#Let’s say you wanna look up electric cars but you don’t want ANY results that mention Tesla

[luvdsc]

too hot! hot damn!

what do you get when you mix red and blue together?

pairing :: lee taeyong x reader genre :: fluff / boyfriend au word count :: 2,121 words warnings :: a tiny paragraph about making out playlist :: cherry kisses (chungha) ⋆ daft pretty boys (bad suns) ⋆ hands on me (taeyeon) ⋆ crash my car (coin) ⋆ shy (hunny) author’s note :: to the insanely talented goddess who wrote the first nct fic i ever read nearly 3 years ago and still love to this day!!! i didn’t think i’d ever get to be friends with one of my favoritest writers on here, but here we are :’) ily els @taeyongtime​ ♡ 

“It’s hot.”

You’re draped across the old, yet still very plush couch, the kitschy pattern spread across it now fondly regarded as one of the things that transforms this dingy little place from a shoebox apartment into home. The thin spaghetti strap of your faded tie-dyed tank top from your old sorority days hangs limply off of your shoulder, threatening to fall even more when you slump over to the left. The simple drawstring shorts you have on barely cover your legs, but you contemplate tossing them off still because it’s just. So. Damn. Hot.

“It’s hot!” you whine even louder, throwing your arms up in the air before letting them flop down onto the cushions dramatically. The nearby open window only blows in a measly little breeze that does nothing except dry the sweat on your skin for a few glorious seconds before it reappears like a stubborn stain. Your boyfriend only raises an eyebrow at you from his spot on the floor, sprawled out in front of said window and using one of his Nylon magazines as a makeshift fan.

Taeyong agrees, flapping the glossy pages in front of his face desperately. “It’s too hot.”

Two days consisting of barely surviving the power outage creeps into a third, the prospect of having AC again anytime soon becoming extremely bleak. The transformer had completely blown out, and the electric company finally sent out a crew to fix it earlier this morning. The estimated restoration was initially set to noon, but it was pushed back until 3 p.m., then 6 p.m., then 10 p.m., then 5 a.m., and now the big black bolded letters spelling out “undetermined” mocks you from the screen of your phone that's already set to the lowest brightness setting to conserve battery.

To make it worse, your city was suffering a heat wave, temperatures spiking to 105 degrees Fahrenheit every single day and simmering down to 80 during the night before climbing the thermostat again. The raging thunderstorm that plagued last night only resulted in unexpected humidity, making your clothes stick to you like a second skin.

“Make it less hot,” you moan, blowing air upwards towards your forehead in an attempt to cool down in the slightest way possible.

“I can’t control the weather, babe, but I can get you a popsicle?” Taeyong sluggishly pushes himself into a sitting position to face you. The shiny magazine in his hand still flounders around until he gives up on it and tosses it aside.

You turn your head, cheek pressing into the couch cushion, as you squint at him. “We don’t have any left. We took all our food from the fridge to Doyoung’s place. I can’t believe that bastard has a gigantic generator and is flourishing in his stupid air conditioned apartment and making frozen sangrias, while his best friends are about to die from heatstroke.”

You had sent back a rather crass Snapchat back to Doyoung after he sent one earlier of his perfect, Instagram story worthy, iced alcoholic beverage. It’s honestly a miracle that he didn’t toss your beloved brown sugar boba ice cream bars out onto his pristine balcony with picture perfect potted plants to perish. That man can still hold onto a grudge even after he’s on his deathbed and descending into the fiery pits.

Taeyong stands up and slowly ambles towards the refrigerator. “I saved two popsicles in the freezer. I figured it’d stay cold enough and not melt if we ate them soon.”

“Oh my god, that’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever said to me.” You struggle to push yourself up into a sitting position before finally being able to, watching your boyfriend open the freezer and pull out the last two saving graces.

“Do you want blue raspberry or cherry?”

He holds out the two icy sweets in front of you, one in each hand. You already know that he secretly wants the red one; it’s been his favorite ever since he was five and tried his very first one from the ice cream truck that still comes around his parents’ neighborhood. But you also know that he always lets you choose first and wouldn’t complain if you take that one.

You reach out and pluck the blue one from his grasp, and he smiles happily, eyes crinkling in the corners as he eagerly unwraps the cherry flavored one and shoves it in his mouth, tossing the wrapper into the nearby wicker trash basket.

He drops down onto the empty space next to you, reclining back and slouching in his seat. The two of you sit there peacefully, side by side and enjoying the cold snacks, until he wordlessly slides over, pressing the side of his arm and leg against yours.

“Move back,” you complain, shoving him over to his original position. “It’s hot, and you’re making it worse.”

“So are you calling me hot?” Taeyong wriggles his eyebrows at you before taking a bite of his popsicle, much to your horror. He moves closer to you again for the sole sake of annoying you.

“First off, I’m calling you sweaty. Secondly, did you just bite your ice cream?” You throw him a dirty look before moving over and turning to sit with your back against the arm rest, throwing your legs over his lap.

Taeyong slightly pouts at you, munching on yet another chunk of his popsicle and ignoring the way you wrinkle your nose in disdain. “What’s wrong with that? It’s melting, and I don’t want it to drip and get my hand all sticky.”

You can’t believe that you just discovered your boyfriend is a psychopath. He’s going to the same circle of hell as people who pour milk in before cereal and those who hate mint chocolate chip ice cream once he leaves this earth (He can even say hi to Doyoung as he descends to eternal damnation).

“Why didn’t you say anything about this before we started dating?” You are absolutely appalled. Horrified. Disgusted. This is the biggest relationship deal breaker you have ever come across.

“Next, you’re gonna say you hate me because I don’t like pineapple on pizza,” he says as his free hand settles on the top of your thigh, gently tapping rhythmically against it absentmindedly.

“Oh my god, you absolute heathen.” You really thought Taeyong was the perfect man of your dreams, but you unfortunately realize belatedly that even he has flaws. Some inexcusable ones, in fact. 

In the midst of your lamenting, you fail to notice melting sugar slowly trickling down until it leaves a sticky mess all over your hand. Desperately, you toss the empty popsicle stick into the nearby waste basket before licking off the remnants of your icy blue treat from your fingers.

“See? It melted all over you. I told you so,” Taeyong childishly sticks out his tongue as he waves his clean hand and empty popsicle stick around as if to emphasize his point.

“Your tongue’s red,” you say, chuckling slightly, and his eyes widen at this newfound revelation.

“Wait, stick out your tongue,” he demands as he throws away the wooden stick, and you comply with his request. He grins, delighted. “Yours is blue!”

He sticks out his tongue again, almost going cross eyed as he tries to catch a glimpse of his own. At that, your eyes zero in on his cherry stained lips, and an ingenious idea pops up in your mind as the sudden urge to kiss your boyfriend silly makes itself very known.

“Hey, wanna play a game, Yongie?” you ask slyly, and his attention immediately turns to you at the word “game,” interest piqued and eyes fixated on you.

“What kind of game?” he inquires cautiously, taking note of the mischievous glimmer in your eyes. You look like you’re up to no good, and your boyfriend wouldn’t be surprised if you have something up your metaphorical sleeve (Because nobody sane enough would be wearing something with sleeves in this weather from hell. In fact, you’re 66.6% percent certain that those fiery pits are probably cooler compared to here).

“Too hot.”

“Yes, it is,” he acknowledges, shaking his head in agreement, and you laugh, fanning yourself with your hands. “No, silly, I meant the game.” 

“It’s called ‘too hot’?” He raises an eyebrow at you, and you confirm, nodding your head. The expression of skepticism on his face says it all, so you throw in your bargaining chip.

“I hid a chocolate bar in the freezer’s ice chest. The winner can have it.”

His doe eyes immediately light up at the mention of his favorite sweet, and he grabs your hand, squeezing it tightly. “Okay, how do I play?”

“We kiss,” you start, and he’s already pulling you towards him enthusiastically, causing soft laughter to bubble up from your throat, before you swat his hands away. “Hey, hey, hey, I wasn’t done explaining it yet! There’s no touching allowed.”

“That’s no fun,” Taeyong whines, lips jutting out into a tiny pout that you want to kiss away already. “You said this is a game. Games are supposed to be fun.”

“But you’re getting kisses, and it’s already hot so it’s better this way,” you coax, and he relents with a drawn out sigh, and you quietly cheer. “Okay, ready?”

Taeyong gives you a tiny nod, and you grin before leaning in, eyes fluttering close. You gently place your lips against his, and he holds still. But then, a few seconds later, you feel his fingers barely grazing your cheek, and you immediately pull away with a frown.

“Baby, I told you that you can’t touch!”

“That rule is dumb,” he complains, crossing his arms over his chest like a petulant child. You frown at him, pouting until he gives in again because it’s you and he’d cross oceans and climb mountains for you.

“Okay, let’s try again,” he grumbles, glowering as he absentmindedly cards his hand through his hair, and you positively beam at him, and the sulking expression on his face softens almost instantly.

“What if we do baby steps first?” You pull your legs up onto the couch, sitting up on your knees and facing him. He fully turns to look at you, head cocked to one side.

“What do you mean?”

You lean forward and peck his cheek before moving back to your original position. “Like that. Now your turn.”

A lightbulb goes off in his head, and Taeyong leans forward and gingerly places a kiss on your forehead with an endearing smile. You inch forward and kiss his other cheek. He plants a tiny kiss to the tip of your nose, and you lean in to delicately leave a kiss on the corner of his mouth. He presses a kiss to the corner of your lips, and you do the same to the opposite side, much to his utter frustration.

This time, Taeyong chases after you when you pull away. You let out a noise of surprise as he gently tugs you forward, crashing his lips against yours and muffling your laughter, and you find yourself straddling your boyfriend. Your hands wind up tangled in his hair, while his arms lock around your waist and hold you close, game be damned.

You can taste a faint trace of cherry, causing the corners of your mouth to curl into the minutest hint of a smile before you press your mouth against his more firmly as he kisses you back eagerly until you both run out of air, pulling away breathlessly with identical smiles.

“You lost,” you tease, poking his cheek with your finger as your other hand curls around his shirt. He makes a face at you, his hands still resting on your waist, and you find that you don’t mind the warmth of them against your skin even in this ruthlessly blazing weather.

“But you’ll share the chocolate, right?” he mumbles, face still flushed and lips redder than before. He traces soft patterns against your hip as you tilt your head to the side, faking your hesitation.

“Hmm, I don’t know, should I? I won fair and square.”

He sticks his tongue out at you. “Meanie.” 

You laugh, sliding off his lap and onto the empty seat next to him (albeit a little unwillingly, but it’s still hot as hell unfortunately, and conserving body heat together isn’t helping at all). Your boyfriend frowns, mostly because you’re no longer sitting in his lap, but partly because he doesn’t understand why you’re laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

Your grin widens, eyes sparkling like you know something he doesn’t (because you do). “Baby, your tongue’s purple.”

Taeyong turns a shade brighter than his favorite popsicle flavor.

[randomfandomimagine]

A Whisper Among The Noise (Clark Kent x Reader)

Character: Clark Kent

Fandom: Superman/Man of Steel (DCEU)

Tags: Songfic, angst with a happy ending, pining

Warnings: A bit angsty in the middle

Word Count: 2,1k words

Requested by @caritobbg​: Hello again!!! ❤️ I'm still in love with "I Still Love You" whith Jaskier 😍❤️ hahahaha I'm gonna ask if you could write another ficlet songfic with Clark Kent x Fem! Reader? 😍 The song's called Secret Love Song p.II by Little Mix ❤️ Reader's in love with him, but when she founds out about a mysterious girl that he likes, she felt so bad and sing that song infront of everyone at an after-office party. Then, Clark tell her that she's that girl 😍 Love your blog!!!! 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍

A/N: Better late than never 😅 By this point I was running out of inspiration a bit, but I still kind of like the result and I hope you love it! Thanks for being so lovely and patient and understanding. Enjoy!! 💜

Clark Kent x Gender Neutral Reader

_

You absently scratched your nail against the ridges on the red solo cup you were holding and that you had barely drank a sip of. The party was lively and loud, and although you didn’t regret coming, you were starting to feel a bit restless. Everyone was shouting over the music and chatting in groups, and after you had said hello to them, you were now hiding in the corner as you felt your social battery drain.

A hand softly pressed against your arm, and you would have been startled by the sudden contact as well as by the promise of new interaction if it weren’t for whom that hand belonged to. You could tell it was him not only by the gentle way in which he called you, but also the unmistakable way his touch made you feel. Warm, flustered, loved. The butterflies returned to your stomach, like they had never left ever since the last time you talked to him.

“Y/N” His deep voice enveloped you as you turned around to face him.

“Hey, Clark” You didn’t speak too loudly, but he seemed to hear you nonetheless.

“What…” He began to say, but he paused and leaned closer to your ear so you could understand him over the blasting speakers. “What are you doing here all alone?”

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, even under the fond way in which he watched you, you shrugged your shoulders. Wanting to distract yourself from the intense way he made you feel, you continued to play with the cup in your hands.

Why can't I hold you in the street? Why can't I kiss you on the dance floor? I wish that it could be like that Why can't it be like that? 'Cause I'm yours Why can't I say that I'm in love? I wanna shout it from the rooftops I wish that it could be like that Why can't it be like that? 'Cause I'm yours

 “Well, I…” Knowing he expected an answer, you made an effort to reply and raise your voice enough so that he could hear you. “I guess I’m a bit over it already”

When you looked up at him, you saw Clark dedicating you an understanding smile. His hand, which still lingered on your arm, carefully squeezed you.

“Would you like me to drive you home?”

“I wouldn’t want you to leave the party early because of me…”

“I don’t mind at all” His smile widened, acquiring an inviting expression. “I don’t like parties that much anyway”

“You really wouldn’t mind?” Your hand fell atop of his, timid and longing.

“It would be my pleasure” Clark dedicated you that smile, the one that light up your entire world.

The two of you paused, lingering on your reciprocal touch, and stared at the other. At that time, the music in the background seemed to dim. Perhaps it was because of your heart beating wildly in your chest, all the more with each second that your touch and his continued. Or maybe it was that the intensity of your gazes that made everything around you duller.

When your eyes drifted down to his lips, like they had a mind of their own, you had to bite your lip not to audibly gasp. You inched closer to his mouth on an instinct, ever so slightly, so little in fact that he didn’t seem to notice.

“Come on” He finally said, moving his hand to gently push it against the small of your back. “Let’s get you home”

You obeyed, hoping you weren’t blushing as his hand also lingered in that new spot. Titling your head down, you started walking towards the exit. Your mind boiled with thoughts, all regarding the very man that so kindly insisted in personally accompanying you home.

_

When Clark stopped the car, it felt like all the questions fighting for attention in your brain only grew louder with the absence of the party music. Like every time you interacted, he was the perfect gentleman, a sweetheart, always kind and thoughtful and gentle. Back at the party, you had been even closer than ever. All those stolen moments you shared paled in comparison to that one. Surely, he must have noticed your moment of weakness and decided not to act on it, to pretend like he didn’t realize. He couldn’t be that oblivious.

It made sense, seeing as his heart was apparently taken. There were rumors in the office, of Clark being hung up on someone. He always seemed absent-minded, lost in a beautiful romantic daydream of that special person. If only you could be so lucky, but having your feelings reciprocated felt like an impossible dream. You could see that now, clear as day despite the darkness that surrounded you.

“Are you okay?” Clark’s husky voice startled you slightly in the stillness of the car. “You’re very quiet”

“I was just wondering…” You dared to look him in the eyes, forgetting how beautiful and piercing they were. For a moment, it took your breath away. “Are the rumors true? Do you… are you… and someone in the office…?”  

“Maybe… why do you ask?” He attentively stared at you, but his tender expression wasn’t endearing this time. It was heartbreaking, because someone else caused it.

“I…” Unprompted, a deep sadness overwhelmed you. The electric magic that seemed to fill the air whenever he was around disappeared, replaced with a cold void.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” Clark placed a hand on your wrist, but this time the gesture didn’t feel as lovely either. “You’re acting strange”

Tears arrived to your eyes. You had a sudden realization that, no matter how close and intimate you got with Clark, it would never be enough. He was thinking of someone else.

Every time I see you, I die a little more Stolen moments that we steal as the curtain falls It'll never be enough As you drive me to my house I can't stop these silent tears from rolling down You and I both have to hide on the outside Where I can't be yours and you can't be mine

But I know this, we got a love that is homeless

Was he really that blind to your love to give you hope? Especially when his harbored someone else? Was that undeniable connection doomed because of another person?

He was staring at you, yet again expecting an answer. His insistent gaze made your heart race, made you flustered as usual. This wasn’t fair…

“I’m in love with you” You spit out before you could stop yourself.

The silence seemed to grow. It loomed over you, lurking in order to swallow you at any moment, and take your empty heart with it.

“Oh…” Clark retrieved his hand, dragging his fingers along your skin.

Feeling all kinds of stupid and hopeless, you averted your gaze. Your wrist felt cold and hot at the same time. That spot missed his touch, but it remembered it.

“I’ll…” He cleared his throat. “I’ll walk you to the door”

Moving your head so he couldn’t see your face, you looked out the window. He stayed in the seat, so you nodded your head without making eye contact. When you made to open the door, he exited the car himself.

In the time that it took him to round the vehicle to reach the copilot door, you took a deep breath to calm yourself. You didn’t want him to know how much you were hurting. It would only make things worse.

It's obvious you're meant for me Every piece of you, it just fits perfectly Every second, every thought, I'm in so deep But I'll never show it on my face

Before he could, you opened the door and walked out of the car. There stood Clark’s tall figure, illuminated by a streetlight behind him and making him look like an angel in a halo. You and him… it would have been too good to be true.

You started walking to your front door, with him standing by you and watching your every move. He was worried, and you could tell. You couldn’t even be mad at him or that person that stole his love. After all, you wanted him to be happy, even if it was with somebody else.

As you walked, you subtly wiped the tears from your cheeks and busied yourself with getting your keys out. They rattled in the silence of the night, making your ears ring. It was the only sound filling the void other than your slow, feeble footsteps. Your front door was closer each second, and with that a sense of anticipated relief reached you bit by bit, desperately attempting to take over the hurt.

“Y/N?” Clark piped up, but you didn’t feel strong enough to hear what he wanted to say.

“Thanks for taking me home” Was all you told him, already lifting your arm with your keys prepared.

“Wait” He spoke in an ushered whisper, delicately stopping your hand when you were opening the door. His fingers were warm even in that chilly night. “I don’t think you understood me before”

“You don’t have to explain” You told him, mentally begging him to stop talking. “Really, Clark”

“I do” His grip on your wrist tightened a little. “Because I am in love with that someone…”

“Clark…” You began, gritting your teeth and struggling to keep faking.

“Will you look at me?” His hand gingerly rested against your cheek, tilting your head so you reluctantly stared into his blue eyes. “That someone is you… how could you think it was anyone but you?”

You gawked at him, unable to believe him. He backed off slightly, letting go of your wrist and giving you some space. As usual, he seemed to know exactly what you needed.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” You weren’t angry, you weren’t sad, nor disappointed. Shock was the only thing you could feel among the sea of emotions that threatened to drown you.

“I thought you knew…” He continued, given your quietness. “I was waiting for a sign”

“A sign?”

“A sign that you… loved me back”

“I knew you loved someone, I just… I never thought it was me…”

Clark frowned, seemingly as heartbroken as you were. He made to touch you again, but this time he hesitated. You could see it in his eyes, the regret and guilt and fear. After all this time being so unapologetically affectionate, he was afraid to hurt you again. He was afraid to harm you in any way, even if it hadn’t been his intention. All that pain and uncertainty… it was all for nothing. Clark loved you, he always had. There was no one else, only you.

“I’m sorry if I ever hurt you” Once again, he read you like an open book. He knew you so well, and he cared so much, that he read your thoughts.

“Get out of my head…” You spoke in a whisper, fascinated by him.

Relieved by the shift in the atmosphere, from tense and sad to hopeful and light, he chuckled. His brow was still furrowed, but now it showcased that fondness from always. Knowing what you did now, you realized it wasn’t only that. It was fondness, and an absolute adoration that you were surprised not to have seen until then. It was always there, you were just too blind and too afraid to see it.

“Can I…?” Clark began, but you interrupted him.

“Yes” You replied before he could finish the question, you knew what he was going to say anyways. And the answer was yes, one hundred times yes.

He smiled and moved closer to you. Feeling his warmth in the chilly night, you shivered as he lovingly wrapped his arms around you. Like they belonged there and always had, your hands settled on his chest. He deeply breathed in, as though he couldn’t contain such emotion. Then, he finally leaned in.

Your eyes closed at the touch of his lips, feeling goose bumps now that it finally happened. He held you tight at last, tighter, as tight as he could, as he pressed you against him. Your hands went up to his shoulders, holding on to him as your legs threatened to give in under the weight of your immeasurable happiness.

The kiss was magical, warm, passionate and tender. It was loving and sweet and cathartic. When it ended after a few seconds, you slowly opened your eyes. Clark was staring at you, receiving you with a bright smile. He didn’t say anything, but you understood anyway.

There was no noise anymore and he didn't have to whisper in your ear, but he still reached you deeply. He saw you in ways no one else could, he talked to you and read you without the need of words, and that kiss was proof of it all, like a whisper among the noise.

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[kissinginkitchens]

You Bring Me Home—Chapter Five: Like Real People Do

a/n: hellooo and welcome to the next part of ybmh!! i am sooooo excited about this next chapter (and upcoming chapters😏 ). Thank you again for all of your kind words and wonderful feedback! It's always so much fun to hear from you all, so as always, feel free to come chat in my inbox once you've finished this next part. I have a feeling there will be much to discuss👀 Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai'i!Harry x Original Character

Warnings: swearing, allusions to sexual content, mentions of drowning

Word Count: 5.6k

read parts one, two, three, and four

“I’m not going,” Alani says finally, discarding the outfit in her hands onto a pile on her bed. The clock reads 7:55 pm, only five minutes before she was supposed to be at the studio. She still hadn’t selected an outfit, but her hair and makeup were still relatively intact from her shift at the café.

“You have to!” Pua whines. “You told him you would!”

“Then I’ll tell him I’m sick or something—food poisoning. Period cramps, maybe,”

She begins placing the clothes on hangers to put back in her closet, but her sister reaches for her wrists to stop her.

“You’re just nervous,” Pua says calmly, getting eye level with her older sister. “But you’ll regret it if you don’t go,”

“Go where?” a woman’s voice calls from the door frame. Their mother, Estrella, peeks her head through the cracked door.

“To a party with a cute boy,” Pua explains.

Alani shoots an icy glare at her sister before turning back to her mom. “It’s not a party. I’m working on a piece about a local musician and he’s recording some music tonight and said I could go. You know, to write about it,”

Estrella nods, not convinced. “So why don’t you wanna to go?”

“Because they almost kissed—”

“Pua!”

“Hey, hey,” Estrella cuts in. “Mija, you’re twenty-two years old, I don’t expect you to stay single forever. If you want to go out and see a cute boy, you don’t need to lie about it,”

“But I’m not lying,” Alani defends. “It’s just… complicated, and I’m trying to be professional about it.”

Estrella steps away from the doorframe and envelops her daughter in a hug. “Sometimes, you just have to do what feels right and hope for the best,”

Alani is grateful for the piece of wisdom from her mother, feeling a small weight lifted off her shoulders.

“But if I were you,” her mom continues. “I would wear the black strappy dress with those wedges.”

********

8:10. Harry checks his phone for the third time in one minute, growing more disappointed each time the same three numbers stare back at him, almost mocking. He doesn’t feel any better when the time reads 8:11.

“Can I interest you in a piña colada?” Mitch pipes up, sauntering over with a glass in each hand.

The choice of drink seemed perfect when Harry had suggested it earlier in the day, but he deeply regrets it now. Despite the tightening at the back of his throat, Harry accepts the drink and chooses to nurse it in a different corner of the room. A part of him feels guilty for being such a buzzkill around his friends these days, and he wishes more than anything that he could just enjoy living in this moment with them. Being away from Alani had produced a strange feeling in him similar to the sickness experienced when leaving home on a long vacation; Harry didn’t know exactly how to cure it, but he hoped that lots of alcohol would do the trick.

When the clock reads 8:20, he accepts that she isn’t coming and decides to make the best of a shitty situation. He drains another piña colada and joins his friends who are huddled around various instruments and sound equipment. A few more of Harry’s writer and producer friends had joined the trip temporarily, and he’s grateful, now more than ever, for their presence—it distracts him from the overwhelming emptiness in the pit of his stomach. Jeff hands Harry a microphone and some headphones while Mitch plugs a white electric guitar into the amp. The guitarist begins with some chords that the crew has been messing around with for the past couple of days: an upbeat riff reminiscent of some of Harry’s favorite 70s rock pieces. His head is spinning mildly, but he uses the feeling as inspiration. He pinches his eyes shut and tries to let the lyrics flow, but the only words coming out are “she’s driving me crazy”, so he starts with that. The group also runs with it, adding a few yells and lyrics of their own. The song isn’t coherent in the slightest, filled mostly with laughter and choppy melodies, but it’s the best Harry has felt all night. He traded the piña coladas for a glass of tequila fit snugly in the palm of his hand, and true to Mitch’s word, the giggles emerge. At one point, he shouts the words “I’m havin’ your baby”, which makes zero sense to anyone in the room, including him, but they decide that it sounds cool and keep it going.

“It’s none of your business!” Mitch calls back, voice raised in his best soprano to mimic that of a woman. The shoddy attempt makes Harry laugh even harder and his hand clutches his stomach.

They continue on for what feels like hours, but in reality has only been forty-five minutes. At 9:05, Jeff Azoff heads outside to catch his breath and cool down. As he takes a seat on the steps, a yellow Ford Bronco pulls into the lot and Alani steps out once it's parked. She emerges in a black dress that falls mid thigh and a baby pink leather jacket, making her way nervously up the steps.

“Alani,” Jeff greets warmly with cheeks flushed. “Welcome. Party’s inside.”

She shoots him a grateful smile and reaches for the studio door, slipping inside cautiously. The music had been audible a mile down the road, but it’s even more overwhelming inside. Standing on a small coffee table in the center of the room is Harry with an arm draped around a shorter man wearing a black and white Adidas shirt. His dimples are on full display and his warbled words carry over the speakers to attack her from all sides. She recognizes Mitch hunched over a guitar and Jeff Bhasker spinning in an office chair, but she can’t put names to the other faces lingering around Harry. Alani feels extremely out of place, not knowing where she belongs in all of the chaos—it all seems to her like a living Jackson Pollock painting that she can’t look away from. In the middle of his off-key rendition of Wannabe by the Spice Girls, Harry’s eyes land on Alani and his smile grows ten times wider. He puts one foot in front of the other, completely disregarding the small size of the table, but he catches himself just as Alani lunges forward to help him. This results in their two bodies pressed flush against one another, the coolness of her leather jacket versus the warmth of his intoxication.

“You made it,” he slurs.

Alani takes a small step back and clears her throat. “Yeah. Sorry I’m late,”

“Don’ worry ‘bout it,” Harry shrugs, his eyes lighting up when he remembers something. “There’s piña coladas! In the kitchen,”

The fact that he remembered such a detail from their previous conversations and made an effort to incorporate it into this night makes her cheeks warm.

“Okay, cool. Thanks,”

Harry scans her appearance and his stomach flutters.

“Y’look really pretty,” he offers. Alani can tell that it takes every ounce of effort to do so.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, voice small.

“Wanna get some fresh air?”

“Yes, please.”

The two of them slip out through a side door and into the backyard, stopping just before the pier. Alani doesn’t know how much of these next moments Harry will remember in the morning, which makes her feel a little more confident to share what she’s truly thinking.

“Harry, I—”

“God, you’re so pretty,” he interrupts, running a hand through his hair.

Her cheeks heat up, but she pushes past the feeling. “And you’re drunk,”

“Yeah, true. But you’re still pretty. Always think so,”

Alani searches his eyes, which are sleepy and bloodshot, but there isn’t a trace of insincerity. In this moment, she also feels the overwhelming urge to be honest—about the butterflies in her stomach that only set flight when he’s around, and the way she constantly wonders what his lips would feel like against hers. But there’s an intensity behind Harry’s gaze, despite his intoxicate state, that stops her.

“You’re making this so hard,” Alani laughs lightly, more to herself than him.

“‘M sorry,” he offers. “Don’t mean to,”

She smiles at Harry’s completely innocent reply, not knowing what to do with all of the pent up affection she has for him. A part of her simply wants to scream in his face to stop being so goddamn endearing. Instead, Alani turns on her heel to put some space between them, but stops when she feels a warm hand tug at her fingers.

“Why d’you always do that?” Harry asks, his expression a little more sober.

Alani takes a deep breath. “Do what?”

“Pull away when I get close. Did it in the car that one time. And the other time at the beach,”

There’s a beat of silence where Alani isn’t sure how to respond, but before she does, Harry releases her fingers and takes a step back.

“Wait, that was stupid. ‘M sorry if I did anything—”

“No,” Alani interrupts, taking a step closer. “You haven’t done anything wrong,”

“So why?”

She releases a breath and swallows. “I don’t know,”

It isn’t the answer Harry is looking for, but he accepts it with a slow nod. Suddenly feeling the need to flee, he takes a step onto the railing of the pier and Alani’s heart rate speeds up.

“What’re you doing?”

“S’hard to tell,” he shrugs before letting himself fall into the water below.

“Harry!” she screams, heaving over the edge of the railing to find him. The drop, unbeknownst to her, is only six feet and he’s done it many times before.

After a few seconds, Alani sees him reemerge at the surface, shaking his wet hair out. There’s a small strip of sand along the shore below, so she bolts down the stairs to meet him at the bottom.

“What the fuck?!” She cries, panic welling in the brim of her eyes. “Why did you do that?”

“I don’t know,” he deadpans.

“You could’ve hurt yourself,” Alani croaks, her limbs shaking. “You—you could’ve—”

Harry reaches out to comfort her but she steps back.

“I gotta go,”

“Alani,” he says gently, but she doesn’t respond. “Alani, wait!”

She walks briskly back to the front lot, Harry close behind.

“Alani, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t follow me.” she orders.

Her words are like a dagger through his chest, but he respects her wishes and stops dead in his tracks. Harry stands soaking wet under the moonlight, feeling helpless as he watches Alani disappear into the darkness.

********

She wakes the next morning with puffy eyes and a heavy heart, still wearing the same black dress from the night before. The warm water of a morning bath eases some of the tension in her muscles, but she knows it will take a lot more to soothe the tightness in her chest.

Why do you always do that?

Do what?

Pull away.

Their conversation from the night before lingers like a nasty bruise in Alani’s mind, but she senses a bit of harsh truth in Harry’s words. She did have a bad habit of walking away when things got hard, especially concerning matters of the heart. Her instincts were all flight and no fight, so even if Alani had stayed, she isn’t sure how she would’ve explained her reasons for panicking. How do I gently pepper in the whole almost dying thing? she wonders, a lump forming at the back of her throat. Alani was only eight years-old when she nearly drowned, and though almost fourteen years had passed since then, she still vividly remembers the helplessness of sinking further under the strong tide. On nights after a particularly stressful day, Alani’s sleep is often disturbed by the sensation of her lungs slowly filling with water only to wake up drenched in sweat and clutching the sheets. She had worked hard for several years after the incident to overcome her fear of the ocean, but a part of her still couldn’t shed the debilitating need for caution. After all, it was easier to avoid the water altogether than to wade in blindly and get sucked under. Watching Harry sink into the unknown stirred the same sense of panic that Alani had felt all those years ago and threatened to undo her progress, but she quickly realized that it was the idea of losing him that had sent her into flight mode. She imagines the hollowness she would feel at the sight of waterfalls and the scent of vanilla; piña coladas—the drink and the song—tainted in her memory forever. The thought of Harry's absence was all too much to bear, but it’s how she knew that his presence must mean something. He meant something, and she couldn’t let him go.She ends her bath quickly and sifts through the first pair of clothes she can find. Suddenly none of it mattered: what she wore, how she looked, Rolling Stone—nothing but him. Alani thinks back to her mother’s words: sometimes you just have to do what feels right and hope for the best. All she needed to do was see him and the words would find themselves. The sky is overcast when she steps outside, so she quickly puts the top on Stevie and pulls out into the road, deciding to make one quick pit-stop before setting off to find him.

********

Harry’s head pounds and he feels as if the sun has been set to maximum brightness. His clothes reek of saltwater, his skin feels like sandpaper, and his mouth is the Sahara desert. None of this compares, however, to the sense of impending doom that settles in when the memories of the night before, particularly those of Alani, resurface. I’m so fucked, he groans. Harry doesn’t quite remember every detail, but he remembers enough; he remembers how pretty she looked, and reminding her of it. He feels the temporary warmth of her fingers and the coolness of her jacket pressed against his chest. There’s a bit of fuzziness between the Spice Girls and piña coladas, but then Harry remembers crashing through water and his memory gets clearer. He fucked up. He had upset Alani in some way and although he doesn’t quite know how, he knows that he would spend the rest of his life trying to make up for it. Harry sits up suddenly and the whole room spins, but he makes an effort to stand anyway. Need to see Alani, he thinks with determination, I just need to see Alani.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Mitch comments from the kitchen table, nursing a cup of coffee.

“What time is it?” Harry croaks.

Mitch takes a sip of coffee and checks his phone. “10:30,”

“And last night was…”

“The party?” Mitch fills in the gaps. “Yeah,”

Harry rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands and takes a seat at the table. “Did...did you see Alani?”

“No. I don’t think anyone did, actually. Did you?”

“Yeah,”

“So… I’m assuming it didn’t go well?”

Harry’s throat tightens and he hopes that she at least got home safely. He can’t bear to think about anything bad happening to her on his watch.

“No,” he confirms with a sigh. “No it didn’t,”

“Are you gonna go talk to her?” Mitch prods.

“Dunno if I should. She was pretty pissed,”

Mitch thinks for a second, taking another sip of coffee. “What would Noah Calhoun do?”

Under normal circumstances, Harry would be very amused by his friend’s reference to The Notebook, but right now he’s too focused on making things right with Alani. He devises a plan of action and stands.

“On a scale of one to ten,” he starts. “How shitty do I look?”

Mitch scans his best friend over, head tilting from side to side as he considers the question. “About a 7.5.”

“Good enough.”

Harry swipes the keys to the Cadillac off the counter and slips his feet into a pair of beat up vans before heading out the door.

********

The restaurant is fairly empty, as far as Alani can tell from the back. The kitchen staff are gathered in the break room for the time being, which allows her to tiptoe around unnoticed as she grabs the necessary ingredients for her peace offering to Harry. She hurries out through the employee entrance as soon as it’s complete and the key is already turning in her car’s lock when she hears a voice over her shoulder, calling her name.

“David?” she responds, turning to face the brawny man leaning against the car that is parked beside hers.

“Hey,” he starts, offering a flash of pearly white teeth. “I know I’m not supposed to be back here, but I just wanted to talk to you,”

Alani swallows, the icy chill of the drink in her hands reminding her of what needs to be done.

“You know, now’s not really a gr—”

“I haven't stopped thinking about you,” David interrupts, taking a step closer. “Since the other day when you stopped by. I mean, I think about you all the time but…” he trails off and Alani waits awkwardly for him to finish his ill-timed confession. David takes another step towards her and rests his forearm against the hood of her car, practically boxing her in with no escape route.

“We were really great together, don’t you think?” he asks, scanning her face with his prying eyes. “I don’t even remember why we broke things off,”

Alani’s brow furrows, her mind failing to come up with a logical explanation for this very sudden and uncomfortable conversation. She hadn’t lied when she told Harry that David wasn’t her ex, but she hadn’t been entirely honest, either. They had started hooking up during her senior year of high school—mostly because he was the star swimmer on their team that all the other girls fawned over, and despite all the attention, he had wanted her. It made her feel momentarily special, though she knew he wasn’t the boyfriend type. “Just a bit of fun” is what they called it, and the arrangement worked out well until Alani’s freshman year of college when she realized that there was an entire world of opportunities waiting beyond the confines of high school. A world that had brought her Harry, who was probably going to leave just as soon as he’d arrived if she didn’t make amends quickly.

“No,” Alani says decisively, nudging his arm away. “We weren’t ‘great’ together, we weren’t even good for each other,”

“Alani-”

“We were really young,” she continues. “And we did what we did, but that’s all in the past-”

“If you would just give me a chance-”

“I didn’t even know what I wanted for myself back then, let alone what I wanted out of a partner. But I do now,”

She doesn’t have to say Harry’s name, but they’re both thinking it. David steps back, arms crossed, and though he had always been somewhat intimidating, he looks small standing before her now.

“It’s because of that British guy, isn’t it?” he asks, despite the feeling that he already knows the answer.

Alani lets out a light laugh but she doesn’t confirm his suspicions. “We have nothing in common, David. We want different things out of life, you’ll see,”

“And he,” David continues, an accusatory tone on the word “he”. “Wants everything you do?”

She thinks for a moment, her heart pounding as she considers what Harry’s response will be to her confession. “I hope so.”

********

Harry had considered going to Alani’s house first, but he wasn’t sure who else would be home and didn’t particularly want his first interaction with her parents to occur whilst hungover. Sitting parked on the back road behind the café, however, he wishes that he had stopped there first to save him the painful sight ahead. Harry recognizes the other man from the restaurant he had taken Alani to the first time they had hung out, a name that started with the letter “D," though probably not the one flashing angrily in his mind. His arm is draped comfortably along the roof of her car, their bodies inches apart in what appears to be a very intimate moment. While he still can’t remember the exact details of his actions that had upset Alani so much, he fits this piece into the puzzle and it becomes much more clear. She has a boyfriend, and no amount of apologies could reconcile this fact, however tempted Harry may be to try. The word “boyfriend” sits uncomfortably in his mind, but it suddenly puts everything else into perspective. It explains why she fled his car so quickly when his wandering eyes had hinted their desire for her kiss—both times. He could have sworn that it would have happened had her phone not interrupted them the second time, but perhaps it had all been a trick of the rose-colored light. The sudden realization makes Harry feel sick, and a bit foolish, so he speeds off before he can be spotted.

He drives aimlessly for a while, mind still racing with the image of the other man’s depraved hands on Alani’s soft skin. The uneasiness boiling in the pit of his stomach is pathetic—he’s well aware—but he can’t stop himself from wondering why not me? It’s a selfish thought, but it eats at him, nonetheless. It should have been me. But the reality is that it wasn’t him, and it never would be. Despite any feelings he’d had that Alani was the one for him, he was not the one for her, and it’s a fact he must learn to live with. If this thought were a rock, he’d turn it over in his fingers until they bled.

********

Alani pulls up to the studio hesitantly and waits a beat before making her way up the stairs. She knocks twice, but there’s no answer, so she presses her ear to the door in search of any sound. Silence. There’s no trace of the cars Harry usually drives when she wanders to the back lot, either, so she figures that he must not be here. Alani racks her brain for other possible locations, but it’s a dead end. She doesn’t know what hotel or house he could be staying at, and her heart begins to race at the idea that he might not even be in Hawaii anymore. For all she knows, he could be on a return flight to L.A. or London, gone forever with the same instructions she had left him: don’t follow me. Alani lifts her phone with trembling fingers and searches Harry’s name, pressing the phone to her ear and praying like she had never prayed before. It rings three times before she’s sent to voicemail. The sound of his voice on the recording brings temporary relief, but it’s gone as soon as the message ends and she is prompted to respond. She clears her throat gently and speaks as if he is at the other end waiting to hear the right words and pick up.

“Hi, it’s Alani,” she starts slowly. “I, uh…. I’m at the studio. I don’t think you’re here though,”

She walks in small circles around the backyard and lets her eyes roam to the pier where it all went wrong. It sends a pang of guilt through her spine, but it fuels her next words.

“Listen, I really wanna talk—about last night. I shouldn’t have left, I know that now. It wasn’t you, it was me, and I know that sounds cliché but it’s true,”

Alani swallows down the emotion bubbling at the back of her throat and wishes that she could just see him, face to face, one last time. There’s so much more she needs to say, but it’s a conversation she doesn’t want to have with his answering machine.

“Please just call me when you get this. I wanna explain everything if you’ll let me.”

She hangs up and nearly throws her phone into the ocean. Though her trauma response wasn’t completely in her control and it isn’t something she should feel guilty about, she wishes she had been able to explain. Alani hadn’t always been comfortable sharing that part of her life, but there was a security in Harry’s presence that made her feel okay to do so. She wanted to share everything with him, the good and the bad, but she needed to find him first.

Only twenty minutes had elapsed at the studio when Alani decides to head out; there was still no word from Harry and she needed to be anywhere else beside the site of their potential last meeting. She drives with no particular place in mind, the windows rolled down to let in the chilly, overcast air. It isn’t until she’s halfway in the opposite direction that she gets the urge to visit one other location. There’s an extremely small chance that Harry will be there, but she goes less in search of him and more for her own personal wallowing.

When Alani pulls up to the lookout where the two of them had spotted the rainbow, there is another car already parked: a pink Cadillac. The sight makes her entire body freeze.

“Harry?” a small voice calls behind him. He almost thinks that he had hallucinated it until he reluctantly turns his head and sees a timid Alani emerging from her car. A million emotions run through his mind at once, starting with confusion and elation and ultimately ending in grief.

“Hey,” he responds, weakly, still leaning against the hood of the Cadillac.

Alani slowly makes her way over, not entirely sure that he’s actually there. Once she gets closer, however, she can smell the faint scent of vanilla and her chest swells.

“I left you a voicemail,” is all she can say.

Harry’s brow furrows as he tries to remember any phone calls, but he suddenly figures that in all of his rush to see her, he had forgotten to grab it from his bed.

“Left my phone at the house,” he offers.

There’s a brief silence where the two of them size each other up, weighing their own motives against what they assume to be the other person’s. Harry speaks first.

“Alani, ‘m really sorry,” he says gently, stepping away from the car and towards her. “I know I fucked up—”

“Harry—”

“But I understand now,” he continues. “I know why you were upset,”

Confusion settles into Alani’s body and she wonders how he could possibly know about her accident. Or if he didn’t know, what else he could be referring to. She doesn’t have to guess for long because Harry continues despite her silence.

“I saw you with him—your boyfriend, I mean. Derek?” he explains. “But not in a creepy way I just.. wanted to talk. Bad timing,”

“Wait,” Alani cuts in, her brain finally sorting out the pieces. “You saw me and David..today?”

Harry feels as if the knife in his chest has been twisted further at the mention of the other man’s name, but he nods. An uncontrollable bubble of laughter finds its way up Alani’s throat, and the sound would typically bring butterflies to his stomach, but it only exacerbates the heartache.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Alani clarifies. “He’s delusional. And a huge pain in the ass, but I think he finally got the hint when I turned him down earlier,”

Harry’s ears perk up at the news, but he’s still wary.

“But you two were—”

“Ancient history,” Alani reassures him, taking another step closer. “He might as well be Socrates,”

A faint smile tugs at the corners of Harry’s lips and he feels a wave of relief wash over his body. The news is music to his ears, but he still wants to know what he had done to make her walk away that night.

“So you weren’t upset because you have a boyfriend and I tried to make a move?”

Alani takes a deep breath, knowing that she has avoided saying her piece long enough. Before she can start, though, a rumble of thunder interrupts her thoughts.

“Can we talk in Stevie? I don’t feel like standing in wet socks again,” she asks, which Harry obliges.

The two climb into the truck and settle in, the atmosphere quickly becoming more intimate than Alani had planned. His vanilla cologne has also become more perceptible in the confined space, and there’s a whiff of spearmint, most likely his gum, that briefly draws her attention to his mouth. She snaps her mind back to the conversation at hand and clears her throat.

“I’m sorry,” she begins, reading his eyes carefully. There’s a faint reassurance behind the emerald surface, so she continues. “For everything that happened last night. You did nothing wrong, please know that,”

Harry wishes he could reach out and comfort her, but he gets the feeling that whatever she’s about to say is important so he doesn’t want to dismiss it.

“It’s hard for me, sometimes, to be around the water,” Alani continues despite the prickling feeling in her eyes. “Because when I was eight years old, I almost drowned,”

The revelation hits Harry like a ton of bricks and all at once he understands. He hadn’t even thought twice about jumping into the water that night, so it didn’t occur to him to rule that out as a possible offense. He understands now that he couldn’t have been more mistaken.

“And I know that has nothing to do with you,” Alani explains, her voice wavering ever so slightly. “Except that it terrified me to think about, you know… if you hadn’t been so lucky,”

Her composure quickly cracks, a single tear spilling down her cheek before she wipes it away with the sleeve of her sweater. This time, Harry does reach a hand out and Alani accepts it gratefully; the warmth of his fingers are a welcome contrast to her icy appendages.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he murmurs as his thumb rubs small circles over the back of her hand.

“But I do,” she sniffles. “Because—”

Alani pauses, unsure of how to finish her thought. Just do what feels right and hope for the best.

“Because I care about you,” she says finally, noticing the way his Adam’s apple bobs at her words.

Harry's jaw tightens at her confession and every muscle in his body longs to bring her close, leaving no inch of space between them, but he lets her lead despite his instincts.

"But it’s also because I care about you that I can’t let this go any further,”

Alani’s words surprise herself just as much as they terrify Harry, but she knows that it’s the right thing to do as soon as it’s done.

“Alani—” Harry starts, all of his worst fears crashing down on him.

“Please, don’t make this harder—”

“Don’t I get a say?” he questions, tightening his grip on her hand, though she still manages to slip away.

Alani runs the free hand through her still damp waves and lets another tear roll down her cheek. “What is there left to say?”

“How about ‘I care about you, too’? How about ‘I want to be with you’?”

“It’s too messy—”

“Everyone has baggage,” Harry defends. “God knows I do, and I would never ask you to carry all of that,”

Alani lets her eyes meet his again; they’re bloodshot and glossy, which sends a pang of guilt and sorrow through her entire body.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” she reasons, this time thinking not only about her own issues, but about everything—the lies she had told and the ambitions she was still nurturing. She hadn’t given up on her dreams and unless Rolling Stone had suddenly changed their mind about the Joni Mitchell piece, there was only one way she was going to achieve them. Alani hadn’t yet reconciled the fact that she would have to put aside her own feelings for Harry to get what she wanted, but she knew that time would heal the wounds.

“All I want,” he continues. “Is a chance. And I know nothing I do will ever change the past, but two hands make the load lighter. So, please, let me carry some of that with you. Give me a chance,”

As she studies the pleading in his eyes, something stirs deeply inside Alani’s chest. She had started the day thinking only of him, but with selfish intentions. Now, she was trying to do right by him, having realized that she couldn’t have both him and the story that would launch her career. Something would have to give, and Harry deserved more than that. He deserved more than her. Despite all of this awareness, there is something else nagging in the back of her mind that she can’t ignore. Don’t walk away, it screams. If Alani ignored her true feelings for Harry and refused his plea, she would be walking away from someone who believed in her, someone who cared deeply for, and wanted to understand, her. Perhaps the universe truly had brought Harry for a story, but to be a part of hers instead of the one she had been so eager to publish. There would be other chances, just like Dr. Hudson had said, but there would never be anyone else like Harry. So with this in mind, Alani decides to stop walking away and stand still, right in this very moment, with the boy who shined brighter than the sun itself and who had only asked for a chance to make her happy.

“Okay,” she breathes and it’s like the weight of the universe has been lifted from her shoulders.

Harry leans in, their foreheads pressed together gently, and cups her cheek in his hand.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers.

Alani nods and nudges the tip of his nose with her own. “Please.”

Their lips meet like electrically charged magnets, with a force so natural and strong it sends bolts of electrons through their entire bodies. Harry’s mouth is warm and gentle against hers, and the coolness of his mint gum soothes the searing touch of his kiss. Alani’s fingers glide up his chest and along the sides of his neck, pulling him closer as if he’s the anchor keeping her from floating away into the dark clouds above them. Over and over again, their lips collide fervently, breaths mixing and filling each other’s lungs. Their hands eagerly explore the curves of each other’s faces, the softness of hair, and the occasional heat of exposed skin. Harry is the first to break the kiss, panting lightly as he pulls back to search Alani’s face.

“Y’okay?” he asks.

“Never been better.”

next chapter

[beautiful-and-terrible]

dazed ‘n‘ confused (part 3)

A/N: 3500 fuckin’ words y’all lmaooo i am so stupidly invested in this dumbass and his hot neighbor.

Ship: Rodrick Heffley x OFC

Warnings: underage drinking / drug usage, dubious consent (both parties inebriated), swearing, etc.

---

Nicole shouldn’t have worried so much about what to wear. When she showed up in Rodrick’s garage, his friends Ben and Chris were there, both dressed in ripped jeans and flannel shirts paired over band t-shirts. By comparison, Nicole’s black skater skirt and combat boots felt almost fancy.

“Hey, I’m Ben,” the dark-haired one holding a red electric guitar came up to her and gave her a fist bump. She almost laughed, not having fist-bumped anyone since she was 13. “Nicole,” she replied, smiling.

“I’m Chris!” the blonde called over, waving, before turning back to adjusting his microphone and checking the settings on their audio.

Rodrick seemed to appreciate her style, at least. He came through the garage door, carrying a four-pack of Monster energy and whistled, giving her a quick up-and-down glance, “Hey, groupie.”

Nicole punched his arm as he walked by. “I came here to listen to you play, so… play.”

“Your wish is my command,” Rodrick said with a dramatic bow.

Nicole found a relatively comfortable spot as far from the speakers as she could get - this wasn’t a concert, but loud speakers could still be painful after an extended period of time. The clack of Rodrick’s drumsticks alerted her, and before she knew it there was a blast of noise and a blur of limbs.

Honestly, he wasn’t bad, Nicole thought to herself after they had played a few songs. He could use a little more control, but what musician didn’t get caught up in their music? Glancing outside, Nicole saw that it was finally growing dark out. The sky had turned a soft purple, and she could see a few fireflies flashing in the cooling grass. She checked the time on her phone - 9:15.

“Hey, do you guys know Caitlin?” she asked the group. They turned to look at her.

“Caitlin Irving or Caitlin Peters?” Ben asked, taking an impressive gulp of Monster before burping loudly. The boys fell into fits of laughter. Nicole couldn’t help laughing, too.

“I don’t know her last name, she works at Starbucks, though.”

“Ohhhhhh, Caitlin! Yeah, we know her. Why?”

“She invited me to a party tonight, but I don’t really know anyone but her. Would you guys wanna be my plus-three?”

Ben and Chris high-fived each other, and Rodrick saluted her with his drumstick, whacking himself in the head in the process. Nicole hid a laugh behind her hand, not wanting to embarrass him. “For sure, Nikky. As long as there's drinks, we’ll be there,” Chris said. 

“C’mon, we can take my van,” Rodrick said, shoving his drumsticks in his back pocket and running inside to grab his keys. The other boys started down the driveway toward the white van, garishly painted with the band's name on the side in bold, black letters.

When Rodrick returned, Nicole gave him a smug look. “I thought it needed repairs?”

Rodrick stopped walking mid-stride, looking like a puppet caught on its strings. “Uh. Yeah. Well. My dad helped, when you were over at your house. Getting ready. It’s fine now. He’s the best mechanic I know.”

“Uh-huh. You sure you didn’t just… want to ride home with me from work?”

Rodrick scoffed. “You wish.” But as he rounded the front of the car to the drivers side, you caught the scarlet color of his cheeks against his tan skin. As if he could be any more endearing, he even offered Nicole shotgun. Chris grumbled the entire time, but begrudgingly gave you the seat he had worked so hard to acquire. 

“First stop - Capital. Ben has a fake, so we can BYOB,” Rodrick said, practically peeling out of the driveway. Nicole clutched the seat for dear life, heart stuck in her throat.

“Are you sure this thing is secure?” she squeaked, feeling the seat shaking a little in its bolts.

“No one has been ejected yet, Nikky,” Rodrick laughed.

“Go-go gadget get me the fuck out of here,” Nicole groaned, planting her feet on the floor to try and stop herself from flying forward as Rodrick squealed to a stop in front of a seedy looking liquor store.

Ben barely avoided taking the sliding door off its tracks when he opened the door. Chris lit a cigarette in the back, the acrid scent wafting to the front of the van. Nicole didn’t mind the smell much - honestly it reminded her of her Grandmother's house - but she hoped the smell didn’t linger on her clothes. That would be hard to explain to her mom. Speaking of, she sent off a quick text to her parents telling them that she’d be back late. Luckily, Nicole had always been the responsible type, so her parents trusted her to make good decisions and as a result, let her have free reign of her life (especially now that she was 18).

Ben returned after a few minutes, carrying a 24 pack of Natty Light and lighting his own cigarette.

“You have the address?” Rodrick asked, and you showed him Caitlins text.

“Yo, that's in Heather Hill’s neighborhood. Maybe we can tee-pee her house later,” Rodrick said, already zooming off again.

“Heather Hills?”

“Major bitch,” Chris called from the back of the van. Rodrick shrugged. “She’s not a bitch she’s just… not very nice.”

Nicole laughed, “You don’t have to defend the honor of all women by not calling her a bitch. If she’s a bitch, I believe you.”

Rodrick looked at you out of the corner of his eye, thinking briefly.

“Yeah, she’s a stone-cold bitch. She ran over my foot once. With her car.” 

Nicole grimaced in sympathy.

“Last year, we played at her Sweet Sixteen party, and Rodrick broke her ice sculpture bust. It was awesome,” Ben said.

“Oh, so you aren’t always perfect?” Nicole teased. Rodrick flipped her off.

Soon, they pulled up in front of Caitlin’s house. Nicole could already hear loud music from outside the house, and there were rainbow strobe lights flashing in the windows. Swallowing her nervousness, she followed Rodrick, Chris and Ben up the front walkway.

As they walked in the house, Nicole was hit by the fragrant, herbal smell of weed. From far away, the music had seemed loud, but coming in the house the music seemed to vibrate her ribcage - it was something with a repetitive bass, stuff Nicole didn’t normally listen to but she enjoyed it nonetheless. She followed Rodrick further into the house, trying to find the kitchen, weaving between people dancing and couples making out.

There were people surrounding an island in the center of the kitchen, decorated with colorful bottles of liquor and sodas to mix with. Nicole spotted Caitlin talking to a tall black guy, drinking out of a red solo cup. Nicole gave her a wave, and Caitlin excitedly came over to greet her.

“Hey! I’m so glad you made it.”

“Yeah, me too. I haven’t actually ever been to a high school party.”

Caitlin’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Well, you’re gonna have one hell of a first high school party experience, girly. Let's get you a drink.”

Caitlin turned to the kitchen island and poured about four shots of rum and filled the rest with coke in a red solo cup. Nicole took a sip. She could barely tell it was spiked, so she took a few more chugs and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. 

“Do you wanna dance?” Caitlin asked, and Nicole nodded before following her back to the living room. Already, the rum was making her limbs feel looser and her brain fuzzy. She finished the rest of it in one go, enjoying the feeling of her nervousness and insecurities fading away. Nicole had never been unpopular, per say, but she tended to stay to herself and only had a few close friends at her old school, anyway. It was refreshing to feel included, and she couldn’t help feeling that this was the way her teenage years were supposed to be - loud and exciting and living moment to moment.

As they danced, Nicole swaying in place and occasionally spinning around, she couldn’t help but feeling a little awkward. Caitlin was actually a really good dancer - she knew how to move her body in all the right ways so they hit on beat with the music. Nicole envied her easy grace, but was quickly relieved when Caitlin accidentally bumped into someone, causing them to spill their drink. Nicole stifled a laugh, not at Caitlin’s expense, just at the irony of the timing. At least Nicole wasn’t the only clutz. 

They had been dancing for only a few minutes before Nicole felt a hand on her waist, making her jump slightly.

“Hey, the guys and I are gonna smoke some weed in the backyard. Do you wanna come?” Rodrick said. His voice was almost in her ear, close enough that she could hear him over the blaring music, his breath tickling her sensitive skin. 

She turned around to face him - in the dim light of the house, he looked much more appealing than usual - she hadn’t even noticed he had put eyeliner on, but it made the dark of his eyes look even more obsidian. Nicole nodded, giving a thumbs up, and pulled Caitlin along with her.

“I need you for moral support,” Nicole said, making Caitlin laugh.

“Have you ever smoked weed before?” Caitlin asked.

“Nope.”

Caitlin raised her eyebrows and pulled her closer as they walked to whisper in her ear.

“Okay, take a small hit the first time, don’t try to impress anyone. But breathe it fully into your lungs - I like to start by pulling it into my mouth first, and then inhaling fully. And if you cough, don’t worry, almost everyone does their first time.”

Nicole gave her a grateful look as they approached the circle of people sitting on lawn chairs in the backyard. Ben and Chris were already there, with two other girls Nicole didn’t know. However, there seemed to only be two more lawn chairs available to sit on.

Nicole was about to plop down on the grass before Caitlin grabbed her hand.

“You should sit on Rodrick’s lap,” she whispered, and Nicole almost choked on her drink.

“What?” 

“Dude, he’s totally into you - I don’t know what your sitch is, but I think he’s probably a little nervous about making the first move. Just do it, and if he asks, say ‘sorry, there weren’t enough seats and I don’t wanna get bug bites from the grass.”

Nicole stared at her, mouth agape. The alcohol in her brain was telling her it might not be the worst idea ever. And you know what? Fuck it. You’re only young once. Nicole made up her mind, and squeezing Caitlin’s hand, she walked over to where Rodrick was sitting before primly making herself comfortable on his thigh.

She felt him tense beneath her immediately, before his hand came up to her waist to steady her. Before he had the chance to say anything about it, the joint was passed to him, and he took an impressive hit, the cherry glowing red at the end for several seconds. Nicole watched him with interest, hoping she wouldn’t mess up too badly and embarrass herself. 

Rodrick looked up at her as he exhaled the smoke, holding the joint out to her. Not paying attention, and entranced by the eye contact they were holding, she reached out to take the joint without looking and promptly burned her hand on it.

“Fucker,” she hissed, shaking her hand to try and get rid of the pain. Rodrick just laughed.

“Do you want help?” Rodrick asked, before taking another hit of the joint. He reached up behind Nicole’s head, threading his fingers through her hair, before pulling her down close to his face, their lips inches apart. Nicole instinctively opened her mouth, half from surprise and half in anticipation of being kissed. But Rodrick simply blew a steady stream of smoke into her mouth, - their lips didn’t make contact. Belatedly, Nicole realized she was supposed to be inhaling, so she did quickly, trying to hold the smoke in her lungs for as long as possible. 

Somebody wolf-whistled in the group. Nicole was pretty sure it was Caitlin.

Eventually, she ended up coughing it out, Rodrick rubbing her back but still laughing.

“You’re a green at the green, huh?” Rodrick asked, and Nicole rolled her eyes.

“That obvious?”

“Yeah, but it’s cute. I’m glad you’re having your first high with me,” Rodrick said, smiling sweetly. Nicole’s stomach fluttered. Already, she could tell that this wasn’t alcohol she was feeling anymore - the buzz she had been feeling earlier was replaced by something much slower and velvety, like the world was moving through maple syrup.

“Dude,” Nicole said after a minute, realizing she had been staring at nothing. Rodrick looked at her. She looked at him. They both started cracking up laughing.

“What are we laughing at?” Nicole hiccuped through her laughter.

“No idea,” Rodrick said, wiping his eyes free of tears of mirth.

“Rodrick, pass the J,” Ben called out, breaking the two of them from their trance. Without thinking about it, Nicole leaned back onto Rodrick’s chest, enjoying the warmth of his body. It wasn’t a cold night, per say, but Nicole was only wearing a skirt and a t-shirt, and she had always had poor circulation. She shivered involuntarily.

“Do you want my flannel?” Rodrick asked, already taking it off. Nicole sat up, ruffling his hair playfully.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you just want to show off your arms,” Nicole said, slipping on the warm blue flannel and resting her hand on Rodrick’s exposed arm, once again in a cut-off tank top. Rodrick gave her a funny look.

“What do you mean?”

Nicole suddenly found herself tongue tied. “Uh. I mean. You just wear a lot of tank tops.”

Rodrick raised an eyebrow, but said nothing else. Nicole leaned back against him again, feeling simultaneously self-conscious and exhilarated. They had never touched for this long before. She wasn’t sure exactly what was happening between them, but she liked the direction it was going. Even though they hadn’t known each other long, Nicole felt more comfortable with Rodrick than she did anyone else - even though most of the time she had known him, he had been a nuisance to her. Well… maybe not a complete nuisance.

It was funny to think that only a few days ago, Rodrick was just an annoyance she dealt with at her job and admired from afar, and now she was sitting on his lap, wearing his flannel. She leaned her head back, looking at the stars. She hadn’t noticed that Caitlin had left, but suddenly she appeared over her line of vision, grinning.

“Do you want a beer?” she asked, holding a cold can over Nicole’s forehead. Nicole reached out to take it, sitting up before cracking it open. She wasn’t in the habit of enjoying beer for the flavor, so she’d rather get drunk off it quickly. It tasted like wet cardboard, but Nicole managed to chug it down.

“Damn, girl, where’d you learn to drink like that?” Chris asked, laughing as Nicole belched loudly. 

“Years of rigorous practice and intense concentration, young padawan,” Nicole replied.

“Do you wanna shotgun one with me?” Chris asked, half-joking, but Nicole was feeling overly confident from the buzz she was feeling and readily stepped up to the challenge.

“Whoever spits it out owes the other ten bucks.”

“Fuckin’ deal,” Chris grinned, Ben cheering him on as he threw a beer toward Nicole. She (surprisingly) caught it.

“Wait, gimme one,” Rodrick said, making grabby hands in Ben’s direction, who threw him a beer.

“On three, okay?” Ben counted. They all started to crack open their beers, Nicole with her house keys, Rodrick with his car keys, and Chris with his pen knife.

“One.. twoooooo…. Three!” Ben yelled, and they all tipped their heads back, drinking from the hole in the side of the can. Nicole’s eyes watered, but she was too competitive to back down now. Foam spilled out of the side of her mouth, but she kept drinking. She could hear people chanting her name as she finally threw the beer can down on the ground, raising her hands in victory. Both Rodrick and Chris were covered in beer foam, but Nicole somehow stayed relatively clean, minus the beer she wiped off her face.

“Ten motherfucking bucks, Chris,” Nicole slurred slightly, grinning at him as he pulled out a crumpled bill from his pocket and threw it at her. 

“Rodrick, how the fuck did you lose, dude? You were the one who taught me how to shotgun,” Ben said, causing Nicole to throw her head back in laughter, before letting out another massive burp that lasted for several seconds. The whole group dissolved into laughter. 

Eventually, the joint got finished, and people started to move back inside. However, Rodrick and Nicole stayed outside, talking about whatever came into their heads.

“Were you ever into Greek mythology as a kid?” Nicole asked, watching Rodrick’s eyes go comically large.

“Does Percy Jackson count?”

Nicole pretended to consider it deeply for a moment, before shaking her head. Rodrick pouted. 

“I only got into Greek mythology because of Percy Jackson. So, I think it still counts.

“Fine. But do you know shit about the constellations they’re associated with?”

Rodrick pointed at the sky, at a random cluster of stars.

“For sure - that's Dingus Humongus, he was a Greek hero with the fattest ass known to man.”

“Sounds like my kinda guy,” Nicole replied, sticking her tongue out as Rodrick squawked in indignation.

“Besides a fat ass, what do you look for in a guy? Not, like, that I care. Just. Wondering.”

“Very good English, Rodrick,” Nicole laughed, “I guess my type is… someone kind. And funny. Someone who tries to be cool and is actually a huge dork. And musical, that's always a plus,” she said, feeling very bold as she looked directly at him. It took Rodrick a moment, but eventually his mouth formed a small “oh” as he realized who she was talking about. His eyes flicked down to her lips. Then he frowned, “I am not a dork.”

Nicole rolled her eyes, “And I’m totally not waiting for you to kiss me right now.”

Nicole watched as the color slowly rose in Rodrick’s cheeks, turning them rosy pink, visible even in the shadow-drenched backyard. Nicole decided to pull yet another risky move, and adjusted herself on Rodrick’s lap so that she was facing him, her thighs on top of his arms around his neck. For such a seemingly confident boy, Rodrick seemed more nervous than she had ever seen him, even when he asked her to come to band practice earlier. Hell, he hadn’t even been that nervous to shotgun the joint into her mouth.

“Sorry, I just… I’ve wanted to do this for a long time. I don’t wanna be bad at it,” he confessed. Just as Nicole thought she couldn’t be any more endeared by this boy. She slid her hands into his hair, thick and soft. She leaned in and gently nosed at his jawline, placing small kisses against his warm skin. Right at his jugular, he smelled like cologne and nighttime and boy, the right mix of clean and sexy. Seemingly gaining his courage, he grabbed Nicole by the back of her head and brought her up to his lips.

It was soft, at first, merely a press of skin to skin, but the two gradually deepened the kiss, moving against each other like they were made for it. Nicole felt like her heart might beat out of her chest - or maybe she was just that high.

Feeling emboldened by Rodrick’s enthusiasm, she slipped her tongue between his lips, gently tangling their tongues together. He let out a low moan, and Nicole could’ve blacked out from how turned on she was by that simple sound. The warmth of his body against hers and the slickness of their mouths together caused a rush of liquid heat to form between Nicole’s legs. Goddamn, he was good at this. Nicole wasn’t sure how many girls Rodrick had kissed before this, but if he was a rookie at this she was damn impressed.

Rodrick’s hands, which had been resting on her waist, slowly moved down her ass and under her skirt, causing Nicole to gasp as he started to knead and grab at her cheeks - not hard, but enough to get her even more hot and bothered than she thought possible.

“Is this okay?” Rodrick asked, his voice low and rough. 

“Yeah, I’m good,” Nicole replied, running her fingers through his hair and scratching her nails down his neck. She felt him shiver beneath her, sending a heady rush of power to her stomach and lower. He pulled her closer to him by her ass, so that their crotches pressed together. Nicole was taken aback by the sensation of his bulge pressed against her, but didn’t pull back, instead grinding down on him.

“Are there still people out here?” Rodrick asked shakily. Nicole pulled back and looked over her shoulder - the backyard was empty, thank god.

“No, just us,” Nicole said, turning back and bringing her lips to his ear, biting and licking the sensitive flesh. Rodrick whimpered, grinding up to meet her, and Nicole almost lost it then and there.

The alcohol and weed in her system were slowing her reactions, but also kept her from thinking too much about what she was doing - all she could think about was how much she wanted this. Sober, this might’ve never happened - she was too nervous about what he would think if she ever made a move, constantly overthinking her every word and action. This dumb boy, who rode with her to work, who stayed to the end of her shift and bought her slushies, had wiggled his way into her every thought and every beat of her heart. She knew she was fucked.

She only wished it was literally.

Nicole opened her eyes briefly to catch Rodrick’s gaze, and out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed the red-and-blue flash of police lights. Rodrick caught sight of the lights at the same time.

“Oh, fuck.”

[tloujm]

Part I: Going Home

Author’s Notes: This is the first chapter of my first Joel Miller fic. As mentioned in an earlier post on my main page, my desire was to veer away from canon and it does...like a lot. It still keeps enough details to make it familiar, but I rearranged it to fit the plot that I had in my head. This takes place after the events of TLOU. It does utilize some scenes at the end of the first video game, but most of the plot is inspired by the second game. The reader, you, is replacing Ellie. Instead of a father/daughter relationship, there is a romantic relationship between Joel and a more age appropriate OC/reader. The reader is still younger than him but an adult. Its up to your imagination how much of an age difference there is. I try to keep things vague regarding the physical description of his romantic interest to make it easily relatable for a variety of readers. It’ll probably get more specific in later chapters to help with imagery of certain scenes *wink wink*. I’ve proof read it, but let me know if things don’t make sense. Please show love if you enjoyed reading it! Even if no one reads this, I enjoyed pouring out my love (and lust) for Joel. 

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Summary:  Joel drove you to Jackson to live a more stable and comfortable life. It was his best way to protect you; that and lie about what really happened at the Fireflies hospital. His goal was to move on from anything Fireflies related, but you couldn’t quite do that. So many questions ate at you which caused your emotions to conflict. You wanted to trust Joel; you felt something deep for him. Unbeknownst to you, he came to terms with his love for you when your life was threatened at the hospital. It was you or them and he chose you.  

Ship: JoelxReader

“They stopped looking for a cure. I’m taking us home.” Joel said before falling silent on the car ride to Jackson. 

It was a long ride from the hospital in Utah to Maria’s settlement in Wyoming. You would drift in and out of sleep in the back of the car Joel was driving. Home. He said it so naturally as if Jackson was the destination the whole time. A home felt comfortable. The word gave you warm feelings as it was something you hadn’t known for a very long time. That sense of content mingled with the anesthesia allowed you to push away any more questions you had. 

They were still there, however; popping up more frequently in your head. After the car ride, Joel was careful not to mention anything related to the Fireflies or the hospital around you. His lack of transparency caused you to be a bit hesitant. The words just wanted to roll off your tongue; it was so close, you could taste it. Tell me everything. What did the test results say? Where are the other immune? How could they have given up? You remember the look in the eyes of the Fireflies back east. They were so eager to find a cure. 

Just a week ago, there was no one in the world you trusted more than Joel. Being around a group of strangers in a state that you’d never been in, Joel was a crutch. He trusted the place because of Tommy, so you knew you should too, but it wasn’t that easy. At the same time, however, you had the instinct to keep your distance from Joel. He caused an inner conflict with you. 

The settlement itself was easy to love though. The running water, electricity, stable of horses, fresh food and the list went on. It wasn’t easy to maintain these resources, but it was damn better than hunting and gathering out there everyday. Joel picked out an empty house within the settlement walls large enough for the two of you. He fully expected you two to sleep in separate rooms but he did not expect you to reject the house altogether. He may have been your social crutch, but you just felt better being in your own four walls. Being protective, he preferred to have you close, so the two of you made a compromise by agreeing that you live in the garage. It was quite large as it was a two-car. After a little while, you were able to make it up in a way that suited you. Soon enough, the only thing you had to share with him in the main house was the bathroom. It wasn’t that you wanted to avoid him completely. In fact, he peaked a certain interest in you which furthered the inner conflict. 

Having space from Joel was difficult because you hadn’t yet made friends. Between the anesthesia weakening your body and Joel’s air of mystery, people tended to tread lightly around you.The only other people you really talked to outside of him were Maria and Tommy. It was surprisingly easy to fall into a domestic routine of sorts. The two of you ate together, walked around outside together, patrolled together. Watching Joel sit on the porch or relax on the couch after a long day gave you a glimpse into how he must have looked before the world went to shit. After all that he’d been through, watching him rest warmed your heart. He deserved it, you thought. He didn’t smile often, but you caught him smiling more since arriving home. 

Laying in your bed, you thought back to the period right before you arrived at the hospital. It was probably the best part of the whole journey. The weather was just starting to get warm again, the scenery was lush and most impactful of all, the two of you were getting along. Not just in a civil way, but in a ‘something more’ kind of way. At least that’s what you felt and you couldn’t help but tread across those waters. Joel became more open with you. He would play into your flirtatious antics as if he wanted more. Despite knowing that the journey was nearing its end, Joel allowed himself to enjoy your company as you did his. You remembered that he even asked if you wanted to continue the journey further, at one point. He said that the two of you could turn back now and head north to Jackson. Sometimes, you wish that you had chosen that option instead, but you know that you’d just regret not choosing the hospital even more. 

Seeing Joel’s guard fall down, slow as it was, still is sometimes, made you happy because you liked the person that you saw underneath it all. It was still a struggle some days, though. A hardened look would appear on Joel’s face at the mention of the Fireflies, even if it was unrelated to you. Moments like those reminded you of the questions that formed not too long ago in your head. Moments like those prompted you to form new questions. Why did he look so defensive? What was he hiding behind those darkened eyes? 

After a few months of living in Jackson, you had finally mustered up the courage to talk to Joel about that day back in Utah. What was the worst that could happen? You were comfortable around him and he cared about you. He never said those words, but you knew that he did. You wouldn’t be in Jackson if he didn’t. 

“Joel?” You shout from downstairs. You entered the house from the back door without knocking like you usually did. He wasn’t scheduled for patrols today so you were hoping that he was home. 

“M’up here.” His voice responded from upstairs. You walked up the steps until you reached the hallway. The only door open was that of his craft room. 

“You making something?” You gestured to the raw piece of wood in his hand. He looked up from his whittling knife and turned to face you standing in the doorway. 

He shook his head. “I dunno what I should make,” He offered up a half smile. “Just shavin’ off pieces ‘til I figure somethin’ out.” He sat the knife down onto the workbench. “What is it, (Y/N)?”

You shrug casually. “Just wanted to see what you were up to.” You moved into the room and found a place to sit. Joel scoffed at his dinged up piece of wood before setting that down too. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you.”

“Shoot, darlin’.” His pet name for you always made the nerves that you had melt away, to an extent. You would constantly tell yourself that there was no reason to be nervous around him, but you saw the way he looked when he was triggered by certain words.

You let out a breath. “You know, back in Boston when I was bitten, I was not alone. My friend was there. She was my best friend actually.” You look down at the wooden floor. “Well, she got bitten too. We didn’t know what to do. We were scared. So she says, ‘Let’s just wait it out. We can be all poetic and just lose our minds together.’ She...I didn’t…” You shake your head. “I’m still waiting for my turn.”

“(Y/N)” Joel began before you cut him off.

“It was her, then everyone else I attempted to get close to after that. Why do I get to live when they don’t? Each time, others have had to take my turn for me and I don’t know why?” You pause. “Why am I immune?” It was the first question you had for the Fireflies but everything happened so quick and next thing you knew, everything went black. 

“(Y/N), that’s not on you.” Joel said gently. “I’ve struggled for a long time with survivin’.” He let out a sigh. “No matter what, you gotta keep finding somthin’ to fight for.” He made sure to look you in the eyes, even if you didn’t want to meet his.

“You don’t under---” You start.

Joel cuts in. “Now, I know that’s not what you wanna hear right now, but it’s---”

You speak up. “Back at the hospital...” You watched as his face began to harden. You contemplated what to say next. “Just swear to me. Swear that everything you said about the Fireflies is true.” He repositioned himself in the chair, never breaking eye contact with you.

His voice turned gruff. “I swear.” You stared at him for a long moment to read his face. He looked you dead in the eye and gave you his word. How much could you trust a man that would do that and still lie?

“Okay.” You nodded your head and left him alone in the room. Joel had half a mind to go after you, but decided best to give you space. You asked him to swear and he did.

*****

“(Y/N), You comin’?” Joel asked from the other side of the garage door after knocking. You didn’t forget that Tommy had invited the two of you over for dinner. After talking to Joel, however, you weren’t much in the mood.

“I’m coming.” You said with a huff.

You quickly threw on something nicer than what you usually wore and opened the door. You found him standing there waiting. He turned to you and smiled as if the most intense conversation you’ve had with him in months hadn’t just occurred. You offered a tight lined smile in return before walking off. The air was crisp and the temperature was just right. It didn’t take much for him to keep pace with you. Joel took glances at you every so often. You would only look back at him when he wasn’t. The thing was, you weren’t sure if he was actually lying. You could only translate the feeling in your gut. You stopped on the stoop of Tommy and Maria’s house as Joel lifted his knuckles to rasp the door. He waited a moment and glanced at you again.

“Hey!” Tommy exclaimed after opening the door. “Come on in.”

“Thanks, Tommy.” Joel muttered as he walked in. 

“Yeah, thanks for having us.” You followed. 

“Of course. It’s not often we all have a night off at the same time.” Maria chimed from the dining room. Joel grunted in agreement.

“C’mon, have a seat in here.” Tommy guided us out of the hallway. “Dinner’s just about ready, right hun?”

“I hope y’all like duck! I tried my best with it. I’ve never cooked duck before.” She brought a large roasting dish into the room and sat it in the middle of the table. “If not, there’s still mashed cauliflower and gravy right there and then some lima beans over there.”

“I’m sure it’ll taste really good, Maria.” You said.

“Now, where did y’all find a duck?” Joel inquired as a way to make conversation.

“I went hunting, brother mine.” Tommy replied, patting his older brother on the shoulder before sitting. Joel rolled his eyes and gave Tommy a pointed glare to which he chuckled. “Jesse told me about a new pond he discovered while out on patrol and well, you know, where there’s water, there’s life. So I decided to go see for myself and I took my rifle with me.”

“Shoulda told me. I would’ve gone with you.” Joel responded. He held out his glass as Maria came around with a pitcher of water. He nodded at her in gratitude.

“Nah. Wanted it to be a surprise for the dinner here. You ever had duck?” Tommy turned to you.

“No.” You shook your head. Tommy could sense there was something up between you two but he knew better than to bring it up at the dinner table. He wondered if Maria had caught on.

“Duck.” Tommy stated with a sigh, trying to think of something else to say. “Always thought it was a rich man’s food. Now look at us.” He carved into the breast of the roasted duck and began to serve portions.

“Next time, I’ll bring some caviar.” You spoke up. You saw what Tommy was trying to do, so you in turn tried your hand at comic relief. Luckily for you, it worked. The room broke out in laughter.

Maria sat down and grabbed her husband’s hand to her right and yours to her left. This prompted you to take Joel’s hand into yours. “We are rich in our blessings. We have food and we have each other.”

Maria quickly said grace before everyone at the table dug in. For something you’d never tasted before, it was good. It wasn’t your favorite meat but the dinner as a whole was delicious and fulfilling. You think back for a moment on how your full belly now contrasted to that of yours a year ago. The four of you sat at the table for an hour after finishing the meal. You had to admit that it was an awkward start but these were the people that you were most comfortable with in the whole town. That had to mean something. Even things with Joel subsided, if just for the evening.

The rest of the night was spent in the living room. The four of you caught up with each other. At times, the conversation included everybody and at others, it was just between Tommy and Joel which elicited Maria to spark up a conversation with you.

“How’s things going?” She gestured her head toward Joel. She caught on. “If you guys need anything, you know all you have to do is ask. We’re happy to do what we can.”

“Oh, we’re fine. I’m fine. I’m sure Joel’s fine but thank you.” You replied.

She looked at you for a moment. “Is there something going on between you two? I’ve seen the way Joel looks at you. Even the first time y’all came around to Jackson. I saw it back then and I know you live with him.”

You glanced up at him then shifted back to Maria. “Well technically I don’t...um no. There’s nothing between us. We’re friends.” You shrugged as if you had no idea what she was talking about. “I guess after traveling so far for so long, you just grow attached to each other, but that’s it.”

“I think he’s grown more than attached to you.” She shrugged as well. “But if he’s not who you want, then that’s fine. Just please don’t hurt him. Tommy has told me things about his past all the way down to their childhood. I don’t know what he’s shared with you, but he’s had it rough.” To this day, Joel hadn’t shared much with you, but you didn’t need to know exactly what happened in his past to know he’s had it rough. Everybody’s had it rough in different ways. 

“I could never hurt him.” You meant it. You just hoped that he could say the same about you. “I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

“Go ahead.” She replied.

“How do I go about changing my patrols? I don’t want to stop going out with Joel, but I would like to do it with other people. Make some new friends.”

She smiled. “I think that’s a good idea. Jesse is one of the patrol leaders as well as Tommy of course. Talk to one of them about it. They can pair you up with an experienced patroller to start you off. I know you’ve got experience patrolling with Joel, but it's just protocol when someone takes a different route than usual.” She paused for a moment to down the rest of her water. “Hell, Jesse might even take you out himself. He’s a good kid.”

“Thanks.” You replied.

[fiction-in-my-blood]

Switching Sides: Part 11 (HLITF)

if anyone possibly wants to get on a tag list I’d be happy to make one

👉 @theshove 👈

If you wanna catch up, Part 10 is right here! Happy reading :)

Premise: Growing up in a life of crime in a Japanese mafia, Atsuko Motomori has seen enough injustice to last her a lifetime. To try and give back to the universe her family has taken so much from, she dreams of being a detective from a young age. Her twin, sharing her disgust for her father and many uncles, just wants an ordinary life away from the crime, paing and suffering. Instead, she wants to be in the spotlight with the soft notes she makes with her cello. In their escape of 2015, on their coming of age birthday, they must split ways, never to be together ever again. If one was found, they didn’t want the other dragged down with them. Atsuko, having changed her name and appearance as best she can without a scalpel, sets off to start her life of car chases and arrests.

Four years in a seemingly dead-end police station in the middle of nowhere, being passed over time after time for promotion, Atsuko finally gets a shot at her dream, having been sent to an academy for the best candidates in the country by her boss who had always kept an eye out for her. After discovering her boss may have made her bite off more than she could chew, Atsuko must become the slave of a dominating instructor!? Who so just happens to be the captain of the most famous police unit in Japan? Not to mention a total knockout! Will Atsuko finally achieve her dream? Or will her new instructor put her through the wringer?

Warnings: Language, Reference to sexual activity, Forceful nature, Abuse, Kidnapping, Torture.

~~~~~~

Months had passed since I was taken to the Police Station for questioning. Luckily, my life had been pretty uneventful and the days went by slowly. Juna and her baby were healthy, shoen by the boxes and pieces of baby furniture over every surface in the apartment. Apparently, she's an avid online shopper. And it was my job to clean up after her. At times, I forgot we were once separate entities, no connections and supposedly no knowledge on the other. Now I was practically waiting on her hand and foot.

Noburu and I had gotten... closer. Because I wasn’t in the committing stage of my life at that moment, we mainly just hung out at the bowling alley or had lunch together at fast food eateries and cafes during the day. He was free to date whoever he wanted, we weren’t even an official item, so I wasn’t going to hold him back because I knew I would never be able to give him what other, normal, girls could. I knew he would never know who I really was, and I was fine with that.

As I walked down the street, on the way to my night job, I gazed up at the sky. With all that time to myself during my commute from workplace to workplace, I had moments where I thought back on my past. At the moment, my mom was filtering through my thoughts. I wondered what my life would have been like if she had taken us with her. Or if she had stayed all together. I honestly didn't blame her for what she did, she found her chance and she took it, not knowing whether she'll live or not. ‘But, I can't say I could do the same…’

Sighing, I opened the door to the club, trying to get all memories of my past out of my head so I could greet Noburu cheerfully, like usual. 

Inside, however, I was affronted by a scene of destruction. Tables and chairs were overturned. The glasses that hung on the walls were smashed and the stench of alcohol was almost unbearable. My shoes almost stuck to the floor as I tiptoed through the shards of glass to inspect further, hoping the vandal wasn't still here. Just in case, though, I pulled the switchblade knife out of my bag that I held for instances like these that were likely the Hoshino mafia's doing.

Suddenly, I heard a crunch behind me and I tried to spin around to see if it was Noburu, who would often get to work before me. Before I could catch the gaze of that person, a gloved hand clamped hard on my mouth and an arm wrapped around my body. I jumped up and down, screaming, just to try and get out of the assailant's strong grasp by hitting the thick forearms with the bud of my palm. Without even a huff of effort, who I assumed to be a man, picked me up as I struggled for my life. It had to be one of my father's men, why else would someone kidnap me?

Despite all my struggling, and digging the blade as far into the man's arm as I could, I was thrown into the back of a van. Scrambling to my feet, my weapon still stuck in the assailant's body, I tried to jump through the open door, but my ankle was grabbed and pulled back in. In effect of my fall, I hit my head on something sticking out of the floor, knocking me right out.

~~~~~~

When I stirred again, my vision was blurry and my skull felt heavy. I tried to move my hands to rub my tired eyes, but I quickly discovered my wrists were bound to the arms of the chair I was sitting on, as well as my ankles to the legs. 

Adrenaline pumping through my system, my gaze darted around the dark room. There were no lights, it almost felt like I was still asleep, trapped in my own consciousness. Noticing a moving figure in the corner of the room, I squinted. What resulted in that was an evil chuckle.

"You're finally awake." The haunting voice of my father echoed through the room and my heart stopped. My ears rang, remembering the day I had almost killed him. How was he here? Kaga and I were barely able to make it out as unharmed as we were. I couldn’t really form words in that moment, I could hardly remember any of my teachings of the Japanese language, all I knew was pain and confusion.

Slowly, the dim lighting flickered on and I found myself in a concrete box. There was one door across from me. There were no windows. No vents. Just the electric lights hanging from the ceiling and the chair I was sitting on. Only now did I realise the deathly chill in the air, which likely meant we were underground. If we were outside, the concrete would heat up and turn that room into a pressure cooker.

"You're not going to greet your father? After all you've done!" My father had been making his way to my side as I inspected the room in a clearer light. Once he was close enough, he kicked the legs of my chair, forcing me to the ground with a loud crashing sound as metal met concrete. As I hadn't been expecting it, I hit my head and the pain was immeasurable. I whimpered, not wanting the man who raised me to hear the true extent of my pain.

"Don't worry, kitten. Soon you will learn. You will sing." Pulling on my hair to get me to look at him, my father spat in my face. There, I noticed the horrific scar across his face. I smirked, knowing that was my doing, and spat right back with the slime that coated my tongue from breathing through my mouth for so long. He dropped my head and this time I was able to save myself from the pain, although the effort I needed to hold my head up felt like I was lifting a semi-truck with my neck. My father then left, allowing another man in to put me upright.

~~~~~~

It felt like hours had passed as I sat alone in that lightless room. I was dehydrated and hungry and the pain in my head hadn't settled much. I was growing dizzy and tired, but I knew I had to stay awake if I wanted to live.

"Hungry, Miss Hoshino?" A man's calm voice made me look up from glaring at the floor, trying to concentrate on staying conscious. I watched him walk through a square of light with a tray of bread and water. The lights in the room flashed on and my eyes squinted at the glaring bulbs. I didn't recognise the man, but he didn't seem like the type to associate with my father. He was thin and not as tall as most men, from what I could see from my chair. His eyes were soft, but I knew not to trust that kind smile if he was allowed to wonder my father’s premises. Even to enter that vault-like room, which I had no knowledge of in my time there, he must have been a high-standing, well-trusted official in the gang. 

After him, followed someone with another chair, which the man sat in. He held a cup to my mouth, but I turned my head away from it. There was no way I would drink anything they offered me. Who knew what they put in it? Psychedelics or roofies. Anything to get my guard down.

"Do you want to live, Miss Hoshino?" The man's tone turned grave, but I didn't let his threat phase me. "If you want to live through this ordeal, you will drink and you will eat." He demanded, albeit with as soft a tone as any. 

‘Ordeal?’ My first semi-concious thought was a joking taunt at my own demise. I almost felt like laughing. If it wasn't for the pain thudding in my skull or the dire situation I was in, I might well have. This was far more than some ordeal. This was my nightmare, but also a frequent memory of my past. Maybe I didn't get locked in a room, trapped for hours on end, but I remembered the pain that didn't get treated for hours. I remembered the helplessness I felt, how pathetic I knew I was to just sit here and not being able to do anything to protect myself. I remembered counting the days between beatings and my father's rages, waiting for the next time I needed to lock away my tears so that he didn't get madder and hit me harder. 

However, I also knew he was telling the truth. I hadn't had much of a dinner because Juna was being picky and the meal she cooked took too long for me to eat with them. I had planned to eat something at the club, but that chance was far out the window. 

With the last of my determination used up, I turned back to him, not meeting his gaze. Softly, he held my chin as he tilted the cup towards my mouth. Then, silently, he fed me bits of bread- tasteless and stale. And when he was done, he was gone, the lights switching off again when the door closed, clunks of door bolts and key locks echoing from the other side as the only humane person I would ever see in that room left me to my punishment.

~~~~~~

A few more hours passed before that door opened again. This time, it was a large man with large muscles. He cracked his knuckles as he grinned at me. I knew what that stance meant, dread making me want to throw up the sustinance I had ingested some time before. I didn't know exactly how long I had been left in there alone, it was hard to keep track of time when your consciousness is wavering with every passing second, but I knew, or hoped, it had been a long time. Maybe Juna would notice I was missing. Maybe Noburu would call someone when he made it into work. What if he had walked in on the vandals first? What if he was bleeding out in the back room or the alleyway outside? What if he had called out to me for help and I didn't hear him? 

‘Let the hazing begin.’ I thought hopelessly, pushing the worries I knew I couldn't deal with right now to the side as he took each step towards me with growing intimidation.

~~~~~~

Hit after hit after hit, I continued to force my mouth shut. I couldn't let this man know I felt the pain he was pounding into me. I wouldn't let anymore have that satisfaction. I had been fading in and out of consciousness, but he always made sure I was awake enough to witness him torturing me. In some ways, that was the worst part.

"You'll bend to us soon." The man's deep voice announced in a slow drool as he pounded his fist into my stomach. If I had eaten anything more, I probably would have thrown up on him, but there was nothing in me to reject, save maybe my own blood that was surely trickling into my mouth, stomach, oesophagus and whatever other internal organ he had punctured.

Panting, the violence finally came to an end when the man noticed my consciousness fading for a final time. I could feel the bruises arising on my skin as my head hung low. Maybe I could feel blood pouring into places blood shouldn't be. I had no energy to watch him leave the room, lock the bolted door, and turn the lights off. With all my energy beaten out of me, I slipped into oblivion.

~~~~~~

A searing pain erupted from my leg and I was pulled out of the bottomless pit my mind had turned into. Caught off guard, I screamed out as my eyes flashed open. There, I found my father pushing his lit cigar into my bare thigh. I was still wearing the skimpy dress I was kidnapped in.

"This will teach you to intervene with daddy's work." Through gritted teeth, my father whispered over my cries.

"Stop! Please, stop!" I cried out, my voice hoarse and dry. But, despite my pleas, he just moved the cigar to a different spot on my leg, scorching my skin. If I could use any of my senses, I'm sure I would have smelt my flesh being cooked by the lit ash.

"Hurts, doesn't it? To feel and smell your skin cooking as you have no room for escape." When the cigar had burnt down to where he couldn't hold it anymore, he stepped back. That's when I noticed the medical trolley by the door. My vision was blurry from the tears that I shed and thehead injury I had sustained in my failed escape attempt, but I could make out there were a lot of sharp, shiny objects thrown carelessly onto it. 

"I warned you what would happen if you tried to leave, kitten. And I never go back on my promises." My father took a clean white rag from his suit pant pocket and wiped his hands clean of his sweat and the cigar ash as he took steps towards his torture equipment.

"Please... I haven't... done anything... to you." I took weak, long breaths as he sorted through the tools, trying to find the perfect one that suited his mood.

"You have done far more than nothing! My business is ruined! I have government men coming to my offices every day because of you. I can't even leave the house without being spotted." My father roared back, his face alive with sweat and rage. I jumped at memories of my past punishments as he picked up a pair of clamps. 

"You will learn to respect your father's work. And you will tell me where your mother is." As his steps echo closer, I felt my mind slipping again. My eyes clouded over as unbearable pain set my body on fire, but I still shivered in the icy, artificial air of the room.

~~~~~~

"Detective Kaga!" A woman came storming into our team room. My gaze shot up from the pictures in front of me and I glared, only to be shocked with what I saw. The same woman who I once taught at the academy, once presumed dead, stood there with a massive stomach. She was breathing heavily and her face was screwed up with worry. Behind her, I saw a man running in, asking her to calm down.

"Miss, if you could calm down-." Soma stood up to guide her away from me, but she only glared at him. I couldn’t tell if it was to ward him off or beg for his help.

"My sister's gone missing! Please, you have to help me find her!" She wailed as tears collected in her eyes. She was so distraught she hadn't even noticed the horrors that laid all over the office. Hundreds of pictures of crimes laid over the desks, but she wasn't phased. Then, I remembered the woman who screamed at me in the rock climbing centre.

"Miss, you need to go to reception." Ayumu tried to help Soma, but she pushed them out of her way.

"You are the only one that can help her. Please, she'll die if you don't find her!" Tears streamed down her face as she approached me. She bowed, despite the mass in her centre.

"Do you have to yell?" I grumbled and turned back to my work. For all I knew, this could be a pregnant woman's hormones making her worry too much.

Once I had spoken, her head shot up with a furious expression. "My sister is Atsuko Motomori. She saved your fucking life and this is how you repay her? By staring endlessly and pictures of murders and tortures?" She roared and I felt my body freeze up. 

For months, I had tried to forget about the girl who called herself my aide. I was furious that she had run into that hotel, only to die trying to do the right thing. I remembered seeing her in that hotel, smoke on the ceiling and her hateful voice shouting. I remembered being dragged down hallways as she begged me to stay awake. I remembered her deafeated laugh when she thought we were gone for good. 

Or at least I thought I did. Everyone had told me she never left that building. She was dead even though I remembered her kissing me and dragging me into that basement. It was so strange to see her face over and over again as I met the white-haired bouncer who interrupted our investigation months ago.

"Miss, please sit down." Ishigami entered the scene and wheeled a chair over to the woman.

"Not until you agree to find my sister." She glared at me and I sighed, nodding my head to the chair for her to sit down.

"Explain yourself." Ishigami sighed as the man who had entered with her held the woman's shoulder. He looked familiar, but I couldn't tell from where. I couldn't look at the woman as she slowly started to reveal her situation.

"My sister and I ran away from home. Our father is an evil man, I'm sure you know him. He's the one responsible for the bombing at that hotel..." I can feel her gaze bore into my back. "He's the head of the Hoshino mafia. When we escaped, Katsumi changed our names, our identities, even our pasts, and we split up. She said it would be more dangerous if we stayed together..." I could hear her tears escape her eyes as she made a strange squeaking sound. "But, I got kidnapped by my father. She saw me. Apparently you were on an investigation at the time..." She sighed and my eyes grew wide. ‘That woman with Takeda in the sweet shop was her?’

"We were able to meet at a cafe to discuss a plan to get me out. But my father had me followed and shot at us..." She bit her lip and the man held her hand. "She stayed behind to save those people. Then, when the hotel bombing happened, I waited for her at the back entrance like she said she would, but... She was late. She's never late. That's when I found you." The woman announced, I'm sure referring to me. "She wouldn't leave you in there. Even though you were too heavy to get out alone, she stuck by your side until I came along..."

"She changed her name again. Well, everyone thought she was dead, so she had to get her old passport... She delivered the evidence she collected when we lived with my father. Everything you have here is my sister's work. Even when my father would beat her, she never told him. Even when my mother went missing, she told me this was the only way to save us." She started to get emotional again and I picked up one of the pictures from my desk. The quality was poor, likely because it was old. I would have never thought a child could take these, though. I thought of my niece, a girl, young and annoying, being put through something this woman was suggesting Atsuko went through. My instincts roared with anger.

"Why do you think she's missing?" Ayumu interjected and I felt my heart stop. If she was involved with the gang we had been investigating, who knows what could have come of her.

"The club she works at was broken into. Her friend normally comes in first, but he said he was running late and had told Katsumi to set up without him. It has to be my father! There's no one else who would kidnap her in broad daylight!" I looked out at the sun setting on the horizon. Worry flooding my thoughts, wondering where she could be. 

Atsuko was alive.

~~~~~~

The cycle of punishment and feeding continued for the remainder of my time in that box. I lost all concept of time as the darkness appeared and disappeared as people came in and out. I would cry when I was alone and try my hardest not to when I wasn't. From what I could tell, my legs were black and blue with bruises and dirt and cigar ash.

Before the routine started, when I woke up for the first time, I felt liquid running down my forehead, but now all I felt was something dry on my skin. It was likely blood spilling from the head injury I endured when I tried to escape from that van. I had lost all hope. No one knew where I was. Juna wouldn't be dumb enough to call the police about my disappearance. Even if she was, there would be no way anyone could find me. Not in time, anyway. I knew I'd die in this room. Alone. Unidentified. And then thrown in the city river or buried in my father's yard, where he kept most of his victims. His trophies. To imagine the respect he would gain for killing his own daughter who had tried to rat him out...

Suddenly, the familiar clunk of the bolted door sounded and the door opened. The heavy footsteps of my father approached, but my head hung low. He grabbed the back of my hair and threw my head back.

"Have you given up yet, kitten? Will you tell me where your mother is?" My father smiled at my defeated body as I felt my heart race. My breathing quickened as I worried about what he was saying. Every time he came in here, he would ask me where my mother was. It confused me. I wondered if this was some sort of tactic to break me. To push me into reality.

"She's dead. You killed her." I gritted my teeth and he growled, throwing my head forward into the bucket of water he had brought in. I choked and spluttered, trying to blow the water out of my mouth. But, I was so caught off guard by the attack I breathed some in.

"Enough games, Katsumi! I know she got in contact with you. She wouldn't leave without giving you the chance." Pulling my head back up, I panted and coughed as he started to pace to room, airing out his anger. My mind started racing, water running down my face and eyes fluttering to stop the stinging. Did he actually not know where she was? Had he never found her?

"Boss!" A man came running through the door and I was intrigued, but I had no strength in my neck to lift my head and see his expression. 

I could tell he was panicked by the tone in his voice. My father grew angier, shouting about how “no one could enter this room without permission”. The two held a conversation and although I was within hearing range, my vision grew dizzy and water plugged my ears. I couldn't concentrate on what they were saying, but I could feel the liquid trickling down my forehead again.

~~~~~~

It took days to try and find evidence of where Atsuko was. There were security cameras outside the club she worked at, but the van she was pushed into was unmarked. Not to mention how popular the make was. We couldn't track it to an owner. That lead was dead the moment we watched the tapes. 

I went to every office building and house tied to the Hoshino mafia, but all I found was drugs and illegal money printing. Finally, Ishigami signed off on us storming the house Juna, Atsuko's sister, had told us they grew up in. It was a traditional Japanese style house, but Juna said there was a basement. They made their own electricity and didn't use the city's plumbing. They were completely off the grid.

Down a street that led off of the house surrounded by fields, we set up a base of operations for the raid. 

"We can't know what kind of equipment or security they have, so we need to be discreet." My team and Ishigami's team surrouned a table as we went over our plan.

"I’ll lead and find the moron. I know where she is." I announced and everyone looked at me with varying degrees of confusion. I couldn't say her name aloud, I wouldn't, not in this situation. I couldn't believe, didn't want to believe, that it was her trapped in that house. I wanted to think of her as the dumb rookie that died in that hotel, at least then her suffering would be over by now. But, for now, she would just be known as the moron.

"How could you possibly know that?" Ishigami complained with an annoyed look on his face. "-You know what, I don't want to know." He continued with a sigh before I could explain and I smirked. 

Soon enough, we were infiltrating the base.

~~~~~~

Once I had found my way through the house, the rest of our teams clearing the rest of the building, I discovered the entrance to their basement in a building in the rear of their land. It was an elevator, almost like something from an old mineshaft.

"Hyogo!" Ayumu called over, running across the lawn. I turned to him after I called the elevator up. If it was already at the bottom, someone had to be down there, so I kept an eye out for when it opened. 

"What if she's dead? From what her sister said-." Ayumu's expression didn't seem worried about the girl that had saved my life months before. Although, he was cut off by the severe look in my face. As we stared at each other, the elevator arrived.

Before I could react, Ayumu shot into it. I turned and saw an old man that I recognised, fall to the floor.

"That's Hoshino," Ayumu announced as we both let the man cry out in pain, blood spilling out around him. I looked back at him, wondering what he was going to do. We both knew what this man had done; to both his own family and strangers. We knew what he deserved. But, there was a voice in the back of my head that forced me to show him mercy.

"Get him medical assistance. He'll pay for his crimes in jail." I sighed, directing two detectives from our unit to carry the man out. Ayumu stared at me with a confused expression as I got into the elevator. Then, he smirked, like he knew something I didn’t, as the doors closed. All I could do was scowl.

~~~~~~

The doors opened once again in a long hallway. The walls were concrete and the lights were dim. There were five windowless, metal doors, the one at the end of the hall open a crack. I inched towards it, keeping an eye out for anyone planning to attack me. Soon, I reached the door and pushed it open with my foot, pointing my gun and flashlight ahead of me.

There, in the middle of the room, was a woman in a short dress. Her head was hung low, hair so wet it dripped into the bucket in front of her. However, I could see a dark red liquid leaking out of the crown of her head, turning the water red. Her legs were wounded with bruises and burn marks, as well as her arms and chest. I ran to her, kneeling down to hold her head up asI dropped my flashlight and gun to my sides. The only light I had to see her with was the flickering lights from the hallway.

It was Atsuko, or should I say, Katsumi Hoshino. She had a black eye and blood dripped down her pale face as I cupped her cheeks. Her lips were chapped and flaky, only making it harder for the little cuts to heal. I gulped as I felt her shallow breath on my face.

"Please... St... Stop." Her voice was frail and faint. Her mouth barely moved, making me question if she spoke at all.

Looking around, I saw her arms were bound to the arms of the metal chair and her ankles were tied to the legs of it. I untied her as quickly as I could and her body fell limply into mine.

"You moron." I sighed as my heart panged with guilt and... fear? I was afraid to lose her again. The happy go lucky imbecile who used to follow me around asking questions. I was afraid to let someone less die like this. Alone and cold.

Hooking my arms under her back and knees, I picked her up and ran back to the elevator. On the surface, Ayumu was waiting for me. He turned and was in shock of who I held.

"Is she dead?" He managed to say. 

Without a word, I ran towards the front of the house, hoping to get the ambulance in time to prove him wrong.

~~~~~~

At the hospital, I jumped off the ambulance as Katsumi was wheeled into the ER. The blood that was seeping out of her head was covering my shirt as I watched the doctors surround her. They pushed the defibrillator into her already fried skin. Her body jumped, but they had to go again.

"Detective Kaga!" I heard Katsumi's sister call out to me. Turning, I saw her running out of a car that had followed us from the scene. She insisted on coming with us, even in her state, which meant Soma had to look after her. 

"Did you find her?" She pleaded as she grabbed my shirt, noticing the blood staining it. Her eyes filled with tears as I looked back to where the pregnant woman's sister had been, but I noticed them wheeling her away.

~~~~~~

Days passed since I heard about any change in Katsumi's condition. She survived the surgery for her internal bleeding and cracked ribs. She received treatment for her concussion. But she still hadn't woken up.

"Her brain is protecting itself. She endured days of torture and pain. It will take time for her to wake up again." The surgeon reported to Juna. I had come with Naruko, Katsumi's old friend, to visit and overheard their conversation before we could make ourselves known. Naruko had become my new aide since the incident, but she wasn't nearly as good as Atsuko was. She was always getting distracted and tired from the long days. But, Ishigami told me to bear with her because she had lost her friend.

"What will happen when she does wake up?" Juna asked, her voice frail. The surgeon hesitated before answering. 

"...Will she wake up?" Juna asked again when the man didn't answer her question.

"I'm sorry. But with the trauma her body went through, it's unlikely." The doctor sighed and the woman fell to her knees. Her boyfriend ran to her side and the doctor excused himself.

"Detective, I don't think now is a good time." The man in charge of Atsuko's care explained to me with a stern expression. I felt Naruko tearing up beside me. I nodded, turning to my new servant. 

"Are you going to interrupt them?" I asked her but she just shook her head, knowing it would be rude and incredibly inappropriate. We turned to leave as we listened to the sister's wailings echo down the hallway.

[zairapvrker]

disabledsos day!

Author’s note: heya everyone! i took some time off of your requests, and i apologize for that, because in the past couple of days i’ve been working on this fic for this amazing and wonderful project! disabledsos was born to bring visibility to fans who are dealing with any sort of disability and spread awareness to make the community feel loved within the fandom. if you wanna read more about it, and i really encourage you to, i’ll leave the link for the original post here: https://skinnylukes.tumblr.com/post/613965381647876096/attention-5sos-fanswriters thank you so much to @skinnylukes for reaching out to me about this, i feel very honoured to partake in the project you’ve created with so much dedication and love.  i tried my very best to educate myself about the disabling disease i’ll be writing about, however i apologize if some details are missing or wrong. please feel free to correct me, constructive criticism is always welcomed! and to all of you strong, amazing, beautiful people who fight everyday, i’m so proud of you all and my heart goes out to you, never give up, we’re all here for you! i keep you in my thoughts, always. 

Multiple Sclerosis (MS) is a potentially disabling disease of the brain and spinal cord. In MS, the immune system attacks the protective sheath (myelin) that covers nerve fibers and causes communication problems between your brain and the rest of your body. Eventually, the disease can cause permanent damage or deterioration of the nerves. Signs and symptoms of MS vary widely and depend on the amount of damage and which nerves are affected. Some people with severe MS may lose the ability to walk independently or at all, while others may experience long periods of remission without any new symptoms. MS can occur at any age, but usually affects people between the ages of 16 and 55. There’s no cure for multiple sclerosis. However, treatments can help speed recovery from attacks, modify the course of the disease and manage symptoms. These last ones can vary from person to person and differ greatly and over the course of the disease depending on the location of affected nerve fibers. Symptoms often affect movement, such as numbness or weakness in one or more limbs that typically occurs on one side of your body at a time, or the legs and trunk, electric-shock sensations that occur with certain neck movements, tremor, lack of coordination or unsteady gait. Vision problems are also common, such as partial or complete loss of vision, usually in one eye at a time, prolonged double vision and blurry vision. People with MS may also develop muscle stiffness or spasms, paralysis (typically in the legs), mental changes such as forgetfulness or mood swings, depression and epilepsy.

“Mikey, I’m home!” you yelled as soon as you’d entered your shared apartment. Your roommate, and best friend, was almost always on the couch playing videogames but the headset he used to play made it hard for him to hear any sound outside of the yelling of his friends. That’s why you always had to be loud when you came home from work, slamming the door and calling out for him to notify him of your presence.

It had been an incredibly hard day, your stress levels were through the roof. It seemed you forgot pretty much every task you were supposed to do, remembering only when reminded, and couldn’t keep your focus. After all, you were in charge of much and with the imminent publishing of a new article, you’d blamed it on the general chaos that overtook the entire office.

“Hey, you” you nudged Michael’s shoulder as you sat down next to him on the couch, making his head turn in your direction. A smile opened up on his face upon seeing you finally home. “Hey, you’re back!” he exclaimed happily, stamping a kiss on your cheek. You giggled watching as he bid goodbye to his friends and shut the TV off. “So, I haven’t had the chance to get started on dinner-“ he started, sheepishly. “Michael!” you reprimanded with a smile on your face, slapping his arm playfully. “But I did think about what kind of take out to order” he justified, his arms up in surrender, the same amused smile you showcased on your face etched on his. You’d sighed. “And what is it?” you asked giggling. “Chinese, of course” he rolled his eyes. “Alright, but you call!” you pointed a finger at him as Michael nodded, getting up to go change out of the clothes you’d worn for the day.

Michael was quick to grip your hand to offer some sort of support as he saw you falter in your step, almost falling back down on the couch, while getting up. “Is everything okay?” the concern in his vice was clear. You squeezed his hand, waiting for the dizzying sensation of shock to pass and your sight to go back in focus. “Yeah, yeah” you reassured, slowly opening your eyes. “It’s been a long day” the smile you gave him was meant to ease his nerves, but Michael couldn’t help but worry as he watched you make your way to your room with a hand constantly pressed to the wall, in search for stability.

That evening you weren’t as talkative as usual, in fact, Michael did most of the talking. He told you about how one of the strings of one of his students’ guitar had snapped while he was tuning it for him and hit him in the face but had to laugh it off with tears in his eyes, his friends, the latest news. You just said it was a chaotic day at work, that your boss had yelled at you so much you thought your head was going to explode. He hugged you tight, offering to go and key her car if needed, which made you laugh softly. Feeling very tired, you excused yourself out of the usual Friday movie marathon. Michael smiled sweetly, saying it was okay and wishing you goodnight. He really is the best ever, you thought as you went back you your room.

The only way you could describe what happened when you woke up the next day was a nightmare. You almost though it was. You wanted to roll around to turn your alarm off, which even on Saturdays woke you up so you wouldn’t waste the day away in bed, but found you couldn’t. The motion was second nature to you, literally managing every day with your eyes closed, however the immobility of your torso made your eyes crack open as the alarm kept on going off.

Michael, on the contrary, liked to sleep in on Saturdays, so when he heard your alarm keeping on blaring he got off the bed and marched towards your room. When he opened the door he found you hopelessly trying to reach the alarm over on your nightstand but failing miserably. “Will you turn it off?” he huffed, going over to do it himself, yawning.

“I’m trying!” you snapped back, trying to sit up and failing. “I can’t feel my torso” you reasoned out loud, feeling the panic slowly set in.

“What?” Michael asked concerned, his eyes wide, as he took a seat beside you on the bed.

“I don’t know” it was safe to say you were confused. “I think it’ll go away, it may be the stress” you were trying to find a possible answer, pushing back the fear as best as possible.

“The stress?!” he exclaimed, his arms flying up. “You can’t feel half of your body and you think it’s stress?” clearly, he wasn’t as good as you were at rationalizing.

“Mike, it’ll go away” you voiced, his tone wasn’t helping you remain calm, his doubts the same as the ones you had but were trying to push at the back of your mind.

“Do you want me to help you sit up?” he asked then, offering his hands to hold onto. You nodded, slowly letting him help you with the motion.

Over the next couple of weeks, mostly spent in bed or on the couch and always requiring Michael to help you with every movement, the situation seemed to get better and worsen at the same time. The numbness was, in the span of a day, left behind in favour of wobbly legs and dizziness, you were always fatigued and tired. You had taken more days off of work in three weeks than ever since you started working. But just when you thought you had made it out of the woods, everything went downhill.

“It can’t go on like this” Michael sighed as, once again, he picked you up from the floor when your right leg had failed to support your weight while standing up from the couch. “We’re going to the ER” he stated, looking at you in the eyes.

You gulped, seeing the worry in his sparkling greens clear as day. Truth was you were worried too, but you were always used to downplay the discomfort you were in, brushing it off as if it were nothing. However, this was going too far and scaring you to your very bones. Nodding you agreed and he helped you prepare a bag in case you had to spend the night at the hospital, praying you wouldn’t have to, as silent tears made their way down your face.

Michael hated to see you like this, you were always so cheerful and bright, this was really taking a toll on you. He heard the quiet sniffles coming from you when he entered the room, finding you where he’d left you on your bed, folding a shirt into the duffle bag next to you. His heart had been held captive in a painful clench the last few days, the worry truly never leaving him and the confusion messing with his head. He took a seat next to you, putting his own change of clothes in the duffle, and taking your hands in his. Bringing them up to his lips, he left a light kiss on your knuckles.

“We’re getting you through whatever this is, alright?” he could hear his own voice faltering, watching as more tears pooled in your eyes. “I’m right here” he assured when you threw yourself into his arms, holding you tight. Next thing you knew, he was picking you up, almost forgetting the duffle and going out to his car. You made sure to turn off the lights and lock the door behind you.

The hours that followed were a whirlwind, dragging you down and down until you were sure you hit rock bottom when finally the results of all the tests and consultations with the doctors came to an end. All that you were sure of was Michael’s hand holding yours, fingers intertwined, when you were called back into the doctor’s office, from the waiting room full of other patients, and your legs failed to support you. Your best friend was the first to be at your side, followed by the doctor herself and a bunch of people in the waiting room. You couldn’t understand a thing that was going on, too many voices talking at the same time as you were sat on a wheeling chair and finally brought into the office. The diagnosis hit you like a slap in the face and you were sure you only heard half of the words that left the doctor’s mouth. “Multiple sclerosis is common at your age” “We will have to run more tests to make sure of what the complications you’ve developed are” “In some cases it is very hard to diagnose, but looking into the symptoms you’ve described and MRI we were lucky to find out right away” “Unfortunately, it was pretty quick to affect your legs, clearly causing an impairment we need to assess” “There are ways to help you regain the ability to walk independently, if you’re lucky”

She’d used the word lucky a lot, you’d noticed, while talking. Unfortunately, you didn’t feel like that at all.

Calling your family to tell them the news had been extremely difficult, knowing that they were far away and could only visit so many times took a huge toll on you. You hated to admit to yourself that the positive outlook you’d always had on life was quickly fading in favour of judgement-clouding pessimism. The first night back from the hospital you’d spent crying after days of not letting a single emotion shine through. Hearing your sobs shattered Michael’s heart and it only got worse when he entered your dark room and held you as you shook, gripping his t-shirt in tight fists and wetting it with salty tears. He’d seen you at your lowest and he was determined to bring you back.

Making you listen was hard, the wall of hopelessness you’d built around you seemed insurmountable, but Michael was as determined as ever. He wasn’t about to let you fall any deeper into the pit of anger and frustration that never seemed to leave you.

“Have you listened to what the doctor said?” he asked pushing your wheelchair through the park near your apartment building. It was a beautiful day and he was determined to get you out of the house.

“No, Mike, I was tired” you mumbled, looking over at the kids running after each other in a game of tag.

“The more you refuse to move, the more it’ll hinder your exercises in physical therapy” he reminded, stopping near a bench so he could sit down and look at you in the eyes while having this conversation.

“Yeah, and what am I supposed to do?” you snapped. “Waltz out of this fucking chair and go for a jog?” you pointed to a pair of joggers who were about to pass you by.

“Well, one day you might be able to!” he insisted, making you shake your head with a scoff.

“And what if I’m not? What if I’ll never walk again?” you wanted it to sound harsh, convinced of what you were saying, but your voice betrayed you, breaking at the end.

“What if you do?” he asked back softly, hoping that his point got through to you. And it did. You took in a shaky breath, looking away from his hopeful eyes, not bearing to see how much he’d believed in you when you didn’t.

--

Michael was there for you through every up and down: he held you when you couldn’t fall asleep because your anxieties and worries were eating away at your peace of mind, he was there to listen when you listed all the reasons why you believed you wouldn’t be albe to do this, always offering reasons why you could right back. He came to every appointment of physical therapy you had, he was with you every time you had to go to the hospital for check-ups or visits and was also there when it was explained to you that you had Relapsing Remitting MS, which meant that you would have episodes or spikes after periods of time without any new symptoms and it was a possibility that you could slow down the progression of the condition and manage symptoms, possibly walking on your own again if you were consistent with medication and exercising.

And while you were still worried, you couldn’t help but stare at the doctor with wide eyes. “R-Really?” you asked her, a smile threatening to slip at the mere thought of being able to stand for more than two minutes without the help of anyone.  

“Really” she confirmed as an elated sigh escaped you, Michael squeezed your hand, happy to see you hopeful.

It became routine for you two, when he came home from work right about when you shut your computer off as your part-time shift ended, to immediately start exercising. He was happy to finally see you as combative as you once were, determined to fight this off as much as possible.

“You gotta!” he reminded with a laugh from his spot beside you as he saw you panting on the yoga mattress in the middle of your living room. 

“I don’t wanna!” you whined covering your eyes with your arm. He chuckled, lifting it slowly as you peered up at him with one eye opened. 

“Come on, it’s the last set!” he encouraged and you huffed, knowing he was right. Propping yourself up on your elbows you looked at his adorable smile and rolled your eyes. Michael helped you up, slowly walking you to the wall, and stopping a foot away from it. He eased down with you into a sitting position as you let your back rest against the wall, finally letting go of you.

“Look at you, walking up to the wall without tripping!” he crossed his arms over his chest, smiling as you silently counted the seconds you needed to keep in position for. You chuckled, seeing proudness in his eyes. Once the squat exercise was over, you stood up with wobbly legs, only one hand resting on the wall behind you for support. You smiled widely upon seeing the look on his face.

“You can stand on your own?” he asked a little shocked as you nodded. “Since when?” he smiled brightly, quick to offer his help to walk back to the couch and sit down.

“Yesterday the phone was ringing, it was my mom, I forgot it on the shelf behind my desk and you weren’t at home, so I just… tried” you shrugged. Michael scoffed with a bright smile. “I almost tripped, but I fell back on the chair before I could”

“Atta girl!” he hugged you tight. “I’m so proud” he rocked you from side to side, making the both of you giggle.

It was taking incredible effort but you saw the improvements every day, slowly there was no need for you to hang on to the parallel bars at you sides as you hesitantly put a feet in front of the other, walking the short distance. There was no need for your nurse, or Michael, to help you stand up from a sitting position and you were even able to stand while you prepared your cereals in the morning before your best friend helped you walk to the dining table.

Slowly, Michael was able to go back to his normally longer shifts at music school as you found it easier and easier to move through the house either with crutches or, on the days when you were too tired, with your wheelchair.

“Need help?” Michael asked as you were in the kitchen microwaving some popcorn for your movie marathon.

“Nope!” you yelled back, leaning against the counter as you waited for the device to beep, crutches at your side. “Okay, maybe” you second guessed once you put the popcorn into the bowl.

Michael was quick on his feet, entering the kitchen with a lopsided smile, leaning on the door frame with one shoulder as his hands went to the pockets of his basketball shorts.

“Can you take the bowl?” you smiled sheepishly. He chuckled, nodding as he complied. “Thanks” you blew a kiss his way, steadying yourself on the crutches and making your way to the couch. Michael stayed back, watching you.

“Staring is rude” you snickered, sitting down and laying your crutches down on the floor.

“I wasn’t staring” he defended, making his way over. You cocked an eyebrow at him with a smirk.

“I was admiring how far you’ve come” he added, bringing some popcorn to his mouth as he sat down.

“Sure, Clifford” you laughed, reaching for some popcorn too.

“I’m serious!” he exclaimed. “Eight months ago you barely wanted to get out of bed, now you’re walking around the house and are basically a fitness instructor” you scoffed as he giggled.

“Just wait till new symptoms show up in a few years” you sighed, pressing play on the movie. Michael snapped his head in your direction, his brows furrowed.

“Hey, no, don’t talk like that” he almost scolded.

“Mikey, it’s fine, I made my peace with it. My life is always going to be like this” you gestured to the crutches and the wheelchair in the corner, shrugging.

“No, it’s not” he couldn’t help but raise his voice a little, disbelieving of the words that were leaving your mouth. “You’re taking back the life that this tried to pry from you, you’re fighting and it’s working. You’ll be able to walk again soon and if new symptoms show up you’ll learn to monitor them and make them your bitches”

“My bitches?” you couldn’t help but let an amused snicker out. You saw the left corner of his mouth tilting up, trying to keep the laughter at bay, after all, you were too.

“Yes” he said resolutely. “I’m helping you through this, remember? Every step of the way” it wasn’t time to cry, you reminded yourself, pushing back the tears as you nodded.

“Thanks Mikey” you let your head rest on his shoulder, sitting back. He just left a kiss on top of your head, resting his cheek against it as you both focused on the movie playing.

--

“Michael, come here!” you didn’t like to scare him, you really didn’t, but when he slowed down the fast jog he made over to you room, panting slightly and ready to help however he could, a glint of panic in his eyes, you couldn’t help but feel the need to suppress your laughter. “Stay there” you said, watching confusion grow on his face, as he settled by the door.

“What’s wron-“ you shushed him before he could finish, slowly sitting up from your bed. Michael watched as you stood up without the need to hold onto anything, starting to walk  towards him without needing any help. His mouth opened in surprise and you smiled, finally reaching him.

“Hi” you said, a feet away from him. You didn’t have the chance to see his glassy eyes, full of pride, because he was quick to engulf you in his arms and pick you up to spin you around just once, as you giggled elated. He held you tight, his face hiding in the crook of your neck.

“Are you crying?” you asked slightly amused, feeling your skin getting wet.

“No” came the muffled response from him. “You did it” he whispered, still not moving.

“It’s not the end of anything, but by the looks of it… I can walk on my own now” you said, bringing a hand up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Thank you for never giving up on me”

“Thank you for not giving up on yourself” he sniffled, finally looking at you with probably the brightest smile you’ve ever seen him display over the course of the last year and a half. You smiled too, a single tear of joy running down your face which Michael was quick to dry with the pad of his thumb.

He left a sweet kiss on your forehead. “We need to call everyone!” he jumped up in joy only seconds after, making you giggle, taking you by the hand like he’d done over a million times by now and walking with you to the living room.

“You need to chill” you said, sitting down on the couch next to him.

“Never!” he exclaimed, quickly searching for your mom’s contact. He really was the best, you thought looking at the one who had been by your side through one of the toughest of times and was sure to be there for you for anything that would come your way in the future, with a sweet smile.

[calamariimpossible]

Magicians on the internet, crypto, and the email that broke me.

This is a continuation of a twitter thread that Muz (@mzkrx) started to write out in his car but then when he plotted out his thoughts, it made more sense to him to put it down in a blog format rather than a thread. You'll find out why as you read through.

Stuck in the car for half an hour so I'm gonna do a thread (Editor's note: Now a whole-ass blog post) about a strange email I got recently.

So I was casually watching magic tricks on YouTube. the funnest part of which to me is reading the comments. YouTube commenters love explaining how they think the trick is done and it's fun to read through their theories and connect dots between similar tricks, etc.

And then one time as I was scrolling I noticed a comment that didn't make sense. It was a string of an almost sentence. Intelligible enough to not be random words but odd enough to read like a trigger phrase for something.

The closest I can describe it as is like the string Zemo used to wake up the Winter Soldier, but with some syntax to it. Like "many thermos wiggle throughout exotic harbinger of circle ascending fuchsia entrapment".

Initially I thought nothing of it, but then I kept seeing them in these magic trick video comment sections. They're never the same string, and it's always under magic trick videos. from different channels even.

Hmmm.

The profiles that posted these comments are also always blank accounts with zero videos and no profile pic. Just their name. I felt like it was too much of a coincidence for these comments to only be under magic trick videos.

I also knew that the world of performance magic is thick with secrets. That is to say, there is deliberate obfuscation of information whenever you try to go online to find out how a trick works.

Magicians get together online and share information with each other just like performers of every other sort as well but the amount of code and doublespeak they use is an order of magnitude more annoying to decipher compared to say, an engineering message board or a gamedev forum.

Knowing that, I thought maybe this almost parsable gibberish I keep seeing everywhere was also some kind of code these people were using to talk to each other.

So I started investigating.

First things first, let's just Google one of the phrases. Maybe that's enough?

And it sorta was.

Pasting them onto the search bar lent me to only 1 result (wild!) and it was a website that looked really dank. Like geocities dank. Annoying neon colours and badly margined jpegs of tarot card images everywhere and a big bold header text that said something to the effect of:

"Congratulations, you've found our hidden message. This portal is only for those seeking knowledge beyond what is on the surface. Continue below."

* * *

I haven't been doing well. I feel like I say that too much. I say it on Patreon, on my personal podcast, whenever any of my friends ask me how I'm doing, pretty much everywhere. I feel very heavy. I understand I'm not the only one feeling like this during a pandemic.

Duh.

But I have this other version of worry that I can't quite articulate until right now: I'm scared I won't be funny anymore. Anwar and Farid can attest that even during our recordings I don't feel up to being funny. I question my jokes a lot. I barely enjoy telling them. I'm worried I'm letting everyone down.

To me, silliness and absurdism as virtues only make sense when the world has trace amounts of injustice and wrongness that training ourselves to see it in our everyday helps us remind ourselves of what is just and fair. The more we consume silliness, the more we are able to recognize silly and point it out. So we don't ignore it when things go wrong, so we talk about it, manage it. So we can take care of each other.

Maybe I can't be sure if we're all up for taking care of each other right now.

* * *

"Continue below" seems instructive, but it wasn't. Like I mentioned, the margins were haphazard and the CSS was all over the place. Some jpegs were straight up cropped off.

Meaning I can't be sure what "below" meant. But there were clickable images and text so I was readily intrigued.

It was tantalizing. Did I stumble into some secret order of Extremely Online Magicians? Maybe I'll finally find out why there aren't many female magicians out there. Maybe it's some sort of secret initiation to a secret message board full of secrety secrets. Secretly.

Y'all.

I didn't click on any of the linked images or anything. I closed the tab. That was the end of that.

An earlier version of myself would gladly run headlong into this rabbit hole to find out more and sink hours into some goddessforsaken labyrinth of links. But the current version of me recognizes this for what it almost certainly is: an abandoned roleplaying game.

Back in the early 00s when the internet was the realm of nerds and nerds only, it was full of people who loved sharing things for sharing's sake. It used to be punk rock to maintain a blog that only talked about snails or have a lo-fi YouTube channel that uploads biweekly 3-minute news about your house, or manage a little message board where people roleplay as wizards who rummage around the net looking for clues.

That last part was a thing I remember being actively involved in. In '03, a group of online friends and I wrote up a scavenger hunt of sorts where we sent people through various blog pages that we have where the goal is to just dick around and have fun. We wasted each other's time for sure. Hundreds of hours of it for literally no gain at all but for some laughs and fun memories.

The internet isn't like that anymore. People don't share something online for sharing anymore. Not really. There's this idea that if you put stuff out there, you want people's attention because numbers are good. You get a lotta reblogs and RTs and Likes which means people Like you.

If you don't have a lotta numbers, you don't matter. If you do, everyone has to talk about what you said or did because it's 'News' now.

Isn't that kinda gross, you think? That we need people to interact through an app to be sure that we're Liked? I say "we" but I mean me. I've successfully poisoned my brain to believe this to a certain extent too and it's not good.

I felt myself physically react when I closed that geocities magician website tab. I shuddered because my brain went from "this is cool" to "I gotta let people know I found this" to "this'll get me hella RTs" to "ew Muz why did you think that" within 3 seconds and I was disgusted with myself.

As a dude who started my online presence on YouTube and parlayed it into my real life comedy/writing career, I've believed for a long time that doing good work and putting it out there is what it takes for a working creative to make it because that's what I did. So there's this idea that making stuff and having it be seen is some kind of virtuous.

But it's not anymore. People pick fights with children for clout. Newspapers post about people's tweets as if its important. People are investing in crypto, a thing that literally only exists as electrical waste on a grand scale. We're boiling the oceans to yell at each other over nothing and exchange bits of code everyone agrees has ever-rising value but doesn't. Everyone is making and eating junk, it feels like.

So am I making junk? Have I just been making useless junk for literally over a decade now? Is that what I've been good for this entire time?

* * *

So the email.

It was a response from a company I applied to for a job. I applied as a creative writer and they're an advertising agency.

Receiving emails from a prospective employer when you're in need of a job is exciting! So soon after I applied, too. Wonderful. Here's what it said:

We just received your application today but would love to extend the opportunity for you to participate in the Case Competition as a prerequisite of your job application for Creative Writer position with [REDACTED] and stand a chance to be a winner for cash awards up to a total worth of RM1,800.

Yea.

They want me to enter a competition where I compete with other candidates to get a chance of being hired.

This company saw how many people applied for a job with them, and decided to dangle some cash and throw it over the fence to see which candidate will fight for it the most.

I didn't expect to feel vomitous after reading an email but that did it. I almost dry heaved. That's where we are now.

Recruiters see a glut of applicants and decided to play Fall Guys. These people watch Istana Takeshi and think Takeshi is the good guy. It hurts. It hurt me. That email caused me pain.

I can't at all empathise with recruiters who think this was okay to do. They really believed that creative writers will do a little dance for them just for money.

Look, I know we all need to eat. But I can also hate that people undervalue the work of creatives to this painful extent.

I don't give a shit about earning a lot of dough. I just wanna make things that tickle people. I want you to smile more.

That's the whole point of that weird little YouTube comment that led to the quirky website. That's the whole idea of making silly videos and dumb tweets and memes. We just want you to laugh.

But it seems people think so little of joy that they'll do whatever they can to avoid legitimately supporting and paying for stuff that gets them through the day. So much so that they want free work from us for the potential of maybe being able to get paid for more work. It breaks me, man.

I hate that I cannot make a living just trying my best to make people happy.

That's the best way I know to take care of you.

I know I don't just 'make junk' for a living. People have messaged me personally that my work has helped them get through tough times in school, in their relationships, at the office and I am eternally grateful that they took the time to tell me that.

I just also wish my feelings about my work aren't easily brought down by the majority of people who insist its worthless. Even if sometimes those people is me.

So forgive me if I won't be funny for a while. I'm gonna need some time to process this. Thank you for reading. I love you.

[jimin-jungshook-over-literalbae]

Sunshine & Darkness *Part 4*

I bet you thought this was never coming!! But here we are. I finally finished part 4. Honestly, I think this part is the longest one so far and I love it so much. Let me know what you think!

     The water sparkles and shimmers in the light of late morning. We scramble out of our cars, thankful to be stretching out our limbs after our cramped riding positions. I wasn't in nearly as much pain as some of the taller guys who had to cram themselves in the backseat. I had ended up in the backseat on Jooheon's lap since I was the shortest and took up the least space. It was somehow both comfortable and awkward.

     After a few minutes of stretching, we set about unloading the two cars. Shownu leads the short walk to our camping spot. I pick up a surprisingly heavy box of food that's at least half my height. My short height and the weight of the box results in some slightly uncomfortable shuffling as I carry it but it's manageable. I pause for a moment to readjust my grip as I feel it begin to slip.

     "You know, you could have just asked for help," An amused voice comes from behind me. I glance back to see Wonho, some tents and chairs nestled in his arms.

     "No need. I can carry it," I smile brightly, my ponytail flipping over my shoulder as I continue my trek to the campsite. I take a moment to be glad I wore actual clothes as opposed to showing up wearing my swimsuit, especially considering all the heavy lifting.

     It takes 30 minutes to unload both cars and another hour to set up our campsite. The three tents are set up relatively close together but distant enough that if one tent decided to sleep early, the other ones won't keep them awake. This had been Shownu's request since he tends to like to sleep earlier than I.M and Hyungwon. The tents are quickly distributed out. Shownu, Wonho, and Kihyun have one tent. The next one is shared by Jooheon, Minhyuk and I. The last tent is J, Hyungwon, and I.M. J and I were supposed to share originally but she shut that down as quickly as they suggested it. She hates sleeping near me because I have a tendency to want to cuddle and she hates it. The cramped sleeping quarters make me a little nervous but I'm sure it'll be fine.

     "Do we want to start off with some beach sports and then go swimming or just start off swimming? There aren't many waves so we probably can't get any surfing done today," Shownu holds a bag in his right hand, a few badmitton rackets in the other.

     "I wouldn't mind some volleyball before we go swimming," Wonho suggests. Shownu and Wonho set up the net while we set up teams. It wouldn't be fair to put Shownu and Wonho on the same team so it's decided that Jooheon and I are with Wonho while Kihyun and Minhyuk are teamed up with Shownu. J and I.M wander of after declining to play and Hyungwon ends up as the score keeper.

     The beach we're on is an uninterrupted piece used specifically as camping groups. It's enclosed on both sides by cliffs and rock formations. I slip in to my tent to change into my swimsuit and my cover up before grabbing my camera bag and joining the boys. I set my bag in the shade by Hyungwon before joining my team. I pull at the edges of my yellow cover up shirt despite the fact that it reaches midthigh. Being surrounded by so many attractive, now shirtless, guys makes me a bit nervous.

     As the game starts, it's quickly learned that I am a disadvantage to my team. My short height and lack of athletic ability show their colors pretty quickly. I wasn't horrible but I certainly wasn't good. At the halfway mark, as we're taking a break, I excuse myself from the game. Wonho argued against it halfheartedly but I just smiled and waved him off, retrieving my camera bag.

     It not super hot yet, instead landing at a more comfortable and warm temperature. I can see I.M and J up on one of the cliffs bordering our camping spot. I attach a lens to my camera and snap a few pictures of them before turning my attention elsewhere. J's green and white polka dot two piece and white wrap skirt stand out well against the dark colors of the rock cliff.

     Part of me wishes I had sprung for one of those water proof cameras so I could get some underwater shots but I guess that's a goal for the future. I get caught up in my photography for a while, forgetting everything else. I wander up and down the beach, taking pictures of whatever catches my attention. I do manage to snatch some pictures of the boys before wandering to a different part of the beach. At some point, I discard my cover up and step in the water. It takes me a while to get the shots that I want but I'm able to take some abstract photos I love.

     I'm not sure how long I've been there when a warm hand slides across the bare skin of my stomach, pulling me back against a warm chest. I only have a moment to feel self conscious of my sunflower swimsuit bottoms and yellow swimsuit top. A piece of fabric trails down from the top to covers most of my stomach. I drop my camera in my surprise, suddenly glad I always wear the neck strap.

     "Hey baby," I freeze when I realize that the voice is unfamiliar. I scramble away from the form, landing on my butt on the sand at the edge of the water. A tall figure I don't recognize looks down at me, a grin on his face. I can't stop my instinctual fear. A second figure casts a shadow above me.

     "Are you okay?" This time, the voice is familiar. Jooheon helps me to my feet, his gaze on the man obviously confrontational.

     "I'm okay," My voice is almost a whisper. Jooheon nods at me, his eyes still trained on the man. Jooheon's hand rests on the bare skin of my stomach, comforting me.

     "Hey, sorry man. No harm done. She was separate from your group so I figured she was by herself," The guy raises his hands defensively. Jooheon's hand balls into a fist but it's me who steps forward, anger coursing through me.

     "That doesn't mean it's okay," My voice is a growl that surprises all of us. Despite the fact that I have to look up at him, I glare at him," You should never touch anyone without their permission. It doesn't matter if they're by themselves or with someone else. It doesn't matter if it's Jooheon or me."

     "Hey. Chill out, baby. It's not big deal, really," He tries to give me a charming smile but I'm livid at this point.

     "It is a big deal and this is private property so you should probably leave. Don't make me call the cops on you," I glower at him, my hands almost shaking with my anger.

     "Bitch, just shut the fuck up. Nothing happened so leave it the hell alone. Don't make me knock your fucking teeth out," His fingers close around my chin, digging into the skin.

��     "Wanna say that again?" Jooheon's voice is low and dark. The grip on my chin is released and the guys steps away from me. His face flickers with discomfort before he replaces it with false bravado.

     "Yeah, whatever. You can keep the ugly bitch," He turns and stalks away. Jooheon moves to go after him but I place a hand on his chest and glance at him. His hand closes around mine.

     "Just let it go. He's not worth it," My free hand moves of its' own free will, rubbing up and down his arm soothingly. He finally looks at me, letting out a long breath.

     His hand, which is now at my waist, pulls me closer and his lips burn into mine. That fire and electricity is back again. We haven't slept together since that first night. His teeth dig gently into my bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth. A few moments later, he pulls away. My breathing is sped up and I struggle to slow my booming heartbeat.

     "Sorry," He murmurs. His large hand is still tangled in my hair. I step closer to him, my head resting on his collarbone as I wrap my arms around him. He tenses for a short moment but his arms wrap around me and hold me close.

     "I'm okay, I just need a moment to compose myself," I say softly, not leaving his embrace for a long moment.

     "You're shaking, babygirl," His lips are close to my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

     "There might be a few too many people around for you to be calling me by that name again, baby," My lips brush lightly against the underside of his jaw.

     "Maybe we can find time, later," His nose skims my jawline, and his lips meet mine again for a brief kiss.

     "Can you guys stop making out over there? You're making everyone else uncomfortable," J's voice is loud and causes a blush to spread across my cheeks. Jooheon smiles and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

     "Cute," Jooheon finally steps away. I grab my swimsuit cover and we head back to the group. J and I.M seemed to have returned from their day on the cliffs and have started directing Shownu on where to place the bonfire. The stack takes a while to make but we're finished by the time the sun is starting to sink. It's not long until J and Hyungwon are dancing around the bonfire to music playing from Shownu's speakers. J has a large bottle of rum in her hand that she continually takes swigs from. The lighting is just enough for me to snag some aesthetic pictures without the flash. I almost slip into my headspace once again where I forget about everything other than my photography but Kihyun breaks me out of it.

     "You know, you can socialize outside of your camera, right?" Kihyun holds out a plastic cup of alcohol to me. I return my camera to it's bag and shut it in safely before taking the cup.

     "I just get caught up sometimes. I like the stories images tell," I sip the alcohol, feeling the familiar burn. I don't really drink that often but I have a decent tolerance, at least.

     "Did you take any pictures of me today?" His curiosity seems genuine this time.

      "Yeah. Here, I can show you," I set the cup in the sand and pull my camera back out. I look the gallery, finding the first one pretty quickly since I just took it a few minutes ago. His face is half in shadow, the fire light glowing on the other side. His expression is a quiet kind of thoughtfulness. The other picture takes longer to find. It's one from earlier in the day. He had just scored a point in volleyball. He's turned toward Minhyuk, a bright and happy smile on his face and the ocean silhouetting him to create a stark contrast against his dark hair. He gives me a genuine smile.

     "These are amazing," Kihyun moves to the next photo, looking at some nature photos and coming to a stop on a picture of Jooheon. He's laughing, his eyes closed into little crescent moon smiles of their own. Fire light dances across his tan skin, making the picture feel more like he's an ethereal being as opposed to a human.

     When I look back up, J is sitting in between Hyungwon and I.M and they're passing the bottle of rum back and forth. Shownu and Wonho seem to be having some kind of chugging contest as they drink cups of the punch that someone, I never saw who, threw together. It's pretty intense so I imagine it won't be long until they're both drunk. Jooheon sits near them, watching the contest and sipping his own drink, occasionally cheering on one or the other.

     Kihyun hands me back my camera and I tuck it back in it's bag after making sure that I've powered it off. I polish off my cup of punch and debate about whether I want another one or not. I always feel it in my head first, when I start drinking. The first cup, or shot, is always the worst. It's quite warm and the alcohol certainly isn't helping with that so I decide to take a quick dip in the water, since I hadn't gotten around to that yet.

     I step away from the warm fire and slip off my cover up, laying it with my camera. I slip off my flip flops as well, leaving those near the fire, and let my feet sink into the sand as I walk toward the water. The water feels slightly cooler with the sun down but it's still quite warm and I quickly make the decision to dive in once of the water is tall enough. I swim for a little while, letting the cool water warm my skin.

     I lay on my back, floating on the water as my hair floats in the water as a halo around my head. I float for a while, keeping an eye to make sure I don't get too far from the shore. I only stop floating when my head bumps into something and I see an upside down (by Jay Park, Loco, Simon Dominic, and Gray) Jooheon staring at me. I quickly right myself, standing up and blushing.

     His hands are warm against my water chilled skin, his forehead resting against mine. His nose skims mine, his breath warm on my cheek. I let out a small breath, my heart racing as his lips trace my cheek and then trailer along the shell of my ear, setting my nerve endings on fire. I shiver, my mind clearing of everything else as he breathes against my ear. It's always been a weak point for me and it makes my heart beat faster.

     "What is it about you," His question gives me pause. I'm not sure what he wants me to say. His lips ghost down the side of my neck, his arm wrapping tightly around my waist. His tongue slides along my collarbone, fogging my mind and almost making me forget his question. He finally puts me out of my misery and kisses me, his lips consuming mine. I had been desperate to kiss him ever since our kiss on the beach earlier.

     He pulls me close, moves us backward. A rough surface presses to my back. It must be the cliff but I'm too dazed to notice. I'm not sure how long we've been kissing when he finally pulls away. One of my hands is tangled in his hair and the other floats up and down his spine with feather like touches. One of his fingers is hooked in the bottom of my swimsuit but he shakes his head and removed it. Before I can feel hurt about him pulling away, he gives me a sweet smile.

     "You deserve better than me sleeping with you against a cliff face just so we can hide from our friends. I'll find us some time to sneak away somewhere and spend some time together," He lets out a long sigh and runs his fingers though my hair," Come on. Lets get back. I told Shownu I would put out the fire once I came and got you. We should probably sleep soon anyway."

     We make our way back to the beach. Everyone else seems to have separated into their tents, but there's a lot of sound coming from J's tent. I'm sure their still drinking and hanging out. I help Jooheon put the fire out and we slip into our tent. Minhyuk looks up at us groggily, obviously half asleep. I step outside of the tent for a minute after grabbing my bag to change in the nearby bathroom. It's basically a porta-potty and it's impossible to see but I manage.

     When I get back, I notice that Jooheon has laid out a sleeping bag for me. It's in the middle of the two of them but I can't help but notice it's slightly closer to him. I grab an extra blanket that I brought with me and lay on top of the sleeping bag. Jooheon gives me a questioning look. He's laying on his side, facing me.

     "I tend to toss and turn when I'm falling asleep, trying to get comfortable. It's hard to do that in a sleeping bag but it still creates a good cushion from the ground," I explain, adjusting my pillow so it's perfectly underneath my head and neck," Also, I should warn you that I apparently like to try to cuddle anyone nearby while I sleep so push me off if you need to."

     "Or, we could just skip a step and you could sleep over here with me," his voice is a quiet whisper. It doesn't take anymore convincing for me to shift the sleeping bag closer to him and drape us both in the blanket as I cuddle up to him, my arm around his waist and my head on his chest. His arm wraps around my waist and nuzzles his face into my hair for a second and then I'm drifting off to sleep.

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think!

[paperwayne]

snapshot.

50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You” ➡ 23. Taking a picture together to print and hang later.

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader

Word Count: 2,095 words

Warnings: Mild violence

“Nightwing! On your left!”

“Got it!” Dick shouts, twisting out of harm’s way. A split second later, he spins around and lands a blow on the screaming android.

Two more come your way. You leap onto the shoulders of one and slap an explosive onto its chest, jumping onto another android right before it goes off. Hot shrapnel cuts into your cape as acrid smoke fills your nose.

“I gotta say – hah! – this is not what I had in mind when you invited me to the mall,” you yell over the chaos.

Dick skids over to your side. His escrima sticks crackle with electricity – and in a moment, he stuffs them into an android’s eye sockets. “Trust me, this wasn’t on the agenda. I wanted to sh – oof! – show you the new photography studio. It’s Wild West-themed.”

“You don’t say?” You link elbows with Dick and he swings you into a robot feet-first. “That’s cool. You know I always want to party with you, cowboy.”

“Aw, you flatter me, Blackfinch.”

Pain shoots through your shoulder right before you can reply. Grunting in pain, you reach up and grab the android behind you, heaving it over you and into the ground. The white tile shatters.

“You okay?” Dick asks. You tear your attention away from the throbbing in your arm and see that he’s fighting the last android; it’s barely standing.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply. “Gonna have a nasty bruise, though.”

“Hm –” Dick crouches low and knocks the android down with a sweep of his leg. A well-aimed stomp to its neck ends its rampage, and you watch intently as the neon green of its eyes fade into gray. Guarded relief washes over you the same time your adrenaline rush begins to die. 

After surveying the ransacked left wing of the mall, the two of you make your way over to each other.

“You didn’t break anything, right?” Dick asks, brow furrowing.

“Believe me, I would know if something was broken.” You pat his chest, gesturing with your chin at the blaring lights outside the exit. “Look like the police finally arrived.”

While he glances over at the police cars parked on the other side of the doors, you gingerly rub your shoulder and bend over to inspect one of the hunks of metal. “So – I’m guessing this is Glass’s work.”

Dick’s mildly concerned gaze quickly narrows when you show him the patterning on the interior. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

“Wanna bet how quickly we can track him down?”

You raise a brow underneath your cowl. Putting away his escrima sticks, Dick looks down at your outstretched hand and smirks.

“Nope,” he replies. “Not gonna risk it all this time, Blackfinch.”

—

“You know, there’s an old-time photography studio uptown. Not Wild West, but close enough.”

You catch a falling drop of melted ice cream, looking over Dick’s shoulder as he scrolls through his phone. It really is admirable, how determined he is to find a good studio, but you’re quickly distracted by the tangy creaminess of blackberry cheesecake. (You think this particular distraction is well-deserved, though – what was meant to be a one-hour skirmish ended up being a two-hour long battle against Glass’s toys, and by the time the two of you managed to turn him in, both you and Dick were pretty damn sore).

“You really want this photoshoot done, huh, Grayson?” You pause to bite into your ice cream, letting out a pleased hum as it coats your tongue; so expensive, but so worth it. “What’s with the sudden interest?”

He shrugs. “I just think it’d be fun. A ridiculous photoshoot’s a pretty good idea,” Dick reasons, showing you the route to Bearon’s Studio. “See? It’s only a few blocks away.”

“Okay. Let’s go, then.”

Your companion nods just as an explosion rocks the ground. Your ice cream scoop falls to the ground as you stumble and regain your footing, looking up to see smoke billowing from a nearby building.

“Seriously?” Dick groans.

As if on cue, a cloaked figure jumps out from a window and hits the ground running. There’s a maniacal cackle, and you sigh.

“Guess we’re going in a different direction, Dick.”

—

The runaway criminal ends up being a petty thief-turned-pyromaniac due to some street drug with a name too vulgar for public ears. You would have been glad that he wasn't a big-time villain with ulterior motives, if it wasn’t for the fact that it was an absolute pain in the ass to finally get him cornered and secured. To add to the picture, you now have teeth indentations on the same arm that got bruised in the first fight.

At least it's over now, though. Maybe if you and Dick hurry, the studio will still be –

“Closed?” Dick exclaims, hands gripping the door handles. The interior of the place is shrouded in darkness, and right near Dick's shoulder on the other side hangs a sign that reads “CLOSED” in dark, red print. “It’s not even close to six yet!”

“Guess they closed early.” You press your forehead into the glass and squint inside. Nothing happens. (You’re sort of relieved that nobody jumps out of the shadows at you and Dick.)

Dick’s hands drop down to his sides, and his head soon plonks against the door next to yours. “Man,” he sighs.

You turn to look at him. There are many expressions that look lovely on Dick’s face, some more than others, but disappointment is not one of them. It prompts you to think, and you tap on the door in thought, lips puckering.

Finally, you stand straight and snap your fingers. Dick raises an eyebrow.

“I’ve got it. Follow me.”

“Uh … okay.” Dick runs across the street after you, catching up in two quick strides. “Where are we going?”

You flash him a quick smile. “My grandpa’s house.”

Dick’s noise of surprise turns your smile into a smirk. The relationship between the two most important men in your life isn’t sour by any means, but your grandfather never really cared about social cues, and the most uncomfortable moments of your teenage life had resulted from his comments whenever you and Dick stood in the same room. You’ve gotten more used to his ways by now – which is nice – but still, you’re glad you don’t have to think about what he might say today.

“Don’t worry,” you assure Dick, running down the stairs toward the subway. “He’s out on business.”

Your childhood home was a penthouse suite. Fifteen years living the high-class life there, and not once had your grandfather renovated the place in any way, shape, or form; so after you and Dick finally reach the top floor and greet Miss Paula, it doesn’t take too long to find The Room.

“Okay,” you murmur to yourself, keeping ahold of Dick’s hand as you walk past your old bedroom, feeling your way down the hallway. Eventually, you reach a door with a keypad. “Aha.” Six digits, all in quick succession. “Behold.”

“… No way.” Dick walks over to the far corner as you flip on the light, gazing up at the array of hats hung onto the wall. Carefully, he takes one of them and examines the dark leather, lips curling into an incredulous grin. “How come I’ve never seen this place before?”

You take the hat from him and place it ceremoniously onto his head. “Grandpa’s way protective of his cowboy stuff. He only let me in here once I turned eighteen, and only responsible family and the closest of our friends can come in here.” Reaching around him, you grab a lasso off its hook and give it to Dick. “Here.”

The two of you spend the next few minutes trying on different combinations of hats and boots, modeling for each other and laughing your heads off like a pair of teenager. You tie a red handkerchief around Dick’s neck and fit him with a vest. He finds a giant wagon wheel hidden behind some crates and has you pose in front of it, expression deadly serious for historical accuracy. Finger guns complete the outfit.

“We don’t have a camera from the nineteenth century, but a filter’s the next best thing,” you state, rotating your camera around for a selfie. It takes a bit of stretching to include your enormous hats, but you manage. “Smile!”

Dick squishes his cheek against yours, and you can feel some stubble scraping against your skin as you take the shot. Your phone flashes and you bring it back down to check the result.

“Heh, you’re blinking.”

“You’re blurry.”

“It’s cute anyway,” Dick concludes, arm still wrapped around you as he favorites the picture.  “Text it to me, will ya?”

“I’ll do you one better and get it printed out at Walmart. This one should be framed and hung up,” you reply.

“You’re right.”

While Dick takes a moment to send one of the pictures to his siblings, you take off the two ten-gallon hats stuffed onto your head. The boots and spurs follow after a bit of difficulty. Your handkerchiefs go back into the drawers, the lasso back on its hook. It doesn’t take terribly long to put everything away, and when the two of you finish, the room looks exactly like it had before. (Who said that attention to detail was only applicable in the field?)

“Well, that was fun,” Dick laughs, hands on his hips as he surveys the hat collection one last time. “I’m actually glad we did this instead of the studio, to be honest.”

“I agree.”

Miss Paula is still, oddly enough, dusting the furniture when you and Dick come back to the foyer; she raises an eyebrow as the two of you walk to the elevator, all twin grins and muffled snorts.

“I hope you kids enjoyed yourselves,” she calls after you as the doors slide open, pointing her duster suspiciously in your direction. Her lips are pursed, but a twinkle shines in her eye.

You beam innocently. “We did. Send Grandpa our regards, please.”

“Mmhm.”

The doors close. Dick turns to you, eyes alight with mirth. “I hope your grandpa won’t be mad that we used his stuff for a photoshoot.”

“Nah, he’d have a heyday if he caught us. He’d probably want to hire a photographer and everything,” you snort, shaking your head.

He chuckles. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Glancing over at him, you will your next words to be light. “I mean – he always thought we looked cute together, remember?”

“He did.”

Dick’s reply is a mix between a question and a statement – you’re not sure which one it is, and when you try to read his face you don’t get much of an answer. His eyes flit to meet yours, and the slightest of smiles graces his lips for a moment before it’s replaced by a thoughtful look.

You instinctively turn your attention towards the steadily decreasing floor number above the buttons. There’s no elevator music, so now all you can hear is the sound of your breathing and Dick’s breathing, and god, the awkwardness is back again. Geez Louise. Why did you have to say that? That was years ago. Your grandpa probably only liked pairing you up with Dick because he thought it’d be funny.

“I think he was right.”

Your brain short-circuits. “… Huh?”

Dick leans back with his elbows against the rail, staring up at the floor number with you. Six, five, four. “We would be cute together. Hypothetically, you know.”

“Hypothetically.” You swallow, bracing yourself against the wall when the elevator suddenly stops at the ground floor. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Pause.

“Hey, remember when your grandpa made all of us ride on his Fourth of July float that one summer?”

His voice cuts through your fretting. You cling onto the new subject, and it’s thankfully easy to laugh once you refocus. “How could I forget that? God, he embarrassed me so much when I was in high school.”

“It was Wild West-themed, wasn’t it? I forgot that part until today.”

“It was. Damn, that actually makes it more embarrassing.”

“I need to look for pictures of that parade – oh, speaking of which, remember. To print out the photos.”

His expression’s solemn, and you roll your eyes and nudge him with your shoulder. “I’ll remember, Grayson. First thing after work tomorrow.”

“Alright,” he says. “I’m counting on you, partner.”

“And I’ve never let you down,” you respond.

Dick grins. He gives you a squeeze around your waist, looking down the street as you both walk towards the subway.

“Nope. Not once.”

__

[50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You” prompt list (requests using this prompt list are openCLOSED)]

[tnystrk-exe]

Learning to Live

Reckless and Impulsive

Baby Steps

Home

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

There was blood. Sky full of the aliens that had attacked before. The buildings all around him were destroyed. People were scattered on the floor. Strangers. Dead. A broken scream broke the silence. He rushed forward to sound. It broke his heart to hear that sound. He had to help. There couldn’t be anymore death today.

He saw a woman crying, slumped on the floor beside a small figure. “YN? YN!” Tony came to a stop beside you, crouching down to get a better look.

“You did this! You could have saved her! You didn’t do enough! You got Ro killed!” You sobbed through your accusations.

Ro’s figure was mangled beyond recognition. If it hadn’t been for you naming her. His stomach churned. What happened to his happy little girl? Where had he been when she needed him?

Ro’s head lolled limply toward him. Her eyes open, but they were clouded over. There wasn’t any life behind them. “Why did you let them hurt me daddy? Why did you let me die?”

Tony’s eyes snapped open, panting. He couldn’t catch his breath. Looking around, he took in his surroundings. It was just the lab. The last thing he remembered was working on his suits. The Iron Legion was growing quickly. Every idea that popped into his head installed and improved as he went down the line. It was obsessive work, but he needed to know when the time came the two of you were safe.

“It’s just a dream,” he repeated to himself quietly. Trying, failing, to calm himself down. “Come on. Everything’s okay.” These nightmares were getting out of hand.

When he calmed down just enough, he went up stairs. There was still a need to check. See that Ro was okay and safe in her bed. He wasn’t sure he’d calm back down completely until he saw her.

Opening the door carefully, he gave her a look over. Yeah. There she was safe in bed. He must have woken her, because she was rubbing at her eyes sleepily. “Daddy?”

“Sorry, Rugrat, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“S’okay. Is your room scary because mommy’s gone?”

“Something like that,” he admitted.

Ro pulled back her blanket and patted her bed. Something the two of you had done for her countless times. “Can keep you safe.”

Tony chuckled, but still accepted her offer. “I’m supposed to keep you safe.”

Ro moved to cuddle up against her father. Her small finger tapping on the arc reactor. The pretty blue light always captivated her when it was up close. “You do, but I can too!” She insisted, “I love you, daddy.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart.” Tony pressed a kiss to the top of her hair. “You should go back to sleep. There’s school in the morning.”

“I wanna stay home with you,” she pouted up at him. “We can have pancakes for breakfast and then we can fix one of the cars!”

“That’s...that’s pretty hard to pass up isn’t it?” The faintest memories of Howard chewing him out for a similar suggestion and the dream were working in Ro’s favor. “I think we can do that,” he agreed.

“Yeah!” She said excitedly. “Can we wear our mechanic clothes too?” Ro had read a picture book with mechanics in it and soon after begged for shirts for the next time Tony and her worked together.

“Sure thing, but it’s still pretty early for you right now. Catch a few more Z’s and we’ll talk more in the morning.”

“Okay.” Ro pulled the covers over Tony and grabbed Tony Bear to sleep on his chest. “Daddy? How come you and Tony Bear have the same name?”

“I gave him to your mom when she graduated high school. She was going to go to another school and said she’d name him after me. So that she can have me around.”

Ro smiled, “I like having you around.”

“Is that so?”

“I think you’re nice.”

“Thanks. I think you’re nice too. Now stop stalling and go to sleep.”

Ro finally calmed back down enough to fall back asleep. Her hand laid flat on his arc reactor.

Tony let out a breath. The fear left, but he couldn’t go back to sleep. Those horrible dreams had been happening more and more frequently. He was running on a handful of hours for days. You didn’t know. Every night you and Ro slept over, he’d follow you into bed. Then he’d leave and go back to his lab until you woke up. A simple lie of “I’ve only been up an hour” was enough to convince you. The nights the two of you stayed home, there wasn’t any reason to keep up a lie.

Carefully, he slipped out from under Ro. She could have about three more hours before she was up for the day. He’d just need to call her school and tell them she woke up feverish so they wouldn’t contact you. Mostly he just hoped you wouldn’t mind. The kid just had him wrapped around her little fingers.

He stopped in the kitchen and started up the coffee machine. Tony was tired beyond belief but he needed to know if something happened he could keep the two of you safe. The idea of it was literally keeping him up at night. He wanted to sleep but the flashbacks and seeing you and Ro dead in so many different ways had no appeal to him. At least awake his mind wouldn’t torment him.

What he saw up there, this little marble of a planet needed to start growing its defenses. They fought an army with six people. Essentially telling who knows how many things bring it on, we can take you. He needed to help everyone get ready. Who knows what the result would be otherwise.

The idea was already growing in his head. Something good to protect the world. Like J.A.R.V.I.S. but on a bigger scale. A protector for everyone. The world was just too vulnerable without having a middleman in between us and them. He’d talk to Bruce about it. They could bounce ideas back and forward to find a solution.

“Sir, I’m worried about your sleeping levels. If you keep going you’re going to crash.”

“I know, Jar. I can sleep later.”

“Surely another suit can wait. The Iron Legion already has Mark 24 added in recently.”

Tony grabbed a mug and poured his coffee, “Don’t tell me you’re jealous of all your badass bouncing baby brothers.”

“Merely concerned about you, sir.”

“I’m good. Always. Now let’s get back to work. I’m thinking we should build a big guy next. Someone a bit more heavy duty than the other guys. Pull up a base for me and we’ll work from there.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tony started working. Mark 25 would be the start of construction lineup. A thicker armor would be able to take more blows, and with stand more heat and electricity. Mark 6 had held up well against Thor but just because something worked didn’t mean it could forgo updating. Before he knew it, Ro’s alarm clock was going off. He should go up and get her ready for school. Wait, no, he had told her she could stay home.

“J, shut it off, please.” He stood up, his back popping as he stretched. Damn he was getting old. Opening up a drawer her pulled out Ro’s mechanic clothes. The shirt, a part of expendable jeans, and some black Doc Martens she had begged for she wanted to look exactly like her dad. He buttoned up his own shirt and pulled on his work boots, an old pair of Docs from his teenage years, before going for Ro.

“Come on sweetheart, time to wake up for the day,” he said, gently shaking her shoulder.

Ro pouted pulling her blanket up over her face. “But daddy, my bed is comfy.”

“I thought you wanted pancakes and to fix up a car today. Look I’m even dressed for it already.”

She poked her head out, looking over at Tony, “Can we go to the store and buy snacks too?”

“Only if you eat all of your pancakes and you have to get up right now.”

She held up a finger at him, asking for one second while she stretched. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“You know the drill. Bathroom, brush your teeth, and wash your face.”

“Yes, daddy.” Ro got out of bed. Her hair was tangled from sleep and her Captain America pj bottoms were rolled up to her knees, but she was still, without a doubt, the cutest kid he had ever seen. She went to do her own thing before calling out for him a few minutes later. “Daddy, need you to brush my hair.”

“Let’s get you changed first, then the hair.” Out of her Cap pajamas and into a fresh, if not permanently stained, pair of clothes. They took a couple minutes to teach Ro how to tie her shoes. Usually she was so quick to pick things up, but shoelaces? No dice. “Okay Rugrat, stop getting frustrated and let me see. Look, bunny ears, around the tree, inside the hole, and pull.”

“I told you I couldn’t do it!”

“You’ll learn kiddo. If you don’t dad’ll just buy you all of the velcro shoes.” He got up from his knee, “Now, how about we put this mop up? I don’t think your mom will forgive me if you soak your hair in motor oil again.” Tony put her hair into braids keeping it as close and away from everything as he could.

“Daddy, I’m hungry,” Ro whined.

“Just give me a few more minutes.” After a few minutes he finished off the braid and tied it up. He picked her up and sat her on his hip. How was she getting so big so fast? “So, what kind of pancakes are we talking Mini Me?”

“I want Mickey Mouse shape and chocolate chip!”

“What do you say?”

“Please!”

Tony sat her on the counter in the kitchen and got to work, giving her a small handful of chocolate chips to keep her from whining about waiting. “Did you and grandpa have lazy days?” She asked.

“Hmm?” Tony asked being pulled back from his thoughts, “No. Not really. Howard didn’t believe in lazy days.”

“How come Howard?” She wondered why her dad always called grandpa his name, “Do I call you Tony?”

He made a face at that, it was odd hearing her call him by name. “Nope. Never. You stick with calling me dad. I like being someone’s dad.”

“Grandpa didn’t like being someone’s dad?”

“How about we put this conversation on hold until you’re bigger?”

“Okay,” she agreed as she usually would when he didn’t want to talk. It was an obvious sign since her father was a chatterbox. She knew not to talk about fighting aliens, he always got a little bit scared. “Love?” She asked opening up her arms for him.

He smiled and went over to give her a hug. Ro pressed kisses onto both of his cheeks. “Thank you sweetheart. What I’d do to get so lucky to have you?”

She shrugged, “Magic?”

“Definitely.” He went back to the pancakes, catching them before they could burn. Plating the two pancakes he looked at her. “How are we going to top these?”

“Sprinkles and whipped cream!”

“Because there wasn’t enough sugar?”

“Need something to keep me so sweet,” she said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Tony laughed loudly, some of him was more than present in her personality. “Whatever you say princess.”

The two of them talked over breakfast. Agreeing that it would be better to go to Ro and your favorite bakery before getting dirty in the garage. Ro made him eat a couple bites of her pancakes, eager to leave. They put up the plates and cleaned up the mess.

“Wait! Wait! Look!” She grabbed his hand and pulled him over to the piano, “I forgot to show you! J, showed me a video of a boy teaching!” Ro pressed the keys shyly, a bit clumsily, but the tune could be made out. Slowed down a bit, but Tony had heard the song enough to know it was the first couple seconds to Thunderstruck.

“Ro, your mom is going to say we hang out too much.”

“The man said to do octagons next, but they’re hard.”

“Octagons? Octaves? Let me see,” he had learned the song partially when Maria gave up on trying to teach him songs she has liked. “So you did that right,” he played the notes, “Next you do this.” He showed her a slowed down version. “Can you do that with me?” She played the beginning again when she got to the hard part Tony helped her by pointing out the keys she needed to hit. “Good job Ro, I’m so proud of you. Ready to go now?”

“Can I drive?”

“Might be a while for that,” he answered, “You can pick the car we take though.”

She sighed, “Fine.”

Ro picked the car and Tony helped her buckle in. The pair sang the songs leaking through the speakers at the top of their lungs. This was something Tony never thought he’d have. That’s why he had to keep the two of you protected. He couldn’t face losing either one of his girls. Especially this one singing about being on the highway to heck.

They got to the shop but had to park a couple streets down. Apparently the shops on that street were having a good business day. Tony though briefly about putting on a pair of sunglasses and cap to make things quick. Looking down at his shirt that wasn’t possible, given the Stark Industries logo on one side and his name on the other. He and Ro walked hand in hand, her skipping along next to him.

“Daddy, when we walk back can I ride your shoulders?”

“Sure thing tyke. What are you gonna get at the store?”

“Um, a brownie, some cookies, and chocolate milk!”

“Delicious. Remember we need to get mom’s favorite too. Can’t leave her out can we?”

“Are we going to sleep at the big house or home?”

She looked like that was a big decision. “You and J.A.R.V.I.S. are in the big house but Dominic lives closer to home. I like seeing all of you.”

He chuckled, “We’ll see if we can have a sleepover soon, yeah? Miss seeing your best friend?”

“Yeah. His mommy is a little bit mean, but his daddy and Rosie are nice too. It’s fun.”

“His mom is mean?”

“Yeah. She said mommy wasn’t with you for anything good. I only know it was mean because Dominic’s daddy told her to stop talking like that in front of the kids and it wasn’t her business.”

“You catch on to things pretty quickly, huh? I think sleepovers will be over at ours now.” Dominic’s mother was the type to believe everything in the papers. Ro didn’t need to hear what she thought about you.

“She said mom went a gold digging. Can we go gold digging too?”

So no more visits unless you or Tony were around. “Your mom has never gone gold digging. Just don’t listen to anything people say about us okay? They don’t know what’s going on with us. Our family is like the popular kids,” he tried to explain to her, “Sometimes people like to act like they know what’s happening.”

“So gold digging is something mean?”

“Very mean,” he answered. Tony noticed a man with a camera almost tripping over himself to get a closer look at the pair. Picking Ro up, he walked a bit faster. No way did he wanna deal with them too.

“Hey Iron Man! Hi kid!” Ro waved shyly, opting to hide her face against Tony’s neck. “So you moved on quickly after nearly dying.”

Ro pulled back to look at Tony, “You almost died daddy?”

He noticed the tears welling in her eyes, “It’s okay baby.” Tony patted her back to comfort her some, ignoring the man railing them. “We’re gonna pick up some sweets, cheer up.”

“So she calls you dad? Oh and matching for the day too?” The man snapped a couple pictures. “How do you think Potts will take to your sudden roll as a step father? You and that doctor lady really moved quick. Give us an exclusive what did you see up there?”

God this man was getting on his last nerve. Maybe he should have asked Happy to pick up the snacks instead.

“Wait,” The sleaze laughed, “Didn’t you deny a kid a while ago? Is she that one?”

“Listen, I’m trying to set a good example. But if you don’t stop fucking around with us I wont hesitate to lay you out.” All of it was getting far too personal and Ro was too smart not to try to connect the dots or ask questions. “We both know I make good on what I say.”

“Chill out. They’re just harmless questions.” Despite his protest the man started to lag behind, though the clicks of a photograph being taken could still be heard. A buck is a buck right?

Tony walked into the store and set Ro down on the floor. “What does he mean step dad?” Ro said looking at him confused. She knew kids with step dads at school. Some kids had a dad and a step dad. Others just had one or neither. They had learned family dynamics at school, some time soon they’d get to build a family tree.

“It’s nothing sweetheart. I’m telling you, people like that talk just to talk. How about we grab you an ice cream cone that you can eat in the car?” He said trying to distract her. Maybe selfishly he didn’t want to face those questions yet. The time would happen but he didn’t want it to be so soon. Then again a longer wait and it could be horrible too. “You really like the s’mores one right?”

“Yeah.”

Tony ordered the things. Ro sat at a table while she waited, the man outside was still waiting too take more pictures. That wasn’t weird people always wanted pictures of her daddy. Sometimes the pictures would be on magazines and she’s get to look at them while you bought groceries. There were even some of the nicer pictures cut out and placed into the photo albums. So that felt pretty normal. Still she didn’t like the questions he asked or that the man said her dad almost died. How does someone almost die? The man really did make him angry because he hardly ever said bad words in front of her unless he accidentally hurt himself.

“Ready Rugrat? I promised you could ride on my shoulders didn’t I?” Tony walked back to her a bag of snacks in one hand and her ice cream in the other.

She looked up, diverted from her thoughts easily enough, “Yeah!”

Tony set the bag down on the table and handed her over the cone. “Three! Two! One! Blast off!”

Ro exploded into a fit of laughter as her father made a show to put her onto his shoulders. Tony grabbed the bag and headed out, a death glare on his face when he noticed the paparazzi still waiting for them. He went toward the car angry beyond belief, all he wanted was a nice day with his kid. Was that too much to ask for? He got wrapped up in his thoughts until he heard Ro’s loud gasp and felt the cold ice cream hit the top of his head. The little girl pushed the wad of ice cream off of his head and onto the cement.

“I’m sorry daddy!” She said, using her napkin to wipe off the mess. Effectively forgetting the mess that was dripping off of her hand onto his head.

“It’s a bit of a mess up there Rugrat?” He asked reaching up for the ice cream cone. A hand on her knee made sure she was balanced, while he poured out the drippings before handing the cone back. “You think it works like shampoo?”

“No. That’s silly! It’s too sticky! The marshmallows won’t come out. Your hair looks white now. It looks the same like these,” she said, patting his temple where grays were sprouting. “You’re very old now daddy.”

Tony finally reached the car. “I think we’re going to hang out here until you finish that.” He pulled her off of his shoulders and sat her on the roof of the car. Opening the trunk, Tony gabbed Ro’s care bag. Each car had one, he was admittedly too lazy to move around one bag every time they got into a different car.

Ro sang a song to herself, her feet bumping the windows as she ate. Tony tried to fix the mess she had made in his hair with the wet wipes little success. At least he could get rid of the sticky feeling of the chocolate ice cream that had dried on his neck.

“That looks like mommy’s car,” Ro said, pointing at the new car Tony had gifted you. The hospital was close so it wouldn’t be that much of a surprise to see you around.

The car parked a bit further down, you stepped out. “I would have grabbed you a drink if I knew you’d have lunch so soon,” Tony said, when you were close enough in range.

“Hey, honey,” you greeted picking Ro up off the roof, kissing her cheek, “You’re supposed to be at school.”

“I know, but I wanted to be with daddy today,” Ro answered sheepishly.

Tony leaned over for a kiss. You sighed, relaxing into the kiss. An emergency came up at 10 last night and you were still scheduled to work until 5.

“You look dead on your feet baby.”

You looked over and noticed a man taking photographs excitedly. “Feeling it. If I play my cards right, I just might be able to sneak a nap in. Do you think he got any good shots?” Grabbing the wipes, you cleaned off Ro. The kid was smeared in chocolate and marshmallow.

“As annoying as he’s been? I’d hope there’s at least one good picture.”

You were about to talk, but your pager went off. A quick glance, you read the message. “Scratch the nap. I’ll see you two later.”

“Wait mommy!” Ro tried to reach for the bags in Tony’s hand. He found the bag that was yours and gave it to Ro. “We got you something!”

“Thanks, Love, you’re a life saver.” You gave Ro a last kiss before leaving her with Tony.

“Mommy’s upset I stayed home?”

“She’s more upset with me. You’re a smart kid and school isn’t a problem for you. But if you stay home too much, they’ll probably make you take first grade again. I think we can’t miss school anymore unless your sick.”

“Yes, sir.”

The pair drove back home and Ro went straight for the kid sized tool kit J.A.R.V.I.S. had ordered so long ago. “Vis, can you turn on the music? The bands daddy likes but only the good songs.”

He grabbed his own and they set to work on the car. Ro already claimed it as her own for when she was bigger. That was fine the old red Plymouth could be hers. They weren’t exactly strapped for options. It was almost ready to be driven. Each day Ro slipped school they worked on the car. Tony would explain in ways easy for her to understand and let her try to figure out what they should do next. Sometimes she’s hit the nail on its head other times she’d be off a bit. Still she was an eager learner. He’d have to buy another car to work on soon. Ro had a real talent for this kind of thing.

“I think we should be done.” Tony said, getting out from under the hood.

Ro was still leaned over, looking around, “Think it’ll turn on?” She jumped down from the small step stool she’d used.

“There’s only one way to check isn’t there? Move the step out of the way.” He closed the hood. Getting in the driver’s seat he patted his lap, “C’mon. You get the honors. This is your baby after all.”

Ro went to sit on his lap and grabbed the keys from Tony. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“Things don’t always work the first time. We’ll just figure out what’s up and fix it. Now, come on, the suspense is killing me.”

She pushed the key into the ignition and turned it carefully. “Oh come on!” She said when all the car gave was a mere click click in response.

“Give it another try. Just double check.”

Ro sighed but gave it another go. The car came to live with a pleasing purr. “Daddy, it works!”

Tony’s mind went to Howard and he briefly wondered if that was how he felt when Tony had started tinkering. Probably now. He hated that his mind always went back to Howard. “We always need a test drive. Put your hand in the steering wheel right here.” Tony grabbed her hands and positioned them.

“You’re going to let me drive!” She shrieked in excitement.

He pressed the gas, revving the engine. “Gotta learn sometime.” The car rode at 10, Tony’s hand firm on the bottom of the steering wheel. He drove down the path and into the closed circuit.

“Dad faster this is super slow!” Tony thought about it. There wouldn’t be any problems. So he brought the car to 80. Ro carried on ‘steering’ while he made sure the car didn’t waver too much. “My car is so cool! Can I name it? Your names are boring Stark 1, 2, 3, blah blah blah. Boring.”

“My naming system is fine. What’s this car’s name then?”

“Hmm,” she thought, “What about.....Ruby? Ruby is a pretty name.”

“Ruby she is, beautiful name. Now, let’s go back home. We played around all day, you should hit the books a bit.”

“Aw, daddy,” she whined, “That’s no fun at all.”

“Let’s just go through your words a couple of times. Then you can play all you want.”

They headed back up to the mansion. He made Ro take a shower, hoping it would make the following endeavor easier. It didn’t. A tantrum over how frustrating practice words were and yelling about math work. She hated paper work with an unmatched passion. Hands on work was more her speed, frankly he didn’t blame her. Then she was free and ran away from the table as soon as she could.

Tony sighed, grabbing her work and putting it into her backpack. Running a hand through his hair, he was reminded of the ice cream Ro had dropped into his hair. He had to sort himself out before he could go back to tinkering solo.

You got home earlier than expected. Setting the pizza down on the counter. You did a quick check up on Ro, she must have had a fun day, because she was fast asleep on her bed.

Silently you thanked whatever force lined it up perfectly for you to get some rest.

Walking over to yours and Tony’s room you were greeted with a very lovely view. Tony was pulling on a Metallica shirt, his jeans loose on his hips, leaving the toned muscles on display.

“See something you like cupcake?” He asked, catching your eye through the mirror.

“A couple of things.” You winked at him, unashamed of being caught. “How can’t I when my guy looks like that?”

“I’m more than just a piece of meat, YN. Though, I wouldn’t object to slipping in a couple minutes with you.”

You laughed softly, going to lay down on the bed. The softness of it making you relax instantly. “Don’t think that’s in the cards today, love. You can come here with me a couple of minutes though.” Tony was more than happy to accept the offer. There always was a soft weakness when you called him Love. You leaned over and gave him a tender kiss. “Hey.”

“Hi baby,” he smiled. He rested his head against your shoulder, finally realizing just how tired he was.  “How was your day?”

“Fine, fine. I still need to go home and pick up somethings. Didn’t pack enough things in the suitcase.”

“Fuck the suitcase. Just move in,” he stated simply.

“Isn’t that kinda fast? It’s only been we’ve only been together four months.”

“Honey, we’ve went slow with this for so long. I don’t need anymore time to know you’re it for me. Why go through the normal motions just to reach the same answer?  We basically already live together. We’re just jumping between houses every other week. Just think about it, please? It would be easier.” It would be especially easier to protect his family if they were all under the same roof.

“I’ll think about it,” you promised. “How about you? That paparazzi looked like he got under your skin.”

“He kept asked about New York and almost dying, Ro got pretty upset at that but I managed to distract her. Then he asked if she was the kid I said wasn’t mine and how it was like being a step dad.”

“Ah, the touchy subject.” You didn’t blame him. Neither of you were fans of all the headlines about it. There was an attack not to long ago, but who gave a hell if it was people’s personal business that sold the papers.

“I just don’t want her to ask questions....but I’m not going to lie if she asks. Rather not have to ever. Here we are though.”

You traced your thumb along his jaw. “It’s frustrating and she probably will come around asking questions. We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it. Okay? But no matter what happens you’re her dad. We never told her to call you dad, she did that on her own.”

“What if I mess it up, YN? What if she decides it better not to and she goes looking around?”

“Tony, it’s just blood. Alex would never measure up to being as good of a father as you and he wouldn’t have a boost up just because they look similar. When she’s older and someone asks her about her dad, she’s going to think about you. You’re the man that kisses all her cuts, reads her stories, cheers her up, and chases away all the monsters when she has nightmares. Ro is going to be proud to be your daughter.”

Tony managed a struggling smile, “Thanks, YN. It means a lot... You should probably get some shut eye. You’ve taken care of enough people today.”

You moved closer to Tony, getting comfortable. “You should get some rest too.”

“I’ve been getting enough sleep,” he said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“J.A.R.V.I.S. how long has Tony slept this week?”

“Sporadically, he has slept three hours,” The A.I. answered.

Tony scoffed, “Snitch.”

“You’re going to sleep with me.”

“Gladly. All you have to do is look nicely at me.”

You tugged at his hair playfully. “Go to sleep Stark,” you winked at him, “Though, I’m not opposed to talking negotiations if I wake up and you’re still in bed.”

“You always did know how to motivate me.”

Everything Tag:

| @sophiatomlinson23 | @cannonindeez | @memyselfandmaddox | @mendes-holland | @space-helen |

Marvel Tag:

| @asguardiansoftheavengers | @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked | @lovely-geek | @atomicfandombomb |

Tony Stark Tag:

| @bit-bot0711 | @tonystarkxreader | @mikariell95 | @genzparker |

Learning to Live Tag:

| @editsbyjenny | @vesta-ro |

[onstarsandiron]

Band AU Outline

Because where else am I going to put this?

[Lol I made it long, it’s under the readmore]

Scene 1 is Jax is trying to get coffee for his shitty boss and this asshole bumps into him, spills it all over him, and has the goddamn nerve to not stick around. Jax doesn’t know how he feels about the $50 bill casually thrown at him before Asshole runs off

Scene 2 is Robb arriving late to after school rehearsal and smelling faintly like coffee and his stupid brother is there and sneers at him because Eric is sooooo perfect and Eric gets to be the one that plays the violin, the instrument that everyone likes, and Robb is here playing the bass. Well fuck you, Eric, because Robb’s a damn good bass player and he actually likes how it sounds, thank you very much. If he’d gotten stuck with the viola he would have killed himself; he’d literally be second fiddle to Eric.

Scene 3 is Jax on his lunch break talking to Ana about their bassist or something I think? 

Scene 4 is Robb secretly practicing his electric bass in a quiet part of the mansion, like he always does, playing along with youtube videos and learning whatever he feels like

Scene 5 is Jax arriving at the venue and finally feeling the stress of the day wash off a little

Scene 6 is Robb arriving at the venue; he’s got a genuine ticket, but he brought his electric bass to try and say he’s part of the opening act or something and get backstage to try and get an autograph (maybe got dared to get one?) This goes, of course, wrong when the stage runner insists on personally seeing him to the correct dressing room saying they’ve been looking for their goddamn bassist all over the place, where the fuck have you been? and just shoves him in 

Queue: “YOU!” “Me?” Robb studied the other’s face, looking for where he’d know those features from. Suddenly it came to him. Oh. Oh no. Coffee boy. “Oh no,” Rob said, unable to help it, “Me.” 

Robb fucking OWES Jax for that bullshit, he may have payed for replacement coffee, but you can’t pay for replacement dignity, and that was his FAVORITE sweater. What’s that instrument he has? A bass? Fucking good because Barger is a no-show and they’re on in 15. 

Ana’s drums, Di does keyboard and synth, Jax is lead (only) guitar and lead (only) singer -- Di cannot carry a note to save the galaxy and Ana gets too excited and just ends up screaming more than singing (you physically cannot stop her from doing this, mind you, so mostly Jax just doesn’t give her a mic. It helps only so very much. To be fair, it is Ana’s band, so she has a certain right to do whatever she wants) They are the Dossier [Idk if I wanna include Xu and Elara in here yet; if I do, Elara’s a techie and Xu is additional tech support + Social media manager/marketing/gig booking/etc]

Queue the gang tearing up Robb’s pretty boy outfit to get grungier bc if you believe Ana started some kinda new wave bullshit band full of crooners you’re goddamn wrong. They do loud hard rock and you can die made about it. Also Jax applies Robb’s eyeliner and Robb has never had a more intimate moment with an individual without actually touching one another in his life. 

Then there’s the show. Lucky for Robb they’re playing all covers and it’s stuff that he knows. unluckily for Robb, it’s completely different to playing quietly in his tucked away chamber to youtube videos. He makes do, though. 

He’s kind of mouthing along to the words he knows and then he’s singing them quietly and then he’s singing them outright and then Jax notices and somehow there’s now been a mic placed in front of him and he’s become backup vocals now and if he believed in fake things he’d think Jax was actually pleased about this. Wow, performing sure makes your heart beat hard.

Then they’re taking a bow and off the stage before he even knows it. He thinks now he’ll be shooed off, but actually they let him watch the actual concert with them and then there’s like an after party and they let him tag along and actually he has a really good time (He gets that autograph he wanted too lol)

Like a week later he gets a call from Ana -- Di had made him sign a goddamn liability waiver including personal and emergency contact info -- and turns out that Barger skipped town for reasons which are genuinely undisclosed but 99% probably because he has a gambling problem. They need a new bassist. He worked out well in a pinch, does he think he can make practices monday at 7? 

So that’s how Robb starts sneaking around to be in this band and play little gigs here and there and it isn’t the sort of places anyone from his circle would be involved in and it isn’t so big that he’s so very worried about an internet presence (he does “”Shyly”” hide behind his hand when Di tries to get pictures for their social media). Robb like tells his mom he’s doing some extracurricular thing and turns his phone off and pays off his chauffeur to say nothing

There’s probably some cute scenes or clips of outings or something. They go thrift shopping to get Robb some actual stage clothes, they hang out with Ana’s moms, they don’t talk about Jax’s parents ever and don’t mention that Jax pretty much lives with Ana or the rotating cast of personnel through the house, there’s heart-to-hearts, there’s laughs, there’s drama, there’s friendship blossoming, walls breaking, truly incredible stuff

Then comes the inevitable. The day of the Big School Concert is also the day of the big Battle of The Bands or something. It’s some sort of contest where they play some songs and then they play one they were like assigned and they were assigned Space Oddity and one thing is that the judges are really looking for those strings but Di’s synths just aren’t cutting it; they’re timing and intonation just aren’t right. So Robb is like “Okay, you can’t ask any questions, and I’m going to be like on the wire BUT I will be there and I will bring strings. You have to trust me.” 

And then it’s Robb’s concert, and bananas things happen and he gets out of there with the bass and we’re switching back and forth between everyone being antsy and worrying and Robb booking it with this big ass piece of shit on his back and he’s in the back of the car fucking up his $300 suit. Maybe there’s a run-in with Eric? I kinda really want him to show up a little worse for ware for Jax to fuss over. 

And Jax and Ana and Di are like Bass??? Suit???? Hair half slicked back??? Are those LOAFERS??? Is that a BLACK EYE?? [one of the judges later asks the same thing and Robb just replies “We are a grunge band, ma’am]  But there’s no time to fuss! Because he rolls up literally like two minutes from going on stage!

They rush out and they play their song and it’s magical and fucking gay and Di’s going fucking ham on the piano and the whole room is vibing. Then they play a couple more songs or something idk I don’t want to like ruin this emotional high but I do need to justify the electric base being there for the next bit which issss

Di and Ana shove Robb and Jax into the dressing room and they FINALLY make out. And it’s amazing and heavy and full of emotional and physical catharsis and it’s just exactly what everyone -- robb, jax, the reader -- needs. 

And then there’s a knock on the door. Followed by “Robbert, darling, are you in there?” 

And Robb’s blood goes cold. Because of course Eric told his mother. Of course he forgot to turn his phone off. Of course, just as he finally has the things he wants, what he’s been craving for all his life, here comes his mother reminding him of what he is supposed to be. 

“What’s wrong?” Jax asks, “Who’s that?” But Robb can’t bear to say a word. It’ll all become obvious in a minute anyway. All he can do is hope that the sadness on his face shows, for once he wants his stupid face to show his goddamn emotion to the one person, and that Jax will know that’s how he really feels and won’t take this next part too personally. 

His parting words are to hand his electric bass to Jax and say, “Here, can you keep this safe for me? Valerios aren’t supposed to play these sorts of things.” 

And before Jax can say anything Robb turns away and makes his face a mask and replies, “Yes, Mother.” 

The door opens and there stands his mother, graying hair pulled into an elegant bun, still in the dress from the recital. Eric stands there too with his sharp suit, looking as if their tussle had never happened and like he didn’t need to wash blood off his rings. There were also a couple of men in suits, some of his mother’s assistants. One entered unceremoniously and silently took the bass from the room. 

“My dearest, whatever are you here for? I believe we agreed to a dinner at your favorite restaurant for your recital tonight,” it was Eric’s favorite, Robb hated the place, “This event was not on my itinerary.” 

“I apologize for the delay, Mother,” Robb said, as if he’d made them wait five minutes instead of running off across town and surely ruining their evening, “I owed a debt, and as you know that cannot be outstanding.” 

The barest hint of anger flashed over her face; she absolutely hated when he threw Valerio Family Names items back at her. He must have been hanging around with Ana too much, because he found himself relishing in having made her mad. The flash was gone almost before it was there, though, and her face was cool once more. 

“And what, pray tell, did you owe to these... people,” his mother said, eyeing Jax in a way that made Robb so angry he could feel the white hot rage in the center of his chest. But he was a Valerio, and he knew better than to show it like Ana was allowed to. 

“Did you not catch the show, Mother?” Robb asked, protectively stepping between her gaze and Jax and praying that it didn’t show his cards too thoroughly, “They required some strings accompaniment. I lent them some. Our transaction is done, I have no more business here.” 

He had so much more business here. He had results to hear. An after party to go to. Pizza to eat. Jokes to laugh at. A boy to kiss. 

But now all that business is done for. Who wants to hear results for a song played by a liar? Who wants to go to an after party or eat pizza or tell jokes with a Valerio? Who would want to kiss him after seeing who he really is: a spineless wimp who is doomed to live and die by his mother’s whims. This whole arrangement was doomed from the start, and he always knew it. He was just too happy to let himself know that. 

His mother was clearly displeased with him, but what was new? “So I see,” She said at last, “Well then, come along, no need to tarry in this... venue.” 

“Of course, Mother,” Robb said. A cool nothingness washed over him. He knew his lines. He knew his place. This was who he was. 

Robb left the room, not sparing Jax a single look over his shoulder. He told himself it was because his mother would certainly notice, and she would, but really he couldn’t bear to see whatever expression Jax was wearing -- betrayal, shock, anger? It would only break his heart further. 

As he left the room he now saw that Di and Ana were looking on in shock. Apparently they hadn’t stepped too far away. “Hey!” Ana yelled, “What’s going on?” 

“Did you not hear the entire conversation about what’s ‘going on’?” Erik asked, and Robb wanted to punch him again. Apparently Ana wanted to too, because Di instinctively reached to hold her back just as she began forward. 

“And who is this, Robbert?” his mother asked, as if they were at the zoo and she was asking which animal was in this enclosure. It was so hard for Robb to see Ana riled up without getting riled up too. 

“The leader of the band, Mother,” Robb said, carefully not naming her. She was nondescript, hard to track down by description alone. Hopefully more trouble than his mother thought worth it. He never wanted any of this night to come back to hurt the band. 

“Well, as you’ve heard, his debt is payed, so he is leaving. Say goodbye, Robbert.” 

“Goodbye,” Robb said, feeling like a dog, “Thank you for the experience.” That was as close as he could get to what he wanted to say. Thank you for being his friend, for being there for him, for letting him be dumb and clumsy, for a thousand things Ana has done for him. Her and Di and Jax. And all he can say is, “Thank you for the experience.” He makes him sick. 

And like that he turns with his mother and brother, because he is nothing but their dog. A spare for if something goes wrong. An extra to be married off for a good business deal once he’s ripe. That’s all he is and all he will ever be. 

He can hear Ana yelling after them, struggling against Di’s hold. He can picture Di’s face as he struggles between holding Ana back for her own good and letting her go because he knows she’ll at least land a hit. He tries not to picture Jax at all. 

But don’t worry because I hate sad endings but idk exactly what I want to happen but basically a few hours pass and then either Siege or Ana is like “So, when are we going?” and Jax is like “? Going where?” “To break your boyfriend out.” and idk, but it works out in the end. 

[internaljiujitsu]

F*%! FEAR: 6 Steps To Becoming Fearless

I lived in fear for forty years. It felt like weakness — as if there was something wrong with me that made me more scared than everyone else. My mother would always tell me about how sickly I was when I was born. How I stayed at the hospital for a month afterwards and how my aunt just barely saved me from dying once (so I guess I was kind of on borrowed time). I hated eating as a kid and was really skinny, adding to my weak mystique. In school, what I now know was anxiety would create psychosomatic illnesses. I’d feel sick, but it was all in my head. Stomach aches, dizziness, shortness of breath  —  It frustrated my dad — especially when he’d have to come pick me up from school again because I was freaking out on the inside.

We grew up watching the crack epidemic take over our neighborhood. The drug dealers did their business out of the fourth floor of our building. My brother and I would sweep up crack vials on the weekends to get our allowance from the superintendent — our dad. The tiny plastic cylinders with colorful caps filled the dustpan as we swept the roach infested vestibule leading down to the spooky, filthy basement.

Several young immigrants that had just arrived from Mexico were found dead over the years in the building next door, where Dad was also the super. Death from unnatural causes was a very real thing where we lived. Around age eight or nine, my alcoholic uncle, who lived in a storage room in the aforementioned basement (and would sometimes walk me to school), was killed when he fell while trying to climb a building to get to his ex girlfriend. I was about ten when our close family friend’s son, a squeaky clean kid visiting from the marine corp, was murdered defending a girl in the playground. At eleven or twelve, I watched my best friend’s dad kill a guy in an argument over a prostitute.

When I was fourteen, I was mugged at gunpoint around the corner from my family’s apartment. My big brother, wielding a large, rusty machete, took me around the entire neighborhood that night looking for the robber. The dude had worn a mask, so my brother put the blade to every thug’s neck that we passed on the street and asked me to look him deep in the eyes. They all knew my brother and respected him. They pleaded for mercy. Thankfully, we never found the guy.

That kind of shit was common in my old neighborhood. Baseball bats were swung in search of skulls and group rumbles were still a thing. I had family members snorting coke in front of me by the time I was in the fourth grade (and immediately making me promise I’d never do the same). Forty ounce bottles of beer were smashed over people’s heads in street fights. My crackhead cousin once robbed a dude using my favorite toy gun. He confessed to me when I found the gun broken and complained to him about it. Bullets fired from roof tops for fun whizzed through the ganja heavy air. It feels like we fought every day at school. That big yellow bus was like the fucking octogan.

We finally moved out of that neighborhood when I was sixteen after a gunfight forced our entire family to jump behind a parked car for cover. That shit was stressful. I was jumpy as hell. It didn’t help that Mom and Dad were very old school disciplinarians, if you know what I mean. There were fights outside and fights inside — all the time. I was always scared.

And that’s how I continued to grow up — I just didn’t show it, or let it stop me from fighting. When it was time to throw down in the street or at school, I always did. Partially because I knew my badass big brother would disown me if he heard I punked out. Backing down meant you were a victim. I once accidentally stepped on his buddy’s shoe and apologized. I’ll never forget what the guy said, “You never say sorry. It makes you look weak.” But a man’s sneakers were sacred in the hood, and I sure as hell never looked for a fight — unless I was channeling big brother.

He loved throwing the first punch and bragged about knocking guys out cold at night clubs — until a near death experience and one hundred and fifty stitches thanks to razor blade slashes made him reconsider his life choices. I’ll never forget when the call came in the middle of the night. I don’t remember why I answered the phone instead of my parents, but the voice on the other end is clear as day, “Your brother has been stabbed.” At that moment I thought the worst, and was relieved to see him gingerly walking through the door later that morning, battered, bruised and slashed to bits — but alive.

When I pretended to be my brother, I wasn’t above throwing a preemptive strike. We all had it in us. Hell, my dad was known to go into some destructive ass kicking rages when people pissed him off. I certainly tried my best not to get on his sizable bad side. Mom and sis aren’t exactly shrinking violets either.

My recurring nightmare as a child was of me walking down a beautiful tree lined street, the very one I always wanted to live on. It was only a few blocks from our shithole, but felt like a world away. In the dream, as I reluctantly step, there is the overwhelming feeling that someone is hiding in the shadows, waiting to attack. I’m petrified to move forward, but I keep going — slowly heading toward the inevitable. It was terrifying torture.

I don’t remember ever actually seeing the attacker. I’ve attached a bunch of meaning to that dream ever since, but at the root was my fear. For most of my life I moved forward, steadily but fearfully. I did things that made me want to shit my pants and forced my way through, hating every minute. In retrospect, these all helped build toughness and character, as did my old neighborhood, but the fear persisted. I became a bouncer, champion bodybuilder and an expert martial artist, but felt like a fraud for the unease that was my base level.

It wasn’t until I took these seven steps that terror’s grip on me loosened. Fear doesn’t have to be your enemy. If you learn how to use it, it will energize your actions and help you break past limitations. But first, you have to acknowledge that it’s there.

Accept that you and everyone you know will die. There’s no way around it. Yeah, it’s bleak, but if you wanna live in denial of death, you’re liable to swallow a bunch of bullshit to ease your mind. At its core, all fear is fear of death. When I was a kid, I hated when anyone brought up dying, especially my parents. The uncertainty was too overwhelming. There’s nothing more worthless than fear of the inevitable. It took me a couple of years of suicidal depression, meditation and time in sensory deprivation tanks to get comfortable with the idea of not existing. The tank feels like you’re floating in the womb. It’s pitch black, soundproof and the water is the same temperature as your body, so it feels lke there’s no separation. You and the enviornment become one. It’s blissfully peacful. Sure, I don’t want to die right now because I’m loving life, but I know it will happen one day — and I hope to enjoy that ride as much as I’m enjoying this one.

You’re not your personality. It’s easy to feel like a single, solitary soul drifting in a vast sea of faces. Valuing our individuality as we do, many of us strive to be unique while others do their best to blend into the collective. The way I see it, we’re all the current that powers these appliances we call our bodies. I feel like I’ve lived several separate lives filled with rich, distinct experiences and at the end of each, I mourned the death of an identity. While it feels like I was different people, the throughline was the same. The real me didn’t change. Our personalities are just things made up by our circumstances. They’re the features of the toaster. We’re the electricity that makes it work. I had to lose everything I had built to figure that one out. Once my marriage, home, business, students, money and identity were gone, it was just me — I had to be OK with that.

Your ego is not your life. Learning how to lose isn’t about being resound to failure. Losing is vital because it’s the only way to discover that life will go on when you do. The first time I lost something when I was sure I’d win was devastating. Everything I believed about myself was shattered. My invincibility was gone. Once I realized that defeat wasn’t death and the people that mattered would love me either way, I began to enjoy every aspect of competition instead of only focusing on the result. It wasn’t until I stopped giving a shit that things clicked. Being afraid of the embarrassment of failure is guaranteed to keep you from enjoying success.

Forgive your fear. Far worse than being afraid was my sense of shame. I hated that I wasn’t brave, like the thugs in my neighborhood. To me, being tough meant never being scared. As I became dedicated to martial arts and more interested in understanding fear, I realized that all those guys were probably just as scared as me. It would have been abnormal for me not to be afraid. The environment was so consistently charged with the potential for violence that I frequently lived in a survival state. Getting out unscaved would have taken a level of psychopathy I didn’t possess. When I forgave the little kid I was for being afraid, the shame melted away and the residual fear soon followed.

Whatever happens, everything always works out. You always know you’re in the right place because that’s where you are. No matter what, the world will keep moving on. It will do the same thing it’s doing now when you’re gone. You don’t need to worry quite so much about making the wrong choice when you accept that it doesn’t really matter what choice you make. Yes, of course you matter, your family will miss you and you’re a beautiful soul — all that jazz. But in the end, the world will continue to unfold, and the Earth will be incinirated by the sun — so fuck it. Embrace the experience but don’t cling to any result.

Step up. A sure fire way to kick fear’s ass is to look it in the eye and blow it a kiss. Fear is a bully. It’s all talk. It will try to shout you down until you grovel your way back to mediocrity. Pick something you’re afraid of and do it! Don’t try to not be afraid. Be afraid and do it anyway. But here’s the important part: Smile while you’re doing it. For me, it was roller coasters. I hated them as a kid. They terrified me, and each time I got on one, I regretted every click up to the top. The thought was always the same, “Why did I get talked into this? Let me off!” I never enjoyed the ride, closing my eyes tight and clenching my body until the hellish few seconds was over. One day, I decided that roller coasters represented the fear I wanted to conquer, so I got on the legendary Cyclone. It’s the old, rickety wooden monster at Coney Island in Brooklyn. The thing screeched a death knell and I loved it! I forced myself to smile from the moment I sat in the seat. I told myself that if that car came off the track, I was gonna soak in my final moments. I was sick and tired of being afraid of fear. My mindset shifted, and the click clack became excitement and anticipation instead of anxiety and fear. Funny how those can feel the same.

If you wanna take it a step further, start embracing pain. It may sound a little masochistic, but I like to stare at the needle when it goes in at the doctor. I like going to the dentist. They both used to scare the shit out of me. Even though I had always sought out the painful burn of a brutal workout, it was the pain I deemed unwanted that I sought to relabel. Smiling at the dentist or laughing after my knee was popped back into place in training were not ways to prove to myself that my body was tough, but that my mind was strong. The anticipation of pain is normally much worse than the physical sensation. Change the way you see pain and the way you interpret the sensation will transform

Of course, no one is fearless — unless they’re a psychopath. Fear will always be with you. It’s what you do with it that determines how far you go. The fluttering in your belly is a sign to take action that scares you because it will force you to grow. The quicker your pulse, the bigger the potential change. Don’t deny your fear. Jump on, throw your hands up and enjoy the beautifully terrifying thrill ride.

[bilbos]

Missed Calls || Freddie Andersen

requested: yes || no

word count: 3k

warnings: none

author’s note: written for @thepensieve as part of my blog award winners!

“You don’t pick who you fall in love with, and it never happens like it should.”

Today had been a long day. And not because of your students. Currently, you work as a kindergarten teacher and every year, you adore your students. But sometimes the parents push too much about the curriculum that you teach. You don’t make all the decisions about what needs to be taught, yet they never seem to understand that.

One of the parents had sent an angry email about a book you’ve started reading to your class about accepting people that are different from you. Apparently, that was not well appreciated when the student was talking about it at home. You replied as sweetly as you could, but that only resulted in an even angrier email. You’ve decided to leave the email for the day and just come at it with a fresh mind tomorrow.

As you get into your car, you call up one of your friend’s phone numbers. Recently, you got a new phone and it didn’t transfer all of your contacts. You know that she’s free right now, and more than willing to listen to you vent about stupid parents who overstep their boundaries.

It looks like your friend has picked up, so you just go right into the ranting.

“Ugh, Jamie, you know I hate to go right into ranting but I swear to god I’m going to kill this stupid parent,” you groan, as you start driving off. “Like, why can’t they just understand that I’m just teaching their five-year old’s basic decency! All I’m doing is keeping their innocence and love for everyone there, no matter what the world tells them. I just wish that parents got that, you know? And most of the time that’s no problem, but they’re always so angry when they do hate what I’m teaching.”

“Um…I’m very sorry about your day, but I think you have the wrong phone number?” a soft voice says on the other end.

“Oh god, I am so sorry!” you exclaim. “Um…I guess I’ll hang up now.”

You press the button to end the call on your steering wheel and mildly freak out. Thankfully, you hadn’t given away any identifying information on your student, but still. Hopefully whoever picked up your call would just leave it be, otherwise you’ll change your phone number.

After you get home, you make sure that you have the right phone number and call Jamie again. Once your done venting, you tell her about accidently calling the wrong number.

“Only you, y/n,” she replies, laughing. “I mean, at least they were nice about it.”

“Yeah, I guess so. But I didn’t give them much time to talk either,” you say.

“Makes sense, though,” she says. “Anyways, what are your plans for Friday? I got us tickets to the Maple Leafs game from work again.”

“I should be free. I think I can put grading off for a little bit.”

“What do you even grade? They’re in kindergarten.”

“Little essays and everything. And it’s not even really grading, more like making comments and tracking their progress. Seeing who needs a little extra help.”

You can tell Jamie rolls her eyes. “Well, I think you can take a night off. They’re not the best seats, but they’re still seats.”

“Any seats are good seats, Jamie. Both you and I know how expensive tickets can get.”

~ ~ ~

For some reason, the wrong call has stuck with Freddie. Whoever had called him seemed so passionate and that’s stuck with him. He knows that it’ll be weird if he reaches out again, as it definitely wouldn’t come off as wanted. But just sending a “you okay” text should be fine.

He sends the text off, and then throws his phone onto his bed, leaving it there as he walks into the kitchen. There’s a game tonight, so he’s trying to rest up as well as he can. For now, Freddie chooses to focus on that, rather than getting a reply. If anything, he’ll check tomorrow after he’s rested a bit.

But only a couple of hours later, he cracks and pulls up the message thread. She’s actually replied, with a simple, yeah, I’m feeling better now. thanks for checking!

I’m glad. :)

He refrains from asking about plans for the night. That would come off as creepy, and he doesn’t want to make her feel threatened. Besides, he’s followed up with her now, so that should be it. But things are never that simple.

~ ~ ~

Why you replied to this person’s text is beyond you. But something tells you that they really meant no harm, especially with their simple reply. So, you proceed to forget about the conversation and move onto getting ready for the second half of the day.

Friday afternoons are always reserved for story time and coloring. Every week is a long week, so you always make sure to let them have some free creative time. It always helps and most of the time, parents have really positive feedback about it.

The afternoon goes by quickly, and you wait with your students outside as they wait for their parents. As your talking to one of your quieter students, a parent taps your shoulder to pull you aside. When you look over, you can tell that this parent is fairly disgruntled. Sighing, you say good-bye to Emilie, and walk a short distance away with the parent.

“What can I do for you?” you ask, pleasantly.

“I’m the parent that emailed you,” they say bluntly.

“Oh, Louise, it’s nice to meet you. What did you want to discuss?” you inquire, trying your best to remain pleasant.

“Well, I just wanted to follow up and make sure that your story times are going to be less of that,” Louise answers, pointedly.

“Oh, well, I have finished that story, so we won’t be following up with another like it. Today was focused on the Magic Treehouse series,” you reply.

Louise huffs. “Well. I hope we won’t have to have this conversation again.”

“Yes, hopefully so. Have a good afternoon!”

Louise sighs and goes to take Marcus home. You sigh and really hope that Jamie is going to wanted to get drunk after the game tonight because you are going to need it. Thankfully, Louise has been the only thorn in your side this year, at least in regards to parents.

~ ~ ~

The Maple Leafs won and, in a shutout, no less. The air is electric and you know it’s going to be wild tonight. Thankfully, Jamie easily agreed to go to the bars with you and the two of you start trekking to a bar that won’t be as wild as the ones right next to the stadium

Finally, the two of you find a bar and settle in for the next couple of hours. Games like this leave the adrenaline running through your veins. Mixed with your anger from earlier, you can tell it’s going to be hard to sleep tonight.

A few hours and drinks later, you and Jamie uber back to your apartments. As you lay in bed, you decide to call Max, one of your friends who fucked off to Europe recently. You figure it has to be a reasonable time to call over there, so you dial in what you think is his number. It rings a couple of times before there’s an answer on the other end.

“Hello?” someone greets, mumbling.

This doesn’t quite sound like Max, but your drunk as all hell and nobody sounds like they normally would. That’s what you tell yourself anyways.

“God, Max, how are you?” you say. “Wanna know how I am? I’m so fucking pissed right now. There was this parent who told me that I shouldn’t be teaching my kids how to be nice to people. And then today they had the nerve to tell me to my face today that I shouldn’t ever do it again. Like who are they to tell me that? To not tell kids to be mean to each other?”

“I’m…sorry?”

“You’re…not Max are you.”

“No, sorry about that. I’m, uh, the person you accidently called earlier this week.”

“God, you probably hate me right now. Especially because it’s so late. Or earlier. I don’t even know anymore.”

The person on the other end laughs. “It’s okay. You’re home safe, right?”

“Yeah, I think I need to sleep though. Obviously got too drunk after the Maple Leafs game tonight.”

“Maple Leafs game, huh?”

“Jamie, one of my best friends, got tickets for us. So, uh, yeah. Um, I should really go. It was good talking to you. Bye.”

You promptly hang up and groan, tossing your phone to the side.

“I’m so dumb,” you whisper.

~ ~ ~

The next morning, you lay in bed on your phone for a little while, trying to ignore the stupid phone call you made. The fact that you called him twice in one week is a little embarrassing. Hopefully this is the end of it, though. No more drunk dialing for you, obviously.

Unfortunately, that’s when the mysterious number texts you again, checking to see if you’re okay.

Yeah, I’m doing alright. I’ve had worse hangovers than this.

You sure? Sounds like you were a little out of it.

I promise I’m doing okay. I feel worse for drunk calling you last night. Or this morning, I suppose.

Glad you enjoyed the game last night though :)

Uhhh. Yeah, tickets are hard to come by when you’re working on a teacher’s salary.

That sucks.

I’m Freddie, by the way.

Well, if we’re introducing ourselves, I’m y/n.

Nice to meet you

You roll your eyes. I guess this counts as meeting each other. So, you know I’m a teacher. What do you do for a living?

You…wouldn’t believe me

Try me. I work with kindergarteners. I’ve learned to believe anything.

I’m the goalie for the Maple Leafs.

You almost drop your phone. You’re fucking lying. I’m still drunk. That’s it right?

The next thing you know, Freddie has sent you a selfie, smiling softly in the sunlight. What the fuck. How the hell did you managed to accidently dial the goalie for the Maple Leafs twice? This is just your luck.

I…am so embarrassed right now.

No need to be embarrassed. The guys have said worse things and done worse things.

Still, this is just my luck :(

Don’t sound so sad about it, y/n.

You snort. I guess I can try my best. And I would really love to talk more, but I have to do some work today.

Enough work for you to not come to the game tonight?

I don’t have tickets for tonight???

I could get you tickets. One for you and your friend.

Only if I get to meet you afterwards. I gotta make sure that you’re not lying.

Yeah, I can do that. Pick up your tickets at will call, okay?

Can do, Freddie. Thank you!!

With that, you go to tell Jamie what just happened. She, as expected, freaks out and is in as much shock as you are. Obviously, she agrees and clears plans she had for the night. You’re mentally freaking out as you go through your students work and make small comments. It’s mostly spelling assignments that you have this time around, so it isn’t too hard of work.

~ ~ ~

The game passes in somewhat of a blur. You’re too wound up from the thought of meeting Freddie. And you figure it’s best to get the nerves out now before actually meeting him. He seems really laid back and messing with that vibe doesn’t seem right to you.

Jamie senses your nerves and pushes you slightly once the game is over. Freddie said that he would text you where to go once he showered. The two of you decided to go to the bathroom to wait, figuring it would take him a while to get ready. Once he texts you, he says that he’s near your seats.

As the two of you walk back into the seating area, Freddie asks hesitantly, “Y/n?”

“Yeah, that’s me. And this is Jamie,” you answer.

“Nice to meet you,” Jamie says. “And you’re welcome for letting you two meet. Since I’m the reason you even called him in the first place.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re going to hold that over my head forever, aren’t you?”

Jamie just smiles in response. “As much fun as I can see that we’d have tonight, I’m gonna leave you two to hang out. You can give her a ride back, right?”

Freddie nods. “I can do that.”

You hug Jamie before she quickly walks off.

“So, I guess you weren’t lying,” you say.

“Nope, not lying.”

“Good to know. What’s the plan for tonight? Or is there even a plan?”

“I…don’t have a plan. I didn’t think it past this. But I know a good diner not too far from here that shouldn’t be too crowded. If you want to go.”

“Yeah, I can do with some good diner food.”

~ ~ ~

Hanging out with Freddie that night was amazing. He was so easy to talk to and you felt so comfortable with him. It definitely helps that he’s extremely attractive. Now, the two of you are texting all the time. You can’t make it to games as often as either of you would like, as that’s really the only time where you’re guaranteed to get some uninterrupted time with him.

Jamie senses that you’re feeling pretty bummed about it, so she takes out one Friday night. It’s casual and you don’t drink too much, but just enough to get you out of your head.

“I’ve never seen you get this sad about a guy before, y/n,” Jamie comments. “You must really like him.”

“Freddie’s a good guy,” you reply. “And being able to hang out with him is so easy. I just wish that our schedules didn’t conflict so much.”

“Well, I think you guys are going to be just fine. I can feel it in my bones.”

You smile softly. “Thanks, Jamie.”

She hugs you for a moment. “Let’s get going. I think it’s time to call it a night.”

You nod and get into Jamie’s car. She drops you off at your apartment and you fall asleep, dreaming of Freddie.

~ ~ ~

It’s been a couple of days since you’ve been able to talk to Freddie, but you’ve both been really busy. He’s currently on a roadie and your helping with the extra standardized testing that your school is doing. When you get home, you barely have the energy to make yourself dinner, much less try and make interesting conversation.

Wednesday rolls around, and Freddie texts you to ask if you’re going to be busy after school.

I’m helping with the kindergarten afterschool program. So, I’ll be at the school until around 4:30pm, you reply.

Okay, thanks :)

…any reason why you wanted to know?

Just curious

Why are you so fucking weird

It’s because I’m a goalie

You roll your eyes. True. Now, I gotta get to work!!

After that, you don’t hear from Freddie again, but you just write it off as being weird. If he needed something, he would have asked. Freddie has never been afraid of asking for what he wants.

The day passes by in its usual fashion. Students are always excited when you’re helping with the afterschool program because you always bring them treats. They’re happy about getting anything, but you always try to make it special.

As you’re waiting with your last student, Ava, there’s a light knock on your door, then Freddie comes walking in with flowers.

“Is that your boyfriend?” Ava asks, loudly.

Your blushing, and you can tell Freddie is blushing too. Something tells you that he wasn’t expecting any students to still be here.

“I am her boyfriend,” Freddie replies.

He sets down the flowers on a random desk and goes to sit down with Ava in the reading area. She looks at him curiously, then sits down next to him. Your smiling hard, unable to take how cute it is seeing Freddie sat next to such a small child.

“What’s your name?” he asks softly.

“I’m Ava! Miss y/n isn’t my teacher, but she’s my favorite,” Ava says matter-of-factly.

You walk over to them and sit down as well. “Is it because I make you treats?”

Ava smiles. “Yeah, but you also read the best stories.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” you say.

Right then, you hear Ava’s mom come in. You stand up and greet her at the door.

“Hey Miss Le! How are you doing today?” you ask.

“I’m doing well. How was Ava?” she answers.

“She’s doing good. Even got all of her spelling homework done,” you reply.

When you glance over to make sure that Ava has gotten all of her stuff, you see Freddie helping her get her backpack on.

“Bye Mr. Freddie! Bye Miss y/n!” Ava exclaims.

“See you later Ava,” you say, hugging her on her way out.

After Miss Le closes the door, you look over at Freddie, raising an eyebrow.

“You, sir, have some explaining to do.”

“I wanted to do something special for you since we haven’t seen each other in a few days,” Freddie explains. “I got the school address and your room number from Jamie.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m going to kill her. But flowers, though? Seriously?”

“I thought it was a good idea. And, um, I thought it would make asking you on a date better?”

“You’re…asking me on a date.”

“Yeah, I am.”

Smiling, you nod. “Yeah, I think I could go on a date with you. But you don’t get to count me going to one of your games as a date, Freddie.”

He laughs. “Yeah, I think I can figure something out.”

[lets-talk-appella]

i’m nobody’s but yours

Chapter 12/25 - Chloe

Summary: Beca is straight as an arrow. 100%, totally, completely straight. Except for one problem that 100%, totally, completely changes everything: Chloe Beale.

Title borrowed from Calum Scott’s “If Our Love Is Wrong.”

Word Count: 4k

Rating: M (for dark themes, homophobia, masturbation, and eventual smut in later chapters)

AO3, FFN, and below.

On the car ride home from what was most definitely the best date of her life, all Chloe can think about it how easy it would be to let herself fall completely, totally, irreversibly in love with Beca Mitchell.

Well. More in love than she already is.

Their time together had been astoundingly perfect. It wasn’t because they’d happened to get lucky with weather and a spectacular sunset; it wasn’t because Beca had thought of everything (except plates and utensils); it wasn’t even because Chloe loves picnics. It was because it was with Beca.

As Beca drives them back home, stereo playing some artist Chloe hasn’t heard of, Chloe watches Beca’s profile, enraptured by the way her lips form the lyrics coming from the radio. Beca’s window is down just a crack and her hair blows in the breeze. It’s rapidly becoming darker outside, but in the glow of the dashboard and with the moonlight outside, Beca looks so beautiful that it makes Chloe’s chest ache.

It’s strange, knowing that she’s allowed to feel like this now. She’s allowed to think about Beca as more than a friend. She’s allowed to touch Beca again, to link their fingers together and have it actually mean more than friendship. She’s allowed to think about holding Beca, kissing her, and being in love with her.

It’s not something she felt she had any right to think about. Until today.

Even before the date, Chloe hadn’t wanted to get her hopes up. Beca had assured her she’s ready to date girls (Chloe still feels bad about saying “no” at first), but Chloe had been prepared for her to change her mind and call the whole thing off.

She’s never been so pleased to have been proven wrong. She could tell Beca was a little on edge at the beginning, nervous around other people and purposely taking her to a quiet area of the park, but the tension had melted away over time. When they’d left, Beca had held her hand all the way back to the car, not seeming to care about the potential of other people seeing them.

Chloe wants to kiss her. More than anything, she wants to kiss her. For years, she’s been dreaming and thinking about what Beca’s lips would taste like – at least until the guilt over those fantasies reappeared.

(If Chloe’s honest with herself, she wants much, much more than to just kiss Beca.)

Still, she wants to go at Beca’s pace. Beca’s comfort with everything they do is her absolute priority. So, she’ll wait. She’ll wait for as long as Beca needs. Even if that means they never do anything more than what they did tonight at the picnic, that’s okay.

Simply holding Beca like that had been bliss. When she held Beca, it was like she’d been holding the world.

Yeah. She’s already completely, totally, irreversibly in love.

Beca pulls into the Bella driveway and parks in Chloe’s usual spot alongside Ashley’s minivan. She rolls up her window, turns off the car, and dangles Chloe’s keys off the tip of her index finger.

“Thanks for letting me drive her to take you on a date,” Beca says with her signature crooked smile.

“Thanks for the date,” Chloe replies, plucking the keys from Beca.

“Anytime.”

“So… you’d want to do it again?”

“Definitely,” Beca answers instantly, then hesitates. “You want to?”

“Totes,” Chloe nods emphatically. “It can be my treat next time.”

Beca grins, looking pleased. “I’d like that.”

They smile at each other, not saying anything. Chloe knows this is the part of the date where people usually kiss, but in this case, she’s not sure what to do.

The same thought seems to have occurred to Beca, too, because her hand rises to rub at the back of her own neck awkwardly at the same time her eyes fall to Chloe’s lips. Chloe’s breath catches in her throat, but she doesn’t move, wanting Beca to dictate the next few minutes.

Which she does, but by clearing her throat and looking away. “Uh, I suppose,” Beca says, resting her hand on the door handle. “We should probably make sure no one’s died or anything in there.”

Hiding her disappointment, Chloe nods quickly and opens her own car door, not wanting Beca to feel any more awkward about the situation than she already seems to. Reaching into the backseat, she grabs the picnic basket and some of the many blankets (is that a flashlight? Beca really was extra prepared) to carry inside the house. On the driver’s side of the car, Beca grabs her own armful of picnic equipment and together, they haul it into the Bella house.

As soon as the front door swings open, Chloe’s nose is assaulted with a torrent of alcohol fumes; their house reeks like a seedy bar. Empty bottles cover the kitchen table, and pineapple, watermelon, and orange rinds fill the garbage can. Rainbow Pride flags have materialized and are strewn haphazardly along the walls, draped over the staircase handrail, and are wrapped around Jessica, Emily, and Flo as blankets for where they sleep on the couch.

“Oh… my… god,” Beca breathes as they walk through the front door. She looks around for a clear space to set down the picnic things but has to settle for nudging aside some bottles to clear a space on the table for it all. Chloe winces at the almost guaranteed stickiness of the table but does the same with the basket in her arms.

Now that they’re in the kitchen, Chloe can hear a pounding bass coming from deep within the house. By the way she can feel the vibrations in her feet, she guesses everyone else still partying must be in the basement.

Sure enough, seconds later, footsteps sound on the stairs and the door to the basement swings open, spewing forth Amy, several additional empty bottles, and the full volume of the throbbing music.

“Oh, hi, Bhloe!” Amy greets them enthusiastically. “Wanna join? There’s a party for the ghosts downstairs.”

“Amy, what the hell did you do to the house?” Beca asks, having to shout over the music.

“Uh. Ummmmmm.”

“You know what?” Beca cuts her off. “I don’t want to know.”

“Suit yourself,” Amy shrugs, setting the empty bottles down on the floor and pulling more vodka out of the kitchen cabinet. She winks theatrically at Chloe, then turns back to head downstairs.

“Mom and Dad are back!” Amy yells as she starts down the stairs, resulting in a chorus of mingled cheers and boos. The door slams behind her, instantly muffling the voices and music.

Beca rolls her eyes and looks at Chloe in exasperation.

“That seems fun,” Chloe can’t resist teasing, making Beca narrow her eyes.

“Don’t even think about it,” she says. “But, uh, do you want to come upstairs? Looks like we’ll have my room to ourselves.”

Chloe pauses at the suggestion. “Uh –”

Beca’s eyes widen in panic. “Oh!” she says, “no, not – I meant for – like Netflix or something, not – no.”

Chloe takes pity on her and cracks a smile. “It’s okay, don’t freak! I knew what you meant,” she assures, trying not to laugh.

Beca glares at her. “Oh my god, don’t do that to me,” she huffs. “I changed my mind. Uninvited.”

“Oh, but –” Chloe puts on her best pout, jutting out her lower lip and making her eyes huge. She knows Beca can never resist when she does that.

They have a staring contest: Chloe, unblinking, trying to look as miserable as possible while Beca stands there, hands firmly on her hips and attempting to hold a poker face. Chloe makes her eyes even wider, pushes her lip out further, and –

“Fine,” Beca grumbles. “Come on, then.”

Chloe grins happily and reaches to intertwine their fingers, a spark traveling up her spine when Beca’s thumb traces over the back of her hand. They go up the stairs together – if a little awkwardly, from the hand-holding – and arrive at Beca’s door. Beca opens it, gesturing Chloe ahead of her grandly, and Chloe takes the last few steps up and into the attic bedroom, hearing Beca close the door and follow.

Up here, they can’t hear any sounds of the rave happening in their basement. Chloe glances around, smiling a little at the mess of laptop and mixing equipment strewn across Beca’s desk. Beca’s side of the room is neater than Amy’s, but not by a lot, with jeans and Converse littering the floor. The bed is made, though, and when Chloe sits on the edge of it, she can smell the light floral scent of Beca’s perfume.

“So, what do you want to watch?” she asks when Beca grabs her laptop from the desk.

“Uh, up to you,” Beca says, opening up the laptop and booting it up with a whir as she sits beside Chloe on the bed.

“Uh, maybe…” Chloe thinks, then asks, “Have you seen Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt yet?”

“Nope,” Beca replies, settling back against her pillow, propped up against the headboard. “Comedy?”

“Yeah,” Chloe replies, joining her against the headboard so their legs stretch out over Beca’s comforter. “I think you’ll like it.”

“I’ll trust you,” Beca grins at her sideways, then starts the show.

Chloe tries to focus on the episode, but she’s already seen it so she knows what’s going to happen, and her attention span isn’t helped at all by the way that – because Beca’s bed is kind of small – Beca’s side is pressed against hers. And, really, it would be way more comfortable if she could put her arm over Beca’s shoulders, but she’s not sure they’re there yet even though she can feel every breath Beca takes against her side.

And yet. Despite the sharp awareness of Beca’s proximity, Chloe is struck by how normal this feels. It could be any other night with Beca, but now with the barest electric undercurrent running between them. Apart from that, it’s simply her and Beca, Beca and her, like always.

With one tiny difference.

When Chloe looks sideways, she meets the determined deep blue of Beca’s eyes.

“I could hear you thinking,” Beca whispers.

Chloe doesn’t – can’t – reply. Beca is so close that all it would take is just a fraction of movement from both of them. A lean, a tilt, and they’d be there, kissing.

Something settles deep within her chest.

“Chlo…”

Everything else in the world disappears. Every past worry, fear, and insecurity melts into nothing as Chloe looks at Beca and Beca looks at Chloe. The bedroom fades away around them, until even the laptop cradled on Beca’s legs, still playing the episode, ceases to exist.

Beca’s eyes flick down to her lips, and stay there.

Chloe’s eyes drop, too.

Beca’s tongue pokes out, just briefly, to soften her own lips.

Chloe’s hands twitch.

She’s not sure who leans forward first. It doesn’t really matter, she supposes. All that matters is that they’re getting closer and closer, and now she can feel Beca’s breath ghosting over her face, and they’re so, so close to touching.

Chloe closes her eyes.

Bang!

The door to the bedroom is flung open with enough force to shake the walls. Beca jerks back so violently it looks like she’s received an electric shock; she almost falls off the bed, but Chloe catches her arm at the same time Beca grabs her laptop protectively, and crisis is averted.

Footsteps on the stairs and a loud, drunken, “Beca, have you seen my orange boots? I have to teach Legacy something,” announces Amy’s arrival into the room, as if the thundering of the door opening hadn’t.

“Um, no, I –” Beca’s flustered, her face pink, her eyes darting wildly around the room without once landing on Chloe.

Maybe that’s okay, Chloe thinks. She wouldn’t want Beca to see the disappointment that’s probably clear in her eyes.

Amy makes her way fully into the room, eyes searching the floor, not even looking over at Beca’s side of the room. Hastily, Beca and Chloe reposition themselves so they’re sitting several inches apart on the bed, laptop between them, and legs dangling over the sides.

Nope, nothing to see here, Chloe thinks wildly as she does her best to rearrange her expression to one of Platonic Friendship rather than mild sexual frustration.

“Hm, I really need – oh! There they are!” Amy crows in triumph, reaching behind her bed to extract the pair of violently orange knee-high boots Chloe has only ever seen her wear at the disco-themed bar downtown.

“Great,” Beca deadpans. “I’m glad you found them.”

Amy glances over at the tone, her expression clearing when her eyes focus on Chloe.

“Oh, hi, Chloe, didn’t see you in here,” Amy says, then fixes them with a serious stare. “You two lovebirds stay off my bed, yeah?”

“Hi, Amy,” Chloe greets her over the sound of Beca’s groan.

“Listen, Beca,” Amy continues, “you remember the time you bet you could twerk better than me?”

“Uh –”

“You were drunk,” Amy reminds her bluntly.  “Well, now’s the time to prove it. Come on, Short Stuff, there’s no getting out of this one.”

Beca looks to Chloe desperately, and Chloe knows she shouldn’t find this funny – they’d just been interrupted before what could have been the best moment of her life – but the whole thing is so completely ridiculous that she can’t stop her lips from twitching in amusement.

“It’s okay,” she assures Beca, “I should call my parents, anyway. It’s been a while.” Besides, if she’s lucky, someone (probably Stacie) will obtain video evidence of Amy and Beca twerking for her to laugh at later.

On the other side of the room, Amy has resumed digging behind her bed, possibly in search of other neon clothing.

“Oh, right,” Beca says quietly, looking down at her laptop between them. “Are you going to tell your parents about…” she trails off and looks up, gesturing between them.

“I – if that’s okay with you?” Chloe asks uncertainty. It hadn’t occurred to her to not tell her parents about going on the date. “I mean, they – well, my mom – already kind of knows… how I feel about you?”

Beca blinks, her eyebrows raising. “She does?”

“Don’t sound so amazed,” Chloe teases, knocking her shoulder into Beca. “Yeah, I told her about it. It’s been... a while,” she smiles, trying to soften it.

“And… she – and your dad – they’re okay with it? With us?”

Chloe’s heart stutters over the word “us,” but she tries to play it cool.

“They’re more than okay with us,” she replies sincerely. “They love you, and they want me to be happy. And,” Chloe leans forward, a thrill shooting down her spine when Beca’s eyes again drop to her lips. “They know you make me happy.”

She pulls back to a more appropriate distance for having Amy in the room, and watches Beca’s expression turn pleased.

Beca looks pleased, if a little embarrassed. “Well,” she huffs. “I’m only sorry it took this long.”

“Oh, no, Bec, no! I didn’t mean –” Chloe frowns at the change in mood. With a glance at Amy (who has reemerged from behind the bed and is making for the stairs), she says softly, “I wouldn’t change a thing. Really. It’s okay. Don’t ever feel bad about it.”

Beca searches her face almost cautiously. “Really?”

“Yes.”

Beca’s expression relaxes gradually, a small smile eventually breaking out to erase the tension. Chloe breathes easier, relieved the awkwardness had passed. She can’t stop herself from glancing again at Beca’s lips.

Then, Amy causes a slight distraction by falling down the stairs noisily.

“Amy!” Beca and Chloe shriek simultaneously, shooting up from the bed to see if she’s okay.

Luckily, the flight of stairs into the bedroom is very short; before either of them can get down to her, Amy pops up holding her orange boots and what appear to be Moon Shoes.

“Crushed it,” she says proudly.

“Oh my god,” Beca stares. “What in the actual hell –”

“That’s the spirit!” Amy interrupts. “Let’s go, Twerk Girl!”

And with that, she turns and heads to the second-floor landing. Beca turns to Chloe in exasperated amazement, but Chloe can tell she’s trying to hold back a laugh.

“Your drunken bet is calling you,” Chloe teases, tucking an errant strand of Beca’s hair behind her ear before starting down the stairs. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I – okay. Thanks for the date!” Beca calls as Chloe makes her way down the stairs.

Chloe waves over her shoulder and smiles, already thinking of how excited her mom is going to be when she hears the news.

***************

“Jesse! Where is Beca? I thought she was gonna be with you tonight?”

She hates speaking to him. She really, truly does. He’s so annoying, with his huge, dumb puppy eyes and overeager smile. She hates that Beca chose that over her, and hates that every time she sees him, she’s reminded anew that he gets to hold Beca, gets to kiss and touch her.

He gets to sleep with her.

She hates speaking to him because she’s forced to acknowledge that he’s real and present and Beca chose him instead of her.

She knows (or at least, imagines) that he can tell. She’s seen the way he watches her when she’s with Beca, his eyes full of mistrust. She always touches Beca more then, pulls her closer, does anything she can to keep Beca’s attention on her instead of on the idiot she’s dating.

In her darkest moments, she despises Beca for it, but then that fades quickly. She could never stay angry at Beca.

“I thought she was with you?” Jesse asks, confused.

Christ, he doesn’t even know where his girlfriend is, or who she’s with. God, she’d love for Beca to cheat on him, just once, so he knows what it feels like to be second place in Beca’s heart. But Beca would never, and in the next instant, Chloe is disgusted with herself for thinking like that, and for hoping for their relationship to be torn apart in such a way.

God, she’s the worst best friend.

“I thought she was with you?” Chloe asks, equally confused.

The worst part about it is that she sees aspects of herself in Jesse. They’re so similar. It’s annoying, and it makes her cringe, but Chloe knows that in a lot of ways, she is just like him. Not in appearance, but in personality: bubbly, enthusiastic, lover of a cappella, and hopelessly in love with Beca Mitchell.

There are really only two differences between them.

One: Jesse tries to change Beca, while Chloe sees she’s perfect as is.

Two: Jesse gets to date Beca, while Chloe does not.

They’re more similar than they are different, but Beca could only choose one of them.

Chloe lost.

***************

The phone rings three times before her mom answers slightly breathlessly. “Hello? Hi, sweetie, how’s it going?”

“Uh – were you running?”

“What? Oh, no, actually, your father wanted to try some of that – Eric, what was it?” Cheryl calls into the house.

“Pilates yoga!” Chloe’s dad’s voice calls clearly from the background.

“Pilates yoga,” Cheryl repeats.

“Right,” Chloe replies, smiling at the ceiling from where she sprawls on her bed.

“Oh, while I’m thinking of it,” Cheryl says abruptly, “we should set up a time to come get some of your things from the house.”

“My things? We don’t move out until August.”

“I know that, but it’ll be better to take some small stuff now and save room in the car later.”

“Okay,” Chloe agrees, unease at the looming deadline churning her insides.

“Um, so, how’ve you been?” Cheryl changes the subject, maybe sensing the shift in mood. “I saw the news this morning. It’s fantastic!”

It takes Chloe a second; the passage of the marriage equality law seems like years ago rather than hours.

“Oh, yeah, thanks!” she says happily, a fresh wave of excitement tingling through her chest at the memory. “It’s pretty cool.”

By the pause that follows, Chloe can tell that her mom expects her to say more about it, but Chloe doesn’t; she really just wants to talk about Beca.

“You okay, honey?” Cheryl asks shrewdly. “Normally, you’d be over the moon over something like this.”

Chloe draws her lower lip between her teeth, trying to contain her excitement enough to get the story out. She rolls over to her stomach, resting on her elbows.

“More than okay, Mom. It’s… the best thing happened!”

“What?”

“Beca asked me on a date!”

Chloe holds her breath, waiting for her mom to say something, like maybe congratulate her or start asking a million questions. Instead, she’s met with silence.

Then more silence.

Until –

The volume and pitch of the noise coming from her phone is unprecedented. It makes Chloe jerk it away from her ear, trying desperately to protect herself from hearing loss brought on by her mother’s deafening squeal of excitement.

“She did?! Oh my god! Chloe, tell me everything right now! When? How? What are you going to do on this date? Are you sure it’s a date? I know you said she wasn’t straight anymore, but are you sure? I don’t want to pry but –”

“Woah, Mom, slow down for a sec!” Chloe cuts her off with a laugh. “Hang on!”

On the other end, Cheryl chuckles and takes a quick breath. “Sorry, but I’m really excited for you! Eric, come here! Chloe, honey, just wait for your dad, he’ll want to hear, too.”

Chloe rolls her eyes playfully, waiting until she hears her dad’s voice. There’s movement on the line, and Cheryl’s voice calls back, sounding further away.

“You’re on speaker! So, you wanna tell us about it?”

With a wide smile, Chloe tells her parents about going to the gay bar (leaving out the girls who’d hit on Beca), about Beca asking her on a date once they were outside, how she’d originally said no (“Oh, honey…” Cheryl sighs), but then had said yes after listening to what Beca had to say. And, yes, she assures her mom, Beca is definitely something other than straight and wants to date women.

“Okay, so when will this date be?” Eric asks once Chloe has explained everything.

“Well, it already… kind of... happened?” Chloe replies, knowing her parents are going to want more or less a play-by-play of the picnic.

“Why am I the last to know these things?!” Cheryl groans. “Spill!”

Clearing her throat, Chloe launches into another explanation, this time giving out the details on the sort of spur-of-the-moment picnic, the food, missing plates, and the sunset. She skirts over what it had felt like to hold Beca in her arms, because she wants that memory to be hers, and hers alone.

“... and then, we went back home and watched some Netflix in her room together.”

“That sounds like a wonderful date, honey. Very you.”

Yeah,” Chloe sighs happily. “She gets me.”

Eric snorts. “Even if she forgot the plates.”

“Yeah, well. That part is very Beca.”

“Careful, there. You’re sounding pretty smitten,” Cheryl warns.

“What are you, a hundred years old?” Chloe laughs, trying to deflect. If her mom knew exactly how “smitten” she is after just one date, their talk would quickly take a more serious turn.

“I’m just saying, sweetie. It’s the early stages. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“I know. But Beca is – always has been – different. You know that. I… it would be so easy to just…”

Chloe stops her rambling, wincing at giving herself away.

“It sounds like it,” her mom says. “But, hon, keep in mind that Beca’s still a little new to this. And... I know we always supported you and never had to really talk about liking girls, but from what you’ve told me, I don’t think Beca had quite that same experience growing up.”

Cheryl pauses, as if collecting her thoughts, then continues, “If she hasn’t told her family yet, well, that’s something you two are going to have to talk about sooner or later, so… be prepared for that.”

“And other challenges,” Eric adds.

Chloe doesn’t know quite what to say to that. It catches her off guard; she hasn’t thought about that yet, too focused on how perfect their evening had been.

“Anyway. Enough of that,” Cheryl says, tone lightening. “The real question is… what are you going to do for the next date?”

Chloe smiles broadly into the phone, shoving her worries about Beca’s family away. That’s a different problem for a different day.

“I already have a plan…”

[gwenbrightly]

Elements

Oh look! My brain decided to create a random drabble about elemental powers instead of focusing on OMAC… Oops. I guess Misako's appearance will have to wait… All the headcanons and stories I've been reading lately that mention Lloyd's powers acting up when he gets emotional made the temptation to write this too great. So yeah. This one shot can probably be considered a part of Of Milk and Cookies, and takes place just after the chapter titled Awkward. I hope you enjoy!

Elemental powers are weird, Lloyd muses early one morning not too long after their visit to Darkley's Boarding School. He can control his now – sorta – and the others can do some pretty amazing stuff with theirs – like being able to lift a sports car with your pinkie. Or spark fire with a snap of your fingers (literally). Or charge your phone using only your own energy. Or meditate inside of a freezer for hours on end without getting cold (okay, maybe he hadn't been around for that). All those things are incredibly cool, and Lloyd's not complaining, because someday he'll be able to do all of that too, which is super exciting. He can't wait, really.

But sometimes... Sometimes having powers isn't exactly the best. He's been around this weird, dorky family of his long enough to notice that there are days where things get a little out of wack. Where Kai or Zane get emotional and the temperature around them suddenly changes to the extreme, or any number of other bizarre side effects. Just last week, Lloyd walked into their skimpy apartment only to feel his hair immediately begin defying gravity due to the sheer amount of electricity filling the air. Puns involving shocking had most definitely been made. Cole and Jay's latest argument (See: whether or not pineapple is an acceptable topping for pizza) had gotten a little... heated, and the master of lightning's powers had acted up as a result. It wasn't the first time this sort of thing had happened, and the blonde is pretty sure it won't be the last. Still, he has to admit that it's a little (a lot) unnerving to deal with the aftermath of an elemental outburst... Especially... now that he's experienced his own for the first time... Okay, he'll admit it – that's the real reason he's up right now – not because he was craving poptarts. Which is what he plans to tell the others if they question it. Not that they're awake, so he's safe. For the time being, at least. Maybe he can get this glass cleaned up and replace the lightbulb before anyone finds out? If he's lucky. Lloyd slips over to the meager set of cupboards that they've installed in one corner. They have to be keeping some extra lightbulbs around here somewhere... Honestly, given what's happened during training, he really shouldn't be surprised that his latest nightmare ended with him blowing up their light source – it had been so vivid, and just… he'd woken up terrified. He hates feeling like that. He'd stared at the mess for quite some time, too shocked to do anything about it at first, but. Having all that power running through his veins was guaranteed to catch up with him eventually. He knows that, but it doesn't make attempting to quietly remove broken glass from the floor any less of a struggle. Carefully picking up the largest piece of what used to be a lightbulb, Lloyd shoves it in the garbage. Bit by bit, the debris begins to disappear. The green ninja has managed to dispose of most it by the time someone else wakes up (it's impressive that it took this long, to tell the truth). It's Nya, of course, trying hard to cover up the fact that she isn't a morning person (at all). The girl seems to have some sort of magical sensing abilities that activate whenever he's in trouble. She gives him a concerned look before wordlessly grabbing a fresh lightbulb from a shelf too high for him to reach. The samurai drags their one whole rickety stool over to the socket and screws it in with a large yawn. Then, Nya gives the floor a quick scan, looking for any remaining hazards that might exist. There are none.

"So. I earned some extra cash at the autobody shop yesterday. Wanna go get some donuts?" The girl asks her adoptive brother, eventually.

"Huh?" Lloyd stares at her, not fully processing the question. She shakes her head with a sigh. Clearly today's gonna be a rough one. He really could stand to get away from the apartment for awhile – to decompress and all that therapeutic stuff you're supposed to do when you're dealing with emotional triggers.

"Donuts, Lloyd. You know, those pastries police men are so obsessed with? I'm leaving in five with or without you." His mind may not immediately get what she's saying, but his stomach certainly does. Growl.

"That's a yes, then?" Nya says, smirking.

"Sure. Okay." He replies with a shrug, because donuts do sound awfully good, now that he thinks about it and. He's not gonna pass up the opportunity to eat something other than off brand cereal for breakfast. That would be completely out of character, no matter what the reason for doing so is. They slip out of the apartment, careful not to wake the others (though Cole's definitely going to be offended if he finds out about it later) and wander down the sidewalk. As it turns out, the nearest donut shop is less than a block away. The smell of freshly fried dough greets the pair as they push the door open. Mmm… It's only when she notices the distinct lack of customers inside that Nya realizes how early it is. A glance at her phone (which she probably should've checked before they left) tells her it's not even 5:30 yet. Oh well, if the place is open, it's not like they're intruding or anything. Lloyd perks up noticeably when she lets him pick out his own donut – a questionable decision, since he immediately chooses the one with as much frosting as humanly possible and a thick coating of rainbow sprinkles. It even has gummy worms on it. A part of her wants to scold him for being so unhealthy, but the grin on his face. She can't. So, she selects a donut of her own (powdered sugar with raspberry filling) and hands the drowsy cashier a bill. They find themselves a booth near the windows lining the front of the store and enjoy their breakfast in silence for a few minutes before Nya says anything to Lloyd.

"So. Nightmare?"

"Yup." He tells her in a small voice, playing absent mindedly with one of his gummy worms.

"I kinda figured." She comments wearily, "You gonna be okay?"

"Dunno. Hope so."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"I-I…. Don't really remember much about the dream itself… Just… It was so freaky to wake up with the light going crazy… and then it exploded, and I've never had my powers go out of control on me like that and…" Nya wraps a comforting arm around the blonde's shoulders. He leans against her, regretting having been woken up so early, and perhaps still a little shaken by the events that transpired earlier.

"I'm sure it was pretty freaky… You know you can always wake on of us up if you need to, right?" Lloyd nods unconvincing. There are no tears, surprisingly, which Nya takes as a good sign.

"I know… And I was gonna. Eventually. But I wanted to take care of the glass first – so nobody stopped on it. Thanks for helping. With the lightbulb. Being short sucks sometimes."

"Course it does. But it's gonna suck even more someday when you finally stop being such a pipsqueak and end up taller than me." Asserts the samurai. He giggles weakly.

"You don't know that that's what's gonna happen… maybe you'll get lucky?"

"I guess you have a point there. But seriously, if you have any more issues with your powers, I'm here to help. And so are the others. I mean, Kai accidentally set his bunk on fire when he first got his true potential… Maybe you should talk to him about this – I'm sure he'd understand…" Kai is a pretty okay listener from what Lloyd's seen at this point. He probably wouldn't have convinced himself to revisit Darkley's without him.

"M'kay. I'll think about it." He decides through a mouthful of donut, "Not right now though? I kinda just wanna forget about the whole thing…"

"That's valid. This can be our little secret. Betcha the guys aren't even awake yet." The girl agrees, figuring he'll share more when he's ready. She's not gonna push him. This time.

"They're really missing out. This donut is delicious." Lloyd tells her, clearly done talking about powers, nightmares, or anything related. Life's really not so bad when you've got an awesome older sister to buy you junk good. Even if it is only because your elemental abilities went haywire in your sleep.

"Totally. But they don't need to know anything about that. You, on the other hand, will be taking a nap as soon as training is over for the day. And I don't meaning laying around reading comic books. Actually sleeping will be expected." Nya stated, giving him a pointed look.

"What? But that's not fair! I just got a new one!" Lloyd groans indignantly.

"And I'm sure you find plenty of time to read it eventually. However, you also need your rest, so that's gonna have to be a priority for now." Deep down, he knows she's right. He just doesn't plan on admitting it. So, he decides to focus on what's left of the mound of pastry, frosting, and sprinkles instead. He feels better now, anyway.

" So, that happened?" Lloyd says one day, several years down the road, as he stares at a soaking wet Kai. He's not even sure where that much water could possibly have come from.

"Uh... Oh my gosh, Kai, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to..." Nya apologizes, attempting to use her abilities to draw the moisture away from her brother.

"I mean, we all knew it was gonna happen eventually. S'not that big of a deal. But you do owe me a new tube of hair gel..." He shrugs, not particularly concerned. The reason for their... Disagreement isn't important anymore. Things have been tense for everyone since the battle with Morro. He just wants her to be okay. She's not exactly the biggest fan of her elemental powers in the first place.

"Yeah. That's fair." She agrees after a second, looking sheepish.

"Happens to all of us." Lloyd reminds her, "Wanna go get some donuts?"