’s compared it with every other boy’s notes in their year, trying to see if he’s already met his other half and just forgot.

“I don’t think you can do that,” she tells him as they walk home from school one day, aged fourteen. “My mom said that when my dad first spoke to her it changed everything else. Like the minute she heard those words, nothing else mattered. She described it as some flower opening up in her chest.” She rolls her eyes a little, unsure if she’s inclined to believe all that. “It was really poetic.”

“Sounds beautiful,” he remarks, kicking up a pile of leaves. “Is that why you won’t tell me yours?”

“Sort of,” she sighs. “Hey, do you like Harry Potter?”

“I guess,” he replies. “I mean I’m more of a fan of the lore than of the books itself, what’s your house, I’m a Hufflepuff-”

It’s months later when they watch the sixth movie for the first time. The two of them on the sofa in Damian’s basement, Janis half-paying attention, half-working on a drawing. Damian is on the edge of the couch, his eyes wide and his hand slapping Janis’ leg every ten minutes. Despite telling herself she doesn’t care, she does, but it isn’t in the way Damian thinks she does. Her heart hammers against her ribs through the whole movie and nearly stops in every scene Dumbledore is in as she wonders if this is it, the moment she’s had carved into her skin her whole life.

She lets out a loud, relieved “finally!” when he eventually up and dies, prompting Damian to turn to her with his mouth open and his eyebrows shot up to the ceiling, a silent ‘Janis, what the fuck’ on his face.

And it’s then she tells him, tells him about the words on her chest and the secret she’s kept and how someone she’s never met ruined one of the biggest franchises in pop culture for her.

Damian laughs so hard his cat has to run over and check he’s not dead.

                                                                                                    *****

Janis sits on her desk in the art room, studying her piece from every new angle she can find. Not many people are in, given that it’s only the second week of junior year, which gives her a space to work on her own. Thanks to her spending the better part of her freshman and sophomore lunch periods in here, the art teacher gives her free range over the place and leaves for her cigarette breaks when she comes in, telling her not to touch anything and help herself to the cookies in her drawer but not to tell anyone else. And with just two seniors in and devoted to their work, she sits on the desk, her foot on the chair and a paintbrush between her fingers, trying to find the right colour.

“Good morning starshine!” Damian sings, earning him glares from the seniors. “Ooft, tough crowd.”

“They’re trying to focus,” she tells him, handing him a cookie. Sure Miss Peters said not to give the cookies to anyone, but Damian’s not anyone.

“My apologies to them,” he says in a low voice, leaning against the table and taking in her newest piece, a mermaid with flowing black hair and delicate purple eyes, the little fangs on her mouth the only allusion to the danger she holds. “That’s cool.”

“You think?” she replies, pride thumping in her chest.

“I know,” he says firmly, a smile on his face and the kind of wholesome honesty that only moms, grandmas and Damian Hubbard know how. “Did you hear the tea?”

“What?” She avoids school gossip like the plague, knowing all too well how it feels to be on the receiving end, but if Damian is telling her it’s either important, completely harmless or hilarious.

“There’s a new girl in our grade,” he tells her. So it’s the first one. “The student activities committee was telling me. Apparently she moved here from…. Kenyaaaa…” He drags the ‘a’ out for as long as his mighty lungs will allow, wiggling his eyebrows for dramatic effect.

“That’s neat,” she remarks, secretly getting a kick of Damian’s wounded puppy ‘why aren’t you appreciating my dramatics’ face. It’s a little more than neat, new kids aren’t really common in North Shore, especially ones from Kenya. “What’s her name?”

“Katie Heron, apparently,” he says. He opens his mouth to say more but he’s cut short by the bell ringing, ending their free period. With a sigh, Janis places her picture back in her folder and tucks it under her arm. Damian skips along beside her, filling her in on the whispers of the drama department about the upcoming musical and telling her he’s secured a room for their LGBTQ+ club movie night on Friday. She chats along, suggesting some more movies to add to their list and agrees what snacks to bring and asks him to get a list of dietary requirements from everyone. The normal kind of stuff that she deals with on normal school days.

But in the very very back of her mind, the name ‘Katie Heron’ sticks, and she’s not entirely sure why.

As fate would have it, she sees the new girl at lunch. It’s pure chance, she just happens to look up at the right moment in the right direction and sees an unfamiliar face in the cafeteria. And quite frankly, she’s pretty. She’s tiny, impossibly tiny, as in a kind of tiny that should probably not be legal, with long, caramel-coloured hair, braided at the top and the rest falling past her shoulders. She’s not too far away from her and she can see the wide smile on her face, innocent and excited, dimples in her rosy cheeks, and while she can’t see what colour her eyes are, she can see them lighting up as she looks around the cafeteria. She stands out, even in her cargo shorts and plaid shirt. Like the rest of the cafeteria-including Janis- was drawn in pencil but she was drawn in pen.

There’s something in her gut, something pushing her to go say hi, maybe invite her to sit with them even though that wouldn’t be normal for her. Damian’s the one who does that anyway and she’s just the arm candy. There’s no reason she should single this girl out other than the fact that she’s new. And she looks a little lonely, wandering around tables, her neck craning for an empty seat. Maybe Damian can do the talking and she can just smile.

Janis very nearly does approach her. She pushes herself up and makes to head in her direction. But one thing, one crucial thing, stops her.

Regina. Regina slides up to the new girl with a beaming smile and a no-doubt sweet, breathy voice, touching new girl-Katie’s-shoulder and tugging on her arm, asking her to come have lunch when them at their table, all the way on the other side of the cafeteria. She happily agrees and Regina links arms with her and escorts her away from the art freaks and towards Plastic Land, where Regina’s word is the word of God. She can tell her anything and New Girl will believe her.

Janis slumps back down, a cold, heavy weight in her stomach. She scoffs at herself and shakes her head, no clue why she’s so upset, since she doesn’t even know her. Damian’s eyes meet hers and he pats her shoulder sympathetically, a ‘maybe next time’ said softly to her. But when she spies her at the Plastic’s table amongst the pink and gold, she wonders with a heavy heart if there will be a next time.  

She crosses paths with the new girl three times in the following week. During that week she learns that her name is Cady with a C, a D and a Y, not Katie. She also learns that she’s taking AP calculus, she really likes math and that she used to live with animals. She also works out that she’s in her French class but was sick that day, and that the empty seat captured her attention more than anything their teacher said did.

She’s also learning that she might be becoming a stalker.

“So are you going to talk to her?” Damian asks her during gym.

“Why would I?” she replies, slowing down her pace once she’s out of the coach’s vision.

“Because you like her,” she replies, drawing out the ‘like’ for as long as his lungs will allow, as though the longer he says it the more Janis likes her.

“I don’t even know her,” she reminds him. “You probably know her better than I do.”

“Yes, and I know you better than you know you. So I know you like her.” She rolls her eyes, unable to find it in her to correct him. It’s not untrue. “I also watched you obsessively stalk her Instagram and Facebook accounts for a solid thirty minutes so...”

“Oh stop,” she scoffs, laughter in her voice. “You didn’t stop me so that’s 90% on you.”

“Oh so I have to steer you straight?”

“Well that would be an accomplishment,” she grins. “Considering.”

“Hubbard, Sarkisian!” the coach barks at them from the middle of the field. “Pick up the pace and stop the chatting or it’s two more laps!”

They speed ahead and lower their voices, privately discussing what they think of the coach and his new shorts and what they’d like to do to his head with those dodgeballs.

                                                                                               *****

By Friday, Janis has almost forgotten about her crush-that’s-not-a-crush on Cady. Well, she’s not forgotten it but she’s put it to the side. Well, not to the side, but it’s away for now. Well, not away but… Cady wasn’t the first thing on her mind when she woke up, so she’s calling it progress.

At least the LGBT+ movie night provides a welcome distraction. They only have the hall for the next few hours, just enough time for Pride and Love, Simon and finishing off with a few episodes of One Day At A Time, which is a cheat, since they’re not movies, but they’re the only thing short enough to fill the remaining time.

Janis takes charge of snacks while Sonja and Sophie argue with the IT guy over how to use the projector, Sophie’s hand on her girlfriend’s shoulder, pulling her down when she gets too heated. Janis tries not to wonder if her girlfriend will do that for her one day. She’s trying to banish all thoughts of romance entirely, but Sonja is leaning on Sophie and holding her hand as they look at the computer together and it makes Janis’ chest ache and images of a certain brunette creep into her mind.

The more she tries not to think about Cady, the more she does, so much so that when the doors open and Cady jumps in with the Mathletes and their matching jackets, Janis is half-sure she’s imagining it.

And then she panics.

“Holy crap,” she whispers, slapping Damian’s shoulder again and again until he acknowledges her. “Damian, Damian, Damian!” There’s a knot in her stomach and a familiar feeling of being pulled towards her, like there’s an invisible rope around her waist.

“I see her!” he replies, grabbing her hand both to comfort her and stop her from slapping him again. His hands come around her shoulders, straightening her back and holding her up as Cady wanders over in their direction. Her eyes happen to find them and her face breaks into a smile, and for an insane moment, Janis thinks she’s smiling at her. Which would be ridiculous because they’ve never said one word to each other. The only reason she might smile at her is if she was being extra-friendly or if she was her-

No, she tells herself sternly. Not the S word.

“Oh, Janis, Damian!” Kevin hollers, jumping down the hall to them with the rest of his crew. Janis wipes her hand on her shorts, giving what she hopes is a normal smile. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Hey Kev,” Damian replies, offering a high-five.

“You guys met my girl Cady?” he asks, gesturing to her. Met is a funny word in this scenario. I wish is the response Janis thinks but doesn’t say out loud.

“We haven’t had the pleasure,” Damian replies, eyeing Janis and grinning. “Hubbard comma Damian. This is my amusing sidekick, Sarkisian comma Janis.” His introduction makes Cady laugh and it sounds like a bell ringing or part of a melody being played.

“We’re introducing her to American pop culture,” Marwan adds just as Cady is opening her mouth to speak. She closes it, a pleasant expression on her face but her hand is clenched into a tight fist. “But we need a break from Harry Potter. That’s too dark. We watched Half-Blood Prince and oof” He makes a cutting-your-head-off gesture with his hand, his features twisted into over-dramatic "yikes". Cady nods along enthusiastically and opens her mouth, a sense of urgency in her face, as though one might cut her off, and Janis is almost excited to hear her. Holy crap, is this having it bad?

“I just can’t believe Dumbledore died!” she exclaims. "I mean who does that?"

Holy shit.

Holy fucking shit.

It doesn’t happen the way Janis’ mom described it. Rather than a flower blooming in her chest it’s a truck hitting her at full speed and sending her flying, her mind turning to static at those words and the pieces don’t even have time to connect in her brain before she yells-

“It’s you! You’re the one!” And at that, Cady’s mouth falls open and her eyes bulge as her hand flies to her forearm. For years, this girl has occupied Janis’ mind, and now she’s face to face with her, and in her most dire moment, rational thought has abandoned her. “You ruined Harry Potter for me!”

“Well… that’s not how I thought this was going to go down,” she mumbles, her pale cheeks turning pink.

As she comes back to herself, Janis looks around her, finding a face looking at her everywhere she turns. Some are amused, some shocked, some annoyed, some confused. But they surround her and the room starts closing in on her, making her feel like caged animal in a zoo, a spectacle for people to discuss over lunch. It’s a familiar feeling all right.

Her eyes meet Cady’s, terrified brown meeting bewildered blue and alongside the heavy cloud of embarrassment and the jagged anxiety, she feels a stab of guilt for doing this to her and it all threatens to crush her. So she does what feel most normal for her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and she finds herself running towards the doors and out into the hallway.

“Janis, wait!” Cady calls after her, her sneakers squeaking on the polished floors. She catches up to where Janis is standing, taking in deep breaths and pulling herself back together. Cady hovers in front of her, unsure of what to do, which isn’t what Janis expected. Shouldn’t soulmates just know?

“Sorry,” she repeats, straightening up. “Sorry I shouldn’t have flipped out like that.”

“S’okay,” she replies with a shrug, tapping her toe against the floor. She gives her an adorably sheepish look, one that makes Janis want to hold her tight forever. “Sorry I ruined Harry Potter for you.”

“Oh it’s fine,” she scoffs. “Seriously. Percy Jackson’s the superior children’s series. I wasn’t losing sleep over it.”

“I’ll make a note to read those,” she says softly, stepping a little closer to her. When she looks up at her, Janis feels it. The feeling her mom told her about. The flower opens in her chest and her worries begin to fade at the edges. Right now is the moment she begins hoping and daring to be brave, which is new for her. But there’s something, always something, or rather someone that looms over her and threatens it, even when she’s not physically here. She got her claws into Cady first and Janis can’t not be freaked out by that.

“I don’t know what you’ve heard,” she begins.

“I’ve not heard anything,” is what Cady replies in a firm voice. “Not anything worth repeating.”

“You haven’t?” Janis asks. The urge to pick at her nails rises in her. “Because… I know people-”

“Regina?” she says. She stuffs her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, her expression half-smile, half-grimace. “Yeah. She told me stuff. But…”

“But?” That makes her laugh again, and even though it’s soft and more of a breath, it’s beautiful to her.

“But you know… I’m not going to trust someone who uses slurs that freely,” she says, quirking an eyebrow. “Or who keeps a burn book about other people.” It takes a lot of self-control not for Janis not to hug her right now. Her anxiety dissolves almost entirely, replaced by feelings that are new and exciting and safe, above everything else. She feels safe with her. Maybe that’s what a soulmate means. Having someone be your safety net.

“You know…” she begins, sneaking a glance back inside the gym, where the movie has already started playing. “These things are great, but they seem to have it under control. Maybe you and I could go to the diner down the street? Get some milkshakes? Hang out? Talk a little?”

“I’d love that,” Cady replies, her cheeks pink and her eyes sparkling. She bites her lip and after a moment’s hesitation, holds out her hand. Her face is expectant but her fingers wiggle nervously. Her fingernails are painted green and on her wrist is a braided leather bracelet. Her hand looks soft and tiny and perfectly suited to hers, just like Cady herself, she supposes.

After more than a moment’s hesitation, Janis takes it, and nothing before has ever felt so right.

[marvinswriting]

over-protective

this had a prompt, but i went totally off track and created some good old hurt comfort instead.  everyone say thank you bear for the idea! g/t mean girls

Something was off.

It didn’t take Einstein to figure that out. 

It was after school, and Janis was already at the pick up zone as I approached.

It all looked normal, but my gut told me something was off.

Was Janis okay?

She looked fine.

“Hey there.” I smiled, as she looked over. “Hey, Damian.” She doesn't return the smile.

Something is definitely wrong.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn't I be?”

“I dunno, you just don’t seem okay.”

“Get off my back, Damian.” Janis’ voice has an edge. It's cold and forein and does nothing to settle the pit in my stomach.

“What?”

She rolls her eyes, stepping to the edge of the partform. “Never mind, c’mon, I wanna go home.”

 “Wait, no. Something is wrong. Did you see Shane or something? Why-”

“Literally leave it be, Jesus Christ, Damian.” Janis snaps and I instantly freeze. Never has Janis spoken like that to me. I’ve heard her snap at other people, but-

“Did I do something wrong?” I ask. I try and think back to everything we’ve done recently. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just Shane Omen trying to fuck with Janis. I hate that Janis getting hurt is the ordinary.

“Did you do something wrong?” Janis scoffed. 

I don't know what to say. I honestly can’t figure out what I did. Was this some sort of fucked up prank? No, Janis wouldn't do that.

I step forward, reaching out to pick up Janis. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Janis steps backward. “God, you’re doing it again.”

I freeze. “What?”

“You’re always so overprotective. I don’t need you to shield me from anything with the off chance to hurt me. It’s so patronizing.”

Despite the very clear size difference I can’t help but feel like Janis is looking down at me with her glare. “I-”

“You what. Didn’t notice? Of course you wouldn't. You’re too busy freaking out over anything. I’m not a fucking china doll, Damian.”

“I know that.” I say softly. I still don't fully know what's going on, but at the rate words are pouring out of Janis’ mouth makes me think this isn't a new feeling. She’s been thinking about this for a while. 

Her reaction is so sudden but her feelings behind it are not. My heart sinks. How long has Janis felt this way?

“I don’t think you do.” Janis replied coldly. “You don’t act like you do. I’ve had enough of it. I don’t need you to baby me twenty four seven. In fact- I don't need you at all.”

I take a step back out of surprise more than anything, but Janis isn’t done.

“I can take care of myself, Damian. I hate how overbearing you are, I hate how weak you think I am, and I. Hate. You.”

For a second, my brain totally stops. Like- I wasn’t hearing Janis correctly. Or that I’m hallucinating. But she’s right there, standing with her arms crossed, dead serious.

“You don’t mean that.” I say numbly.

“Yes I do. I mean all of it.”

“Jan-”

“Oh don't Jan me.” She took a step back, making her way back to the tiny area of school. “I’m taking the tiny bus home. I don’t need you to pick me up tomorrow or take me anywhere. I don’t want to talk to you again.”

“What?” I don't understand what’s happening, or where this is coming from. Janis’ declaration of hate is echoing through my head, and it's the only thing I can focus on. She doesn't mean it. She can’t mean it.

Janis looks simply bored of this conversation. “God, do I have to spell it out? We aren’t friends anymore. I don’t want to be friends with you. I want you to leave me the fuck alone.”

She doesn't say anything else or explain further before turning on her heels and disappearing into the walls of the school.

For a second, I stand there dumbfounded. I can hear my heart pound, and my throat feels tight. She didn’t mean it. Right?

I almost expect her to call and tell me it's a prank. A fucked up prank. 

My phone doesn't ring.

I didn’t register my eyes opening at first, with Janis voice still echoing in my head. I blinked, silently, my heart racing as I sat up-

-in my room?

Holy shit. 

Wait.

Was it just a nightmare?

I glanced around, the warm fairy lights twinkling and the slight breeze from the window left open all seemed so familiar and calming. 

I pulled my bedsheets over me more as my gaze lands on the makeshift bed on the table next to me.

Janis.

Under the pile of small blankets lay an even smaller girl, asleep and unaware that I’m awake.

I let out a shaky breath, my mind still trying to catch up with reality.

It was a nightmare.

Janis never said those things.

Janis was here right now.

She-

I run my hand feverishly through my hair.

It was a bad dream.

That’s it.

My room is chilling, even from under the blankets. I can’t tell if it’s the breeze or my nerves but I glare accusingly at the open window anyway. The curtains sway with each gentle blow. I don’t want to get up and close it, if it's cold under here, it's even colder over there.

My heart is still pounding as I lean back down in bed. 

The dream felt so real.

Of course it wasn’t.

Janis wouldn't say those things.

Right?

My stomach twists at the thought. 

I knew Janis got annoyed sometimes, but never frustrated or mad- I thought.

Would she really leave me over something like that?

I hate you.

It’s not ture. It can’t be true. It’s just a nightmare. It’s my brain creating irrational scenarios to fuck with me.

Janis wouldn't say that.

No matter how much I tried to convince myself, the feeling of uncertainty wouldn't fade.

Janis was strong. I knew she could take care of herself.

But did she know I knew that?

My heart sinks at the possibility.

I turn on my side, looking over to the nightstand next to me. 

I could barely see Janis from underneath the mountain of fabric. She practically burroughs herself under layers of fabric everytime. Still- it felt better to know she was there.

That she didn't hate me. That I didn’t drive her to the point of hatred because I couldn’t just back off. 

I wouldn't be surprised if she really did hate having somebody always hovering.

Maybe she didn’t hate me.

But she definitely hated being babied. 

If she did decide to just cut me off- I guess it’s my fault.

I’m the reason it would come to it.

It would be my fault.

I watch as Janis wraps a blanket tighter around herself- even under all those layers of course she's still cold. 

Only she could.

I smile to myself. Janis will be wearing four layers in ninety degree weather and still shiver. 

I instinctively reach over, it’s not uncommon for Janis to fall asleep on her own and wake up with me, but stop before I can touch her.

Would that be annoying?

It would only prove her point.

I retract my hand quickly, like touching her would burn.

It wasn’t just a dream because here I am doing everything that upset her in the nightmare.

No wonder the Janis from my nightmare hated me.

Maybe the real Janis feels the same.

She’s just cold, she’ll live. I don’t need to be so on top of her.

Instead, I quietly swing my legs over the side of my bed, crossing my room to close the window.

I feel shaky as I walk, the adrenaline rush from the stupid dream still hasen’t faded.

Not only had the dream felt real- the actions from the dream were real. At least mine.

Here I am, being overbearing. 

The window slides shut and locks with a small click. It echoes through the silent room as I step back over to my bed. 

I felt exhausted but I can’t go back to sleep. I don’t want to risk another dream like that.

I can handle the unrealistic nightmares. Like yeah- they’re scary, but I don't have to walk around on a normal day worrying about fictional monsters popping out of the floorboards. But that- that could happen. 

Before I pull the covers back over me again, I reach down and take my phone off the floor from where it was charging. It’s normally on the bedside table but-

-Janis was there and obviously she won't be sleeping on the floor. 

I flinch back as the phone lights up at full brightness.

Jesus Christ.

I blindly poke the phone, only stopping when the screen dims and I know I’ve hit the right button.

Even with the brightness down, I feel like I’m squinting like an old man at my phone. It lights up my corner even as dark as it can go.

I frown, turning off my phone in defeat.

“Damian- are you still up?”

I freeze momentarily as the room falls dark again. “Sorry, did the brightness wake you?”

There's a shuffling sound as Janis emerges from her dramatic cocoon of blankets. I look over as I place my phone back on the floor. The room is dim but I can see her silhouette as she shrugs. “Just kinda woke up. Don’t think it was you. You okay?”

“Yeah, ‘m fine. Just can’t sleep.” The lie slips easily off my tongue. She doesn't need to know I was worrying about her. 

“You sure dude?” I watch carefully from where I lay as Janis approaches the edge of the nightstand, a blanket wrapped carefully around her. It took all of me not to tell her to be careful.

The nightstand was directly next to my bed, and while Janis may be small, so was the gap from mattress to ledge. She'll be fine.

She knows what she's doing. 

I still watched nervously, though.

Janis paused with her toes dangling off the edge, looking at me carefully. 

“Something is wrong.” She concluded, sitting down with her legs swinging over the edge. 

“How do you know?” I joke weakly.

“Because I just marched up to the very edge of the table and you didn’t say a word about it. I could tell you wanted to- so why so quiet?”

Now it was my turn to shrug. 

“Just figured you know what you’re doing.”

“I do,” Janis agreed. “But you knew that before.”

I felt cornered and relieved at the same time. Janis knew I thought she could take care of herself. That was just part of the dream.

But-

-now she also knew something was up. 

I gasp as Janis pushes herself off the edge of the nightstand, landing carefully on my bed.

“Now there’s the reaction I was waiting for.”

“Don't do that!” I sit up as Janis climbs onto my pillow with a laugh.

“Chill dude, I’ve jumped further.”

That fact doesn't exactly sit right with me but I don’t vocally say it.

“Seriously, Dame,” Janis sits down where my head once was while I turn to face her, blanket wrapped around my shoulders. “Is something bothering you?”

I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it, Jan.” I was typically at the other end of this, and to have Janis worrying about me felt a little weird. “Stupid dream that I let get to me. It’s really nothing.” 

I could tell my tone betrayed my words. Could you blame me? Even if the dream was fake, what I felt was real.

I thought I had lost Janis.

It hurt.

And it could happen.

Except it wouldn’t be a dream I could wake up from. The loneliness and pain would be real. I can’t change my past actions, I can’t go back to last week and just lay off, but I can start now. 

I just hope ‘starting now’ will be enough.

“If a dream was able to get to you, it wasn’t stupid.” Janis scrunched her nose with clear disgust. “I would know.” She tilts her head while looking at me, like she’s trying to get in my head and read me. And she’s probably doing it too. “I wanna hear about the dream.” She says suddenly.

I shake my head. “You don’t-”

“Damian.” She stands up stepping to the edge of the pillow before patting where she previously was. “Lay down, and tell me what happened.”

I sigh, but comply, because when Janis has made up her mind, there’s no going back. Once I’m lying on my side again Janis steps closer. 

“So, what happened?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” I insist, shutting my eyes.

“I can tell you do. And even on the off chance where I’m totally fucking wrong, you’d feel better if you talked about it. If it's affecting you enough that you can’t sleep, you should get it off your chest.”

I hate that she’s right. I hate that she’s picked up my own logic from when she has nightmares, and I hate that she's now using it against me.

Because I have no comeback, nothing to defect too, nothing to say to get out of it.

God damnit, Janis.

I sigh, opening my eyes in defeat. My tongue feels heavy in my mouth as I try and find the words to say. “If I was ever- too much, you would tell me right? You know I would back off if you just said so.”

Janis tilted her head and I could almost see her thought process and she tried to figure out the reason behind my question. “I mean, of course, dude. And for the record, you’re never too much. You act that way because you care! I get that. I know you just worry and that if I really wanted you to, you’d drop it.”

I let out a breath of relief, watching the way the air ruffled Janis’ hair slightly. She’s right there. She doesn't hate me. It was a dream. Just a dream. 

“You wanna tell me about the dream now?” Janis prompts gently. 

“It was- me and you, and-” Now that I’ve started I can’t go back. “Well, long story short, you said all these things about me being on top of you too much and I dunno, just got worried you actually felt that way.”

I glazed over all the rough parts, the yelling, the hatred, the pain. If Janis caught onto the huge gap in my retell, she didn’t mention it.

“Well, I don’t feel that way. You do so much for me Damian, and I must have been pretty stupid in that dream to tell you to stop. Because I don’t know what I would do without you. If it wasn’t for you being protective, I would have died on like, twenty three separate occasions.” Janis laughs a little. “I love you, so much. Thank you for everything you do for me.”

I smile reaching out to gently pull Janis closer. “I love you too.”

Let my eyes shut again as Janis curls up by my chest. This time, I’m not scared to fall back asleep. Because Janis is right there. She doesn't hate me. She doesn't resent me or think I’m overbearing. 

It’s okay.

We’re okay.

I’m okay.

soft them fic soft them fic so- @realmisspolarbear @musicallygt @smallsoysauce

[janis-takes-requests]

Janis’ Pillow Pile (Aka Fluff)

+ When watching movies without Thomas, the sides like to have cuddle piles, usually Patton starts them but occasionally Roman will too.  + Janus and Logan have a book club together. They pick a book to discuss at the end of each month. 

+ Virgil likes to make things out of spiderwebs,  sometimes its cool patterns, sometimes its little animals, he finds it relaxing. 

+ Remus and Janus have their own movie nights where they watch horror movies. The whole time, Janus comments on how stupid the main characters are while Remus gets ideas for intrusive thoughts to give Thomas. 

[2jiung]

-ˏ͛ aesthetic tagˏ´- 

tagged by @jisusgf (thank you for tagging me baby! <3) tagging @junhee-s @nctyz (you don’t have to if you don’t want to ofc! & if anyone else wants to do this, just say i tagged you !!) rules bold the aesthetics you relate to and add twenty of your own aesthetic qualities for others to bold.

soft

baby pink | iridescent | glitter is always a good option | no bra | minimalistic tattoos | cherry patterns | sweet scented perfumes | wearing generous amounts of blush | doodling hearts | getting excited to pet an animal | fun nails | rewatching old barbie movies | hair sticking to glossed lips | heart shaped sunglasses | taking pictures of the sunset or sunrise | stuffed animals | protecting nature | stickers everywhere | teen movies | the light rain that falls from a clear sky at the beginning of the night

dark academia

neutral tones | masculine outfits | studying languages | worn down copy of books | grey skies | turtleneck sweaters | loose fitting pants | hair tied with a silk ribbon | trying to remember a cool difficult word you read somewhere to use in a convo | thick belts | minimal makeup | windows fogged by rain | vintage jewelry | blouses with cuffed sleeves | reading a murder mystery and trying to solve it | oxford style shoes | sweater vests | subtitled old movies in a language you don’t speak | leaves crackling as you walk | annotating books to express your emotions about the story

edgy

closet full of dark clothes | fishnet tights | makeup sweating off | neon signs | searching for unknown songs | chokers | band tees | doodling on old converses | finding smoking aesthetically pleasing but not doing it | weird humor | accidentally very dramatic | dim lights | layered outfits | chain belts | chipped nail polish | messy hair | low quality pics | piercings | combat boots | scribbling on desks

seventies

colorful wardrobe | doodling flowers | wearing short shorts | using a bikini top or bra as a normal top | listening to ABBA | flowers in your hair | diy-ing everything | jamming to songs alone in your room | drunkenly telling your friends you love them | patterned bandanas | mid heeled shoes | messy braids | flared sleeves | walking barefoot on grass or sand | bold sunglasses | the good kind of tired you get after doing something you enjoy for hours | feeding stray animals | fun patterned socks | room decorated with succulents and other plants | likes to go roller skating or skateboarding

preppy casual

collared clothes | drinking juice out of a champagne glass | getting excited to see the met gala looks | thick headbands | small pastel cardigans | making your friends take your ootd pics | plaid mini skirts | tweed two pieces | watching reality tv to pass time | frilly tops | watching old hollywood movies | academically driven | long manicured nails | new year’s eve fireworks | colorful tights | layered golden jewelry | yearns for luxury brand items | decorating your room with fairy-lights | cursive and neat handwriting | lace details

cinanamon

gold jewelry | slowdancing in the kitchen with a lover | sun on skin | red-tinted lip balm | lazy mornings | getting lost in foreign cities | scent of bakeries | high-waisted jeans | kissing someone’s neck | writing reminders on your wrist | sleeping in braids to have waves in the morning | growing an herb garden | gentle touches | sketches tucked between pages | flushed cheeks | tandem bikes | floating in a pool | vintage gold hand-mirror | deer grazing | softly singing while doing chores

jaesmintea

oversized everything | painted nails | fairy lights | dozing off in the middle of class | tying hair up into a ponytail | round glasses | laughing so hard you can’t breathe | late night study sessions | tender hand holding | impromptu photoshoots | drowning in moondust | bathing in the light of the sunset | strawberry flavored lollipops | polaroid pictures | eagerly tugging someone down the street | handwritten love letters | smell of coffee | living with reckless abandon | crinkled pages of a journal | replaying the same part in a song over and over

naptimetea

everything black | rewearing your favorite outfit | drawing late into the night | rewatching favorite shows | the bread aisle | minty lip balm | falling asleep anywhere and everywhere | making green tea | useless questions when it’s 2 am | forehead kisses | sleeping in till the afternoon | love of pink | staying up to watch the sunrise | dancing in the bathroom | messy handwriting | pile of sketchbooks | talking for hours about interests | old sentimental stuffed animals | hanging out on the bed and doing nothing | thick fluffy blankets

jeonginks

the thrill of leaning your body way over a balcony’s edge | the suffocating feeling when the strong wind blows down your lungs | tip-toeing barefoot | hair ruffling and cheek pinching | hugging a body pillow at night | facing the sky with closed eyes | the whimsical silence when it’s past midnight and you’re the only person awake | when you can physically feel your eyes soften when you look at someone | dancing alone with only an oversized shirt | when your sweater falls over your thighs as you stand up | humming scary but memorable lullabies | vivid imagination | sitting with a mini skirt and thigh high socks | heated laptop on your lap | cereal at 3 am | gliding your fingers across your thighs | bittersweet melancholy | withdrawn and distant eyes | very tight belts | wanting love but not believing in it | not cruel but not kind

scxrlettwxtches

listening to a song and remembering the times you used to listen to it on repeat | imagining yourself living in any other life than the one you have now | crop tops and high waisted jeans | forgetting to smile but not actually being upset | nuzzling your face in the crook of their neck | back hugs when you’re stressed | turning in assignments 1 minute before they’re due | wanting a relationship but getting scared the moment you’re in one | pretending that you don’t care when inside you’re burning with doubts and fears | the sound of the evening waves as you lie on the sand | lying in your bed listening to your sad playlist | exhaustion but you can’t sleep | singing loudly when you’re the only one home | feeling safe and comfortable with that person in your life | knee high suede black boots with your black winter coat | comfort over appearance | writing essays at 2 am | creative peak from 1 am to 4 am | the one that always ends up walking in the back of a friend group

hyunsracha

split-dye hair | female rappers | staying up until 6am and sleeping until 1pm | taking notes on an ipad | middle school emo music | mini skirts | late night drives | rain on the ocean | flirting with people when you’re bored | doc martens | eating ramen in the pot | afraid of being looked at | fishnets | getting joy out of making people laugh | small tattoos | crying yourself to sleep | peppermint everything | desperate for freedom | chipped black nail polish

maaneskin

silver jewelry | knowing few words in different languages | loose pants with tight shirts | always different hand writing | drug store perfumes | big cups and mugs | loads of blankets | sweatshirts and hoodies | antique boutiques | dark clothing with colorful socks | having your window open 24/7 | always listening to music | dancing in the bathroom | putting stickers everywhere | cats | dandelions are flowers | can never have too many plants | a lot of lip balm | stacks of notebooks | bear hugs

cho1jisu — jani

speaking so softly you have to repeat yourself | heart shaped everything | fresh flowers in your room | pastel stationery | naming your plants | only double knotting the laces on your right shoe | midi skirts and small tops | random poems scrawled across old receipts and napkins | being late to work because you stopped to pet a cat | loving people from behind the scenes | uneven smiles | curled eyelashes | lots of anklets | making handmade gifts | paint covered jeans | keeping a journal | taking a picture of your mom everywhere you go | pressing flowers | cheek kisses | calling your friends by petnames

mirror-mv 

resting your head on someone’s shoulder | flower-shaped earrings | writing birthday letters for friends | tinted lip balm | shimmery eyeshadow | drawing little flowers on my papers during class | talking to your pets | spending hours walking around in fabric stores | letting your friends sit on your lap when there aren’t enough seats | rewatching childhood movies with your loved ones and reminiscing those times | picnic dates | paint/pencil stains on your hands and arms | sitting outside with your friends during a party and looking up at the nightsky | skipping and dancing around the house | cycling with one hand on the handlebar and the other one holding your friend’s hand

[salacitys]

'  witness  true  strength  !  '  despite  her  rapidly  piling  homework  ,  jani  has  attacked  her  friend  with  the  closest  pillow  on  hand  .  straddling  her  ,  she  taps  her  very  lightly  with  it  (  not  even  enough  to  call  it  a  hit  )  before  poking  her  in  the  cheek  .  '  i  want  to  do  anything  but  homework  .  soooo  ...  can  we  go  out  ?  '  @hevrtbrevkers

[littlecrookedheart]

Amen, Amen • Like You're Made of Glass

Catch Up : Reckoning | Rum on the Fire

Character(s) : Noah Marshall, Jane Marshall, Matt Pivouz (OC)

Rating : MATURE. THIS STORY WILL NOT BE NSFW, but it will be dealing with mature themes, such as death, possession, mental illness, suicidal thoughts, murder, and other graphic elements. Language warning. Please read at your own risk. I’m issuing a general trigger warning for the entirety of this story.

Time : This takes place 14 years after Jane’s death and roughly 5 years after the events in ILITW. Noah is 22 years old.

Word Count : 5,138

Author’s Note : The perspective switches happen more often in this chapter and will from here on out. Teeny warning for emetophobia. Happy Halloween! 🎃

Key : Perspective switches will be marked with ** | Time jumps will be marked with –

Disclaimer : I do not own any characters other than Ula Santiago and Matt Pivouz (and Remy.) I’ve added a bit of a flare to others for the sake of this piece, but they do not belong to me.

Tag List : @teamtomsato @nuttatulipa @lovethemarshalltwins @europeanguy @spectrelier @breaumonts @fullbeaumonty @choicesatnight

"...Love, soft as an easy chair..."

Noah stirred in his bed, half awake, the scent of cinnamon pancakes wafting through from the kitchen. A gentle, dreamy voice came from the other room, the familiar tune a lullaby for his already wary head. The curtains had been drawn allowing sunlight to fill the room. Noah began to flutter his eyes open, but instead winced and turned over, tucking his hand underneath the pillow.

"....Love, fresh as the morning air...One love that is shared by two.."

Noah's brows furrowed, rubbing his face more into the pillow, drawing the blanket over his head.

"I have found with you..."

He opened his eyes, listening.

"....Like a rose under the April snow.."

Noah darted up, scanning the space around him, heart pounding in his chest.

"Mom?"

**

"...I was always certain love would grow.."

What the hell? It's eight in the morning. How did she even get a key? How did she - Jane?

"Come on, sleepy head! Pancakes!"

She just...what?

I'm swinging my legs off the bed, it's like a magnet is embedded into my core, pulling me to follow her. God, please don't let this be a trap. Why am I praying? I don't even...

"Mom? Jane?"

"In here, honey!"

Everything shifts, and all of a sudden, in in my parents house again. I hear bassy steps behind me, and it's Jane, running down the hallway, almost tackling me when she crashes into me for a hug.

"Morning, Janie."

"Mornin'!" she says, her hair looks like a rats nest, all tangled up on the back of her head. She's rubbing her nose up and down, a weird quirk she always had. Mom's humming now, that same song. She always sang this to us, especially on Saturday mornings. She'd make pancakes with the season, fruit in spring and summer, cinnamon and nutmeg in the cold months. Only one thing is missing from this picture -

"Hon, come sit down. Breakfast is ready," mom's saying, setting plates in front of Jane and me, Dad still glued to the TV in the living room. I guess nothing's missing after all.

"In a minute!"

"Mama, do we got syrup?" Jane says, swinging her legs off of the chair. These moments are always so weird, seeing her so small and me being....me. Watching it unfold like a film but being inside of the screen. Banging on the surface from within, but nobody can hear me. They're all too focused on the story.

"Noah, you know your shirt got a hole in it?" Jane's outstretching her arm, pointing at my chest. I'm bending down to look, but she flicks my nose before I can see the absence of this 'hole.' She starts to giggle. "I got you!"

I'll laugh, too. "Yeah you did!"

Jane's telling a story, but I don't hear her words. Instead, I'm focused on her movements, how her hands talk with her. She's reaching them up to mimic a dog's ears, scrunching her nose... laughing. And now she's looking at me, chewing her pancakes, asking me something. Okay, okay, let the sound in. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

"Did ya?"

"Sorry Janie...I spaced out."

"You went to space?"

No. I wasn't listening. "Uh....yeah."

"Yeah right Noah! Where are your moon boots then? I said did ya know that Dan's mom is gonna get a bounce house?"

"She is?"

"Yep, for the party."

Dan's mom did get a bounce house for his birthday party one year, I think when we were five. I don't remember this conversation, I don't remember these moments. But how many have I forgotten? How many memories are now just phantoms in my head? I think of Jane in her best moments. She haunts me in my worst. I wonder how many more there are of each of them... One of us will run out of moments before the other. I fear that will always, in every possibility of my outcome, I will run out first.

**

Noah's body jolted as he awoke, coughing over the side of his bed. No cold sweats or headaches came from this dream, which for him, was borderline miracle material these days. It was still dark out, time lingering around four in the morning. He sat up, blindly feeling around the floor by his feet for his pack of cigarettes, finding them in a pile of clothes. He lit one, taking a long drag while simultaneously shivering. Shaking his head, he shuffled into the hallway to turn the heat on.

He reached over, feeling for the thermostat switch, when his fingers hit ice in the shape of fingers. Noah froze, closing his eyes and counting to seven in his head. With no light in the room apart from the cherry of his cigarette, he reached for the light switch that he'd flipped so many times in the darkness, but couldn't find it.

What the hell?

To his left, there was a shuffling, a raspy groan coming from the living room. Noah caught his breath, reviewing seconds in his head, and thought of the pillow fort. He quickly turned the corner, flicking the lights on.

Nothing. No one.

Noah pressed his back against the wall, rubbing his eyes. He looked around again, enough light in the hallway to illuminate the space where the thermostat was. He turned to flip it on, petrified in place when his finger hit the switch and lined up next to someone else's. This time, though, Noah was face to face with it, staring into sinister, incessant darkness, nothing and everything all at once.

He took a deep breath, his eyes glazing over. He didn't speak, he didn't fight - he just fell to the ground, his knees crashing to the floor, a cracking sound splitting in the air. The darkness encased him, spiraling into his nostrils and throat, holding him down as it filled his lungs.

He gasped, and the room filled with light. Noah choked on his own breath, nearly falling to the floor over the side of his bed.

What in the fuck was that nightmare?

A loud knocking came from the front door, Noah's face scowling in annoyance. He sat up, reaching for his cigarettes. His fingers didn't find them at first, moving to the clothes pile he'd dreamt of. He grabbed the pack and walked out of the room, mumbling under his breath. "Fuck this."

**

"Um?"

Matt is at my door, holding a coffee out to me. It's still pouring rain.

"Hi. Can I come in? I didn't bring an umbrella and this wind is wicked."

Take the cup, idiot. Move aside.

"Yeah." Double lock this fucking door. Say thank you. Sit down. Act like a normal human being. Breathe.

"You good?" Matt's asking, sitting on the couch. This room is a mess, I wasn't expecting-"Noah?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." No, I'm not.

"What's eating you?"

What isn't? Isn't that where we are now? I want to tell Matt that the darkness is, that Jane is, that this entire world is. I want to tell him that I actually might be scared, but that? That is weak. And me? I'll never be weak again, not if I can help it.

"Fine. Don't tell me. Drink your coffee while it's still hot." He's drinking his, cozy in my house, not a care in the world. What a hand of luck.

Why can't I tell him? This is maybe the one person alive who will hear me, who will believe everything I say. Why can't I trust him? Even enough to say something about the dream. Drink your god damn coffee, Noah.

"I..um, I'm sorry."

"What?" Matt looks at me like I just spoke a language that doesn't exist. "What are you sorry for?"

Sit down. Breathe.

"I haven't talked to anyone about Jane before."

"Better late than never, right?"

Nod. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. I tell him about the dream, feeling eyes on me from the hallway again. I don't have to see them to know exactly what's there.

"It's like I can still feel it curling into my body, like a toxic snake filling me with poison."

Matt's standing up, pacing.

"Talk about some inception type shit. I'm sorry, man. Look, I don't know how, but we will end this. I've got a feeling in my soul about it."

"Get those often?"

"Enough," He's rolling his eyes, smiling at me. "Don't be a smart ass."

Shrug. Drag. Coffee. Is this my life now?

"Do you have any food in this dump?"

"You're a fucking angel with these compliments. I look like shit, I live in a dump."

"Are either of those things lies?" Matt's opening cabinets, letting them bang closed on their own. He won't find anything. I can't remember the last time I was concerned with groceries.

"Do you not eat?"

Shrug. "I do."

"Black coffee isn't a food group."

"I eat."

"Noah, seriously. You aren't doing yourself any favors by starving."

Truth is, I'd rather starve than spend the night heaving in the alley, the watchers feeding on making me barf my guts out. I'd rather have hunger pains than the singing Jane leaves in my veins.

"Come on," Matt's standing by the door, looking out the window. "There's a corner store a block away. We're getting you some food before the rain starts again.

That corner store is where I walk every day, sometimes twice a day, to satiate my nicotine addiction. But I'm shaking my head, I can't do it. I can't risk it.

"I wasn't asking you." Matt tosses my hat at me, plopping back onto the couch. "Indulge me."

I don't know why I'm saying it, but fuck, I guess I am.

"Fine."

**

Noah stood up, stretching over his head. Matt waited patiently by the front door, relaxed against the wall. His foot caught in a plastic bag handle, knocking his knee into the corner by the hall. He jerked down, grabbing it, inhaling sharply.

Matt's brows creased, his eyes locked on the deep scarlet and violet pattern down Noah's knee.

Had that been there before?

"Noah, what happened?" Matt pointed at Noah's fresh bruise, wincing. "That looks gnarly, are you alright?"

Noah turned away, quickly continuing to his room. Matt rushed over, putting his hand up so Noah couldn't close the door.

"Dude, back off!" Noah yelled, backing away.

"How am I supposed to help you if you won't tell me what's going on?"

Noah squared his shoulders, seeing red. "Why are you even trying? Why do you even want to? You don't know a single thing about me! You see some guy on the news a couple years ago and just so happen to remember his face exactly? You remember my name? You show up at a bar down the street from my apartment? How did you even know my address? Why did you come here?!"

"Because I don't want you to die, Noah! You're worth something. You need to know that."

Noah paused, grasping the door handle. He looked at Matt, thinking for a second, and closed it.

Matt went back to the front door, lingering for a moment, waiting for Noah to come out of his room. When he didn't, Matt ran a hand through his hair and buttoned his long, black coat, walking out into the rain.

-- 

**

How many cigarettes was that? Four? Chain smoking. I'm a chain smoker, I guess. Mom always said I'd become one, one of her many ideas of who I'd be. Mediocre, sad, unsuccessful. At first I wanted to prove her wrong, but these ghosts had other plans. Now who am I, other than a ghost, myself. A phantom. A whisper. Dressed up as myself, a living shadow of everything I could never become. A poet. A chef. A restauranteur.

I wanted to be a voice, a shout, a resovior of proof for one too many of those wrinkled old flesh sacks who stood around Jane's tulip pink casket, snickering my way, and at eight fucking years old, hearing whispers that the wrong kid died. Pretending not to hear whispers that the wrong kid died.

Instead I became a footnote, a drowned out exhale in a forest fire. I'd fix my tie and fake a smile, thanking the phonies who stood in front of my face and said, "I'm sorry for your loss, Noah. I know how hard this must be."

They never knew. They never could have.

Tell me more about wanting to throw yourself in front of her, take her place. Tell me more about her voice calling out to you, that god damn whistle screeching in your ears. Tell me more about being shrouded around your twin sister's corpse as the light in her eyes faded to black. Tell me how her voice sounded as it broke away. Tell me how she never left. Tell me she loved you. Tell me everything will be okay. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

I need a cigarette.

**

Noah stepped into the living room, checking out the window for rain. There were dark clouds ahead, but no precipitation, so he stepped out into the afternoon. His foot hit something, almost tripping him. A paper bag sat on the doorstep, a sticky note attached to the side. Noah bent down to grab it, and scoffed as he read it.

Noah

Seriously, please eat something. Take this to the church so nothing bothers you. I'm sorry I over stepped.

- Matt

Noah balled the excess from the top of the bag in his hand, tossing it onto the couch behind him, putting his shoes on as he closed the door.

The corner store was only down the street, visible from the edge of the road where the apartments were, but Noah hated the walk. He used to love them, the feeling of brisk air filling his body, the sound of cars going by, faint bass playing from within them. These days it was just another route full of obstacles, voices to ignore, people to pretend he didn't see. But when you're a chain smoker, you'll do anything for a nicotine fix, that subtle groan of anticipation as the match strikes. That's what he did, anticipate.  

Stare at the ground, imagine gray streets, devoid of life and a surplus of blood stained porches. Withered. The flicker of a ghost in an old haunt. The end. The beginning. The road to the fucking corner store.

**

I hate the way the bell rings when I walk in here. this store is always empty, reside from old stickers line the door like nobody around here knows how to wipe down a surface. Maybe I should take my own advice, since I live in a fucking dump. Fuck Matt.

"Same as usual, Noah?"

Remy owns the store, and weirdly enough is the only person I've ever seen behind the counter. His beard is long, full, matches his mane of hair. I wonder how he moves so freely, that much hair would weigh me down, probably. More than I already am.

I'm fucking starving.

"How much are these?" I'm pointing to candy bars, as if sugar could help me in any way.

"Two thirty nine," he says, playing on his phone. Does he even know what I'm pointing to? Does he care? Or is he like me, zoning out, auto pilot switched to 'on.' Think he sees his dead sister? Think he wants to suffocate, too? $2.39 is a rip off. Plus, I don't really have extra.

"Uh..yeah, the usual." I hand him a fiver, he slides me my pristine new pack of Camels. Perfect transaction.

"Noah?" coming from the isle behind me. Do I dare? Should I give it the time of day?

"Noah? I'm scared."

But I can't ignore her. Not when she says that.

Jane stands in the isle closest to the door, her hands behind her back. I'm kneeling down, my knees feel like gravel. Push it away. One, two, three-

"Noah? What are you doing here, niño?"

An instant. One second before my shoulder becomes a cesspool of nails, digging through my muscle and embedding into my bone. Ula's hands are blades in my skin. Clench my jaw. Stand up.

Say something, fucker.

"I dropped a quarter, it's no big deal."

"Oh! You had me worried, Noah. Here, let me give you..." Ula pulls out a ten dollar bill. "I thought I had one but I don't!" She's laughing. Her laugh is wholesome, like a mother's should be. Like my mother's used to be, before the death of her precious daughter and the divorce from her hell bent husband. Before she lost her sunshine. She always reminded me that I was rain, dark, cold, desperate. Somber. Exhausting.

I'm shaking my head. "Thanks Ula, but I'm fine. I just came for these," I'm holding up the pack. She nods, smiling sweetly.

"You like the empanadas?"

"Empandas!"

"Yeah, they were delicious. Thank you."

"Would have been better with that spicy sauce of yours. You'll make this again for me soon, yes?"

I haven't made it in two years. I hardly remember what even goes in it. But I nod, because Ula has become a beacon of hope for me. Maybe in another life, she'd work with me at Baby Jane's. In another life, there'd be a Baby Jane's.

--

**

Back at his apartment, Noah plopped onto the couch, nearly smashing the paper bag of food that Matt had left on his porch. He yanked it out from beneath him, peeking inside. He checked the clock on the wall, laced his shoes back on, and headed out to the church.

--

**

I could stare into this bundle of trees for hours. When I look just right, I can see Katai. I can see  Jane. I can see the memory of my group of friends, young and fearless, stamped into the air in cinders and smoke. The images always dissipate, but they also always burn, a brand in my arm. Ignite in my veins. Boil my blood. Just walk through. Just get it over with.

How do people run marathons? For me, even taking steps across a clearing is heavy, as if cinder blocks are tied to my ankles. Therapy will teach you cool new tricks about taking steps. Just work it out, they say. One foot in front of the other is prosperity, you're moving, as long as you're moving forward, you're not living in your past. Don't live in your past. They don't teach you how to walk on glass.

My dad used to say that our eyes are the window to our soul. That seems pretty fragile. If we all crack, become pieces of stained mosaic, if we all cut our hands on the shards, will we crumble? It only takes a gust of air to make a paper man fold. What's your kryptonite when you're made of glass? A pebble? A marble, crafted of your own material, spun with color and beauty. Souls are all just glass fragments, pieced together by bandaged hands and one too many scars. God, I don't want to shatter.

What is it about these woods that makes them normal? Just bark, leaves, whistle of the wind. What makes them less dreary? Here I feel almost weightless, here I feel whole. This church is like an anchor, one with broken windows and crumbling bricks but one that feels like a home. It feels inhabited, by more than just my bones, perhaps the thoughts and fears Matt has left here.

That's another thing you'll never be told in therapy or in school, souls leave traces. I can sense my own traces leaving me, my soul becoming less and less full. They stay on sidewalks slick with rain and the hallway in my apartment, they get left behind when Jane appears. They're consumed, taken, just like me. Just like me.

Push the door open, close it behind me. The air in here is fresher than outside, and drier, somehow, despite the raindrops trickling in from the storm earlier. There are four pews remaining, broken and splintered, all spaced apart. I wonder what happened to the rest, why only these remain, why someone came in and selected the others. Were they cleaner? Newer? Were they whole?

I sit in this seat, on this particular pew, and I wonder. Run my hand along the back, with the grain, lean back. Open this bag and eat the sandwich Matt gave me. There is nothing but silence. Nothing but what is. There are no eyes on me. There is no Jane. There is no retching. Screaming. Blood. There is nothing, here on this pew, except me, and the chips in my hand. I can't remember the last time I could eat without counting. Maybe Matt was right. Maybe I can beat this thing.

--

**

Noah gathered the trash from his meal and crumpled it in the paper bag, pushing it aside. He propped his feet up along the pew, pulling his beanie off and leaning back, closing his eyes. He jumped at the sound of what could be a rock hitting the window, walking over to check for vandals. He questioned why, knowing that the church wasn't his property of his responsibility, but he felt a need to protect it, if he could. Nobody in sight, Noah began to head back to his seat on the pew, when a loud clank came from the window again. He turned, a look of confusion on his face, and peeked out the window again. He jumped back in surprise and winced as a larger rock smacked into the glass, leaving a wide chip exactly where his face had been.

"What the fuck?" he whispered to himself, carefully stepping over fallen beams and puddles, grabbing his beanie and pulling it back onto his head. Two more rocks smacked into the window, one of them cracking the pane, making way for the next to shatter a corner. Noah looked back, his face twisted into a puzzle, rolling his eyes as the final rock broke through the glass.

"God damn it, Jane."

**

What? What could she possibly want? To terrorize me some more? Rhetorical. Of course that's what she wants. And I am gullible, like a fool, a mouse crawling back to the same trap repeatedly to get his taste of cheddar. I know the wire is going to snap. I know it will kill me. But fuck, if I don't always go back.

There's nothing out here. No people, no Jane, no idea where those fucking rocks came from.

"Noah?"

What? That voice is unmistakable. It's like being transported back in time, a voice I never expected I'd hear again.

"Katai?"

"Over here, Noah."

Katai is standing in an overgrown garden, I think? Just beyond the church. My feet can't move fast enough. I can't reach them before they're gone, nothing remains when I'm there, when I finally break through this gate, thorns pricking my skin as I shove it open.

"Katai? I'm here! Come back!"

Nothing. Just cement covered in ivy, so much dirt and a weathered bench. Fuck it, I'm sitting. Maybe they'll come back. Maybe this isn't a trap.

**

Noah's feet rested on cement slabs, copper and death colored leaves blanketing the ground. Mud caked to the bottom of his shoes, a cold breeze whipping his hair in the wind. Noah looked around, his thick eyelashes fluttering in the wind, the red around them seeming to heal. He glanced down for a moment, a trace of movement having swept by, his eyes catching on carved words near his feet. He stood up, crouching down to move leaves and mud away from the ground. His body went cold, a moment of shock encasing him. Below his feet, under mud and caked cicada casings, under years of wear and leaves that had settled, was a flat cement headstone.

        Noah Marshall

 Dear brother, beloved son  

          2000 - 2008

**

....No. I'm..I'm not dead. Am I? I didn't...what?

There are more. Dirt, mud, my broken fingernails. Blood, breathe one, two, three, four, five, six, seven - Mom. Dig, dig, breathe. Dad. What? Katai. Andy? No, no, no, no, Stacy? No. Ava, Lucas, Lily. Dan. Me.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Did...that say I died fourteen years ago? I need to read them again. Go back, check again.

They're gone. How could they be gone? Grind my jaw. Scrub my face. Clear my fucking head. I'm not crazy, I didn't imagine that. I couldn't have, I wouldn't have. Fuck, did I? Fuck, fuck, fuck. One, two, three, four, five, six-

"Hey."

Katai. A trick of the light? My mind? Jane's idea of a joke? Don't look up, bury my hands into my eye sockets, seeing splotches is better than seeing red. Better than seeing blood. Better than seeing Katai crumble into ash.

"Do you remember that day you needed help on your language arts project in middle school?"

....What? Katai is sitting next to me. The world is gone. Just pale ivory, warm light surrounding the two of us. It feels like we are on the inside of a lightbulb, radiating a gentle glow.

They put their arm around me, smile. I smile, too. Nod.

"I was in that obscure literature phase." Katai laughs, a small smile on the edge of their lips, "I told you my favorite quote. 'If you get to hell, go down all the way : there's heaven-"

"Everything returns."

"Everything returns."

"I miss you, Katai."

They don't say anything, they're just smiling at me. Soft, warm hands, rays of light shining through their body.

"Everything you can imagine is real."

Katai goes transparent, and so do I. My hands feel metal, but I can't see anything. White. Blinding.

I'm back on the ground, back against the wrought iron fence. There is no bench. There are no gravestones. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. What is this place?

And was it fashioned by good or evil? God or his best friend, Satan? The one who needed the most prayer, who never received any, who would do anything for you so long as you'll burn with him, I'm already burning, I'm already boiling, I'm already red hot fucking branded with Jane's claws at my throat. Maybe he can cut me a deal. Maybe he feels sympathetic for me. Maybe he returns, too.

There's someone here.

**

Noah stood up, nearly falling over as his feet lost their balance. His hand gripped the iron, leaving prints of black reside on his palm. He wiped it on his pant leg, spitting on his hand to clean it off. He jumped over the fence, grimacing as he landed on his left knee. He quickly maneuvered to the other side of the church, where he stopped short, staring in dismay.

A towering derelict building stood in the center of a courtyard, surrounded by statues and small monuments. A cemetery, one that stood for ages, and to Noah's delight, not an illusion. The wind carried leaves across the ground, tangling them in the dense, formerly overgrown, dead grass. The air suddenly chilled, the scent of decay and sulfur in the air. In front of a backward facing stone statue of a praying angel stood a man, his unearthly wailing breaking the silence.

As he grew closer, he noticed the man's black bracelet, his posture, his height. He observed the outfit, the uncanny chestnut hair, the beanie. Extending his arm out, he gripped the shoulder of the man, forcing them to face one another. Noah gasped before stumbling backwards, crashing down to the ground, his back colliding with a tall, ancient headstone.

He rushed his gaze back upward, and for the first time in twenty two years, Noah Marshall locked eyes with himself.

The sound of his wailing was deafening, blood pumping harder in Noah's ears as he drew closer. He forced his eyes open, walking with uncertainty, his mouth agape, lower lip trembling. Ice filled his lungs, his eyes, his heart. His body felt warped, as if it weren't his own. He tried to hold back a sob, choking on emptiness, nothing coming or going.

He watched himself turn toward the backwards angel, hitting his knees in prayer. Noah stared in utter disbelief as the otherworldly, crestfallen, completely oblivious version of himself ran his hands along the angels wings and gown, unintelligibly mumbling to her.

That's when he heard it, the humming. The song his mother sang, low and hypnotic, the sound of a deep growl underneath the poetic tune. Noah slowly circled around to the front of the angel, attempting to drown out his alternate and the volume of his cries.

His vision blurred, when he saw her, his body uncontrollably trembling, chest aching, eyes darting for an out.

The angel's gown, her hands, her hair, all recognizable to Noah, the features he'd know anywhere. Jane. Her face had been crushed off, as if he'd taken a sledgehammer and obliterated it.

**

GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE! One, two, three, fuck counting, left isn't clear, four, five, six, right is jammed, seven-

**

The angel statue doubled in height, and like a glitch, it's arm darted out, clasping a stone hand around Noah's throat. She dangled him in the air, her laugh like the crack of a whip and the outcry after, her faceless head turning to the side.

Noah kicked his legs, his shoes scraping mud onto her cement dress, her screaming and growling a high pitched drill in his head.

**

Is this how it ends? I die at the hands of a statue? I die outside of the only place I've felt safe since I saw her in the facility? I never thought I'd last this long. I never thought I'd be everything I dreamed, anyway. No friends. No life. No Baby Jane's. Now it's here, in front of me, fading away. Maybe when this is over, Katai will be there. Maybe Jane will be, too. The real Jane. Not this monster.

I'm coming for you, Jane. Amen.

-- **

"Noah? Noah! Noah, wake your ass up!" Matt's hands slam down on Noah's chest, compressions and breaths clouding the air. "Breathe, Noah. Please!"

Noah's chest raised, a loud cough erupting from within. He rolled to the side, clutching his ribs, coughing still. Dark, vein like imprints on his neck and bloodshot eyes, his left eye clouded with broken vessels. Noah sat up, catching his breath. Matt handed him a bottle of water, which he snatched, trying to down it.

"Slower." Matt reached his hand out, pulling Noah to his feet. "Can you walk?"

Noah did a quick assessment of his stature, finally nodding at Matt.

"Let's get inside."

[wellscanthemback]

MERWeek2018 Day 5: Fun With Food

Pairing: Female Shepard & James Vega

Timeline: Post-Mass Effect 3 [with Universe Alterations]

Notes: Day 5 for MERWeek2018: I have a soft spot for James Vega, and he and Cryda are good together. His food is a must try!

–In my personal canon, [War Hero] Jane Shepard is Earth ‘raised’  and is the younger twin of [Ruthless] John Shepard is Space ’raised’ as is their younger half-sister [Sole-Survivor] Cryda (cree-da) Shepard who was raised mostly as a Colonist though all were Spaceborn. Hannah Shepard is their Mother. Admiral Hackett is the Father of the twins (I’ll divulge that later).

-Jane is my canon Shepard.

It was 4am in the morning and Cryda awoke to the opposite side of the bed is empty. What the heck? 

Groggily she sat up to see the light outside the bedroom door was on and there was a sizzling sound coming from downstairs. Unlike her sister Jane, Cryda never kept a gun under her pillow. Though the loud bang downstairs kicked her in the back of the head and told her she may just have to. Unlike her older siblings, however, Cryda was a professional dancer, and ballet lessons on Mindoir had encouraged her feet to be as light as a feather. This, she snuck downstairs with ease and following the source of the light in their two-story London apartment towards the kitchen. Where James was cooking… and picking up a pan from the floor.

 He looked up at the shadow at the corner of his and eye and his eyes widened, the yell that followed and promptly dropped the pan which startled Cryda who jumped back and burst out laughing, “What the hell, James!”

 “Jesucristo, Cree! You trying to make me go loco?” he cried out, bending over with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

 “James, you’re already loco!” She rebuffed as she entered the kitchen, “what are you doing? It’s 4am in the morning!”

 “I tried to be quiet but then that little fur ball pushed the pan off the side,” he pointed at the 3-month-old Egyptian Mau cleaning herself on the counter, of course, blame my baby, she thought in response and cocked an eyebrow, and he held his hands up in protest, “it’s the truth, Bella.”

 Well, at least he was no longer calling her ‘Little Lola’.

 ���I didn’t wake to Furbie pushing the pan off the counter, I woke up because the bed was empty and I was cold,” she had taken a step towards him with each word and James grinned as she ended up in front of him, laughing nervously.

 “Sorry, I had the munchies, again.” He shrugged in defeat and she rolled her eyes as he held up the pan. “Eggs?”

 She landed a punch in his gut, lightly, of course. “Go on, the smells getting to me.”

 “Ah, the Shepards can never resist the eggs,” he teased and she rolled her eyes.

 “Shut up and feed me, Vega,” she ordered as she sat on the barstool, scratching Furbie’s ear, making the feline purr in content.

 James scoffed and saluted, his eyes gleaming with mischief, “aye-aye, ma’am.”

 “I’m your girlfriend, James. Not my sister.”

 “No need to tell me twice, Lola sends me regular reminders to make sure I’m treating you right,” he jokes and Cryda groans into her arms, here we go again. Jane had been livid when she learned James had started dating Cryda, and landed a permanent scar on James’ jaw to remind him to never hurt her or the next punch would be worse. What was even more surprising was the fact that she had landed the punch at all and without getting herself hurt, especially considering the fact she had just been released from the Citadel’s hospital and was supposed to be on the mend? By the time Janie even found out, Cryda and James had been together since the war; after kicking the Reapers off Rannoch and inducing that peace treaty between the Quarians and the Geth. James officially asked her if she wanted them to be together, in private of course during Jane’s party on the Citadel before her sister headed the attack on Cerberus’ main base before returning to Earth.

Jane had been in the hospital, in a medically induced coma for three to four months after the war, and when she finally awoke, she was still in for nearly a full year before being released. And she still managed to land a perfect right hook. Even John, who was usually more volatile had not like the situation but he was the one who remained calm. Her sister was stubborn. But she pulled through. 

A cough broke Cryda out of her thoughts and she looked up to see James pressing his lips tightly together.

 “What?” she asked, her mouth muffled by her arms and he chuckled.

 “Nothing, just glad you’re here.” He admitted, his cheeks darkening at his own words.

 “Aww, James,” she cooed as she lifted herself up, “I feel like a princess.” James grinned at her.

 “Good to know, Princesa,” he responded softly as he shook the pan before piling the eggs on a plate, “Share?”

 She nodded, “bread?”

 “Egg sandwiches?” he asked and when she nodded eagerly as he produced a plate of buttered bread, and she clapped in glee, “I got your back, babe.”

 “Good to know, loco.” She teased as he walked around and captured a kiss from her before sitting next to her, “You know what I like.”

 They ate in silence. London had since been rebuilt -- mind there was still much more to be done. Cryda and her elder siblings all owned a place in London and on the Citadel. Jane and Kaidan mostly switched between Vancouver and the Citadel via the Normandy. She remembered her sister’s reaction to the Alliance wanting to dismantle and upgrade her ship. To say she was livid was an understatement and the Alliance Engineers had no choice but to comply with Jane’s wishes and threats and work around the Normandy’s current model. Luckily Tali and Miranda had pitched in to offer assistance. Jane occasionally visited her London home but it was becoming rarer. Cryda knew Jane visited London for one reason only; Admiral Anderson was buried in his home city. It was still a touchy subject and no one dared mention the Admiral to Jane unless she spoke about him first. John and Steve preferred the Citadel but visited often, Steve and James were good friends... unless it involved biotic-ball. Smiling to herself at the memories; Cryda picked up the dishes and pan and walked to sink, “you know we have a dishwasher.” James reminded and Cryda shrugged.

 “I like to do things the domestic way,” she responded, old habits die hard it seems and at that James came up behind her, slipping his arms around her waist, but he didn’t keep his hands there; instead slipping them into the already water-filled sink and picked up a plate.

“What are you smiling about?” James asked curiously, and Cryda pressed her lips together.

“Nothing,” she sang innocently and James huffed.

 “Alright, Princesa, have it your way,” he muttered cheekily into his ear. A stifled laugh was Cryda’s only response as James peppered light kissed along her shoulder, up her neck and onto her cheek and did it repeatedly until she turned her head and he caught her mouth in a long, deep kiss. A light content sound escaped the red-haired woman as she enjoyed the moment. Cryda forced herself to break it and return to the washing up.

 They stood there as they were, James holding the dish as Cryda washed it until everything was washed and wiped them dry as Cryda drained the sink and dried her hands.

 “Bed?”

 She hummed in response, “bed.” She was not expecting him to lift her off her feet and over his shoulder, a cry of surprise was her only reaction. Too stunned to say anything as he turned the light off and carried her all the way upstairs and set on her feet beside the bed.

 “I cannot believe you just did that,” she scolded lightly, “I could bring up my food.”

 “Cree, stop talking about food,” he told her as he pressed a finger to her lips, “you know I’ll only get the munchies again.”

 They slipped into bed and James pulled her closer to him as she settled, the small dip at the bottom the bed told them that Furbie had followed them up. “Didn’t we get together because I said I loved your cooking?”

 “I think you fed me one of my eggs before feeding me a kiss, and then we ended up against the wall in the Port Observation Deck whilst Kaidan was with Lola in the War Room… you think he ever figured it out?” 

Cryda was sure Kaidan had doubled back when he walked in on them, probably thinking she was Jane before realising that it was Cryda. Either way, she was sure he knew what had happened.

  “Kaidan was probably too scared to ask us because he didn’t want to be the one to tell Janie,” she theorised. James hummed in response with a quiet, “maybe.”

 “We’ve been together for two years now,” she realised, “well, two years four weeks, and… three days.”

 “That long? Seems like forever.” He chuckled, he was happy though. They both were. “I must be a damn good chef.”

 She laughed and rolled over in his arms, “the best.” She sighed contently before allowing herself to relax.

 James grinned as he kissed her forehead. The goddamn best.