#Main Street-Flushing Station

[wanderingnewyork]

Looking down the tracks of the No. 7 line from the Main Street-Flushing Station, #Queens.

[harrysfolklore]

birthdays - cl16

summary: charles and yn's love story spans over two decades, beginning when they meet at charles' 6th birthday party, where she promised to be there for all of his birthdays. wc: 4.6k

folkie radio: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY MAIN BOY 🥹🥹 a few years ago i wrote a fic like this for harry and it’s one of my favorite things i’ve posted so i felt like doing a charles version! i hope you like this as much as i do <3

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

6th birthday

The sun shone brightly over Monaco as YN and her mother walked down the tree-lined street. The air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers and the salty breeze from the nearby Mediterranean. The little girl clutched her mother's hand tightly, her eyes wide as she took in the unfamiliar surroundings of their new neighborhood.

"Are you excited for the party, sweetheart?" her mother asked, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.

She nodded hesitantly. "But what if the other kids don't like me?"

"Don't worry, darling. I'm sure you'll make friends in no time," her mother assured her as they approached a beautiful villa with colorful balloons tied to the gate.

As they entered the backyard, they were greeted by the sight of children running around, laughter filling the air. A large bounce house dominated one corner, while a face-painting station was set up near the house. Tables adorned with race car-themed decorations were scattered around, laden with snacks and party favors.

A warm voice caught their attention. "Welcome! You must be our new neighbors."

YN looked up to see a kind-faced woman approaching them, a welcoming smile on her face.

"I'm Pascale Leclerc," she introduced herself, shaking her mother's hand. "And this must be YN! We're so glad you could make it."

She shyly hid behind her mother's leg, peeking out at Pascale.

"Charles!" Pascale called out. "Come here, darling. There's someone I'd like you to meet."

A small boy with tousled brown hair and bright blue eyes came running over, his cheeks flushed from playing.

"Charles, this is YN. She's new to the neighborhood," Pascale explained. "Why don't you introduce her to your friends?"

Charles grinned widely, revealing a missing front tooth. "Hi! Do you want to play with us? We're having a treasure hunt!"

She looked up at her mother, who nodded encouragingly. Slowly, she stepped out from behind her mother's leg.

"Okay," she said softly, "And happy birthday."

Charles's grin grew even wider. He reached out and took her hand. "Come on! I'll show you where we've found clues already!"

For the rest of the afternoon, YN found herself caught up in the excitement of the party. She and Charles searched for treasure and bounced in the bounce house. By the time the cake was brought out the little girl was laughing and chatting with her new friends as if she'd known them for years.

As the party began to wind down and parents started arriving to pick up their children, Charles approached YN, a serious look on his young face.

"YN," he said, "will you come to my other birthdays too?"

"Yes!" she nodded enthusiastically. "We should be friends!"

Charles's face lit up. "Best friends!" he declared, holding out his pinky.

The girl linked her pinky with his, sealing their newfound friendship. As she left the party, clutching a goody bag and wearing a bright smile, she knew she had found something special in her new home.

12th birthday

The wheels of their bicycles whirred as YN and Charles raced down the winding streets of Monaco. The sun beat down on them, but the breeze created by their speed kept them cool. YN's laughter echoed off the buildings as she pedaled harder, trying to keep up with Charles.

"Come on!” Charles called over his shoulder, a mischievous grin on his face. "We're going to be late for my own party!"

She rolled her eyes but couldn't help smiling. "It's your fault for insisting on this bike race, birthday boy!"

They skidded to a stop in front of Charles's house, both breathing heavily but grinning from ear to ear. The front yard was already bustling with activity - balloons bobbed in the breeze, and the chatter of arriving guests filled the air.

As they walked their bikes to the garage, YN nudged Charles with her elbow. "I can't believe you're twelve already. You're practically ancient."

Charles laughed, running a hand through his windswept hair. "Says the girl who's been twelve for a whole two months. Come on, I smell cake!"

The party was in full swing, with kids from their school playing games and enjoying the sunny day. Charles's parents had outdone themselves this year, setting up a mini go-kart track in the backyard. The birthday boy, of course, was the undisputed champion, zipping around the track with a skill that left his friends in awe.

As the afternoon wore on, everyone gathered around a large table. In the center stood a cake, decorated to look like a Formula 1 car, complete with Charles' lucky number on the side. Twelve candles flickered atop the cake, their flames dancing in the gentle breeze.

Charles's eyes widened as his parents brought out the cake and the guests began to sing "Happy Birthday," their voices rising in a cheerful chorus. YN sang along enthusiastically, watching her best friend's face light up with joy.

As the song came to an end, Charles took a deep breath. With a determined look in his eye, he leaned forward and blew out all twelve candles in one go.

While Charles's mother began cutting the cake, YN edged closer to her best friend. "So," she said with a grin, "what did you wish for? To finally beat me in Mario Kart?"

Charles glanced around conspiratorially before leaning in close. "I wished to win the Monaco Grand Prix one day," he confessed, his green eyes sparkling with dreams of future glory.

YN's smile softened. Even after six years of friendship, Charles's passion for racing never failed to impress her.

"Wow," she said. "That's a pretty big wish."

"It's my biggest dream. But you can't tell anyone, okay? Or it won't come true."

"Your secret's safe with me," she promised. Then, struck by a sudden thought, she held out her pinky finger. "Hey, remember when we promised to be friends forever at your sixth birthday?"

"Of course!" Charles's face lit up with recognition, "Best decision I ever made," he said, linking his pinky with hers.

"Well, let's renew that promise. Friends forever, no matter what. That way, when you win the Monaco Grand Prix, I'll be right there cheering you on."

"Deal," Charles agreed, shaking their linked pinkies. "Forever friends."

As they sealed their promise for the second time, both of them felt the weight of it. At twelve, forever seemed like an awfully long time, but neither could imagine a future without the other in it.

16th birthday

The Italian sun was setting, painting the sky in orange and pink as YN made her way through the bustling paddock. The air smelt of rubber and gasoline, the sounds of engines filling her ears. She clutched a small, wrapped package in her hands, her eyes scanning the team garages for a familiar face.

Finally, she spotted him - Charles was standing next to his Formula 3 car, deep in conversation with his engineer. Even from a distance, she could see the intensity in his eyes, the determination set in his jaw. At sixteen, Charles was no longer the little boy she'd met at that birthday party a decade ago. He was taller now, leaner, with the beginnings of stubble on his chin.

"Charles!" she called out, waving to catch his attention.

His head snapped up at the sound of her voice, and his serious expression melted into a wide grin. "YN! You made it!" He excused himself from his engineer and jogged over to her, pulling her into a tight hug.

"Of course I made it," YN laughed, returning the embrace, "I couldn't miss your birthday, even if you insisted on spending it at a racetrack in Italy."

Charles pulled back, his eyes shining with excitement. "I'm so glad you're here. Come on, let me show you around."

As they walked through the paddock, Charles pointed out different teams and drivers, explaining the intricacies of Formula 3 racing. She listened intently, asking questions and marveling at how much Charles had grown not just in stature, but in knowledge and passion for his sport.

They ended up in Charles' team garage, where a small cake sat on a tool cart, a single candle stuck in the center.

"The team got it for me," Charles explained, looking a bit embarrassed. "They said we had to have something, even if we're not having a proper party."

YN smiled softly. "Well, then we better make it count." She lit the candle and started singing "Happy Birthday," her voice soon joined by the mechanics and other team members who had gathered around.

Charles blew out the candle, his cheeks slightly flushed. As the cake was being cut and distributed, YN handed him her gift.

"It's not much," she said as he unwrapped it, "but I thought you might like it."

Inside was a leather-bound journal, the cover embossed with Charles' initials.

"I thought you could use it to write down your thoughts, your goals… maybe even your future Formula 1 strategies," she explained with a wink.

Charles's eyes lit up. "This is perfect. Thank you." He pulled her into another hug, this one lasting a bit longer than usual.

As they sat on the pit wall, eating cake and watching the sun set over the track, YN turned to Charles. "So, how does it feel? Being here, racing in Formula 3… you're so close to your dream now."

Charles nodded, his expression turning serious. "It feels amazing, but also a bit scary. Everything's happening so fast, you know? Sometimes I worry…"

"Worry about what?" she prompted gently.

"That I might not be good enough," Charles sighed, "That I'll let everyone down."

"Charles, look at me," YN reached out and took his hand, when he met her eyes, she continued, "You are the most talented, dedicated person I know. You're going to make it to Formula 1, and you're going to be amazing."

"You really think so?" a small smile tugged at Charles's lips.

"I know so," she affirmed,then, with a playful nudge, she added, "Just promise me one thing?"

"Anything," Charles replied without hesitation.

"When you make it to Formula 1 and become a big star, don't forget about me, okay?"

Charles's expression softened, and for a moment, YN thought she saw something flicker in his eyes - something more than just friendship. But before she could analyze it, he squeezed her hand and said, "I could never forget about you. No matter what happens, you'll always be my best friend."

What YN didn't know was that in that moment, Charles was fighting the urge to tell her how he really felt. That she wasn't just his best friend, but the girl he had fallen in love with years ago.

But the timing wasn't right, not yet.

So he pushed the feelings down, locked them away. There would be time for matters of the heart later. For now, he had a championship to win and a birthday to celebrate - with his best friend by his side, just as she'd always been.

21st birthday

The Monaco night was alive with the sound of laughter and clinking glasses. Charles Leclerc's 21st birthday party was in full swing at a rooftop bar overlooking the Mediterranean.

The who's who of the racing world mingled with Charles' friends and family, all gathered to celebrate the young Sauber driver's birthday.

YN stood at the edge of the crowd, nursing a glass of champagne as she watched Charles work the room. He moved with an easy confidence, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with team principals and fellow drivers. Yet every few minutes, his eyes would scan the crowd until they found her, and he'd flash her a quick smile before returning to his conversations.

As the night wore on, YN found herself on the balcony, enjoying a moment of quiet away from the party. The view of Monaco at night was breathtaking - the lights of the city twinkled below, mirroring the stars above.

"There you are," a familiar voice said behind her. "I've been looking for you."

She turned to see Charles approaching, two fresh glasses of champagne in his hands. He handed one to her before leaning on the balcony railing beside her.

"Sorry," she said with a small smile. "I just needed a bit of air. It's quite a party in there."

"Yeah, I think the team might have gone a bit overboard," Charles chuckled, "But I'm glad you're here."

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, sipping their champagne and looking out over the city.

"So," YN said finally, turning to face him. "How does it feel to be 21? Official adult now, Formula 1 driver… you're living the dream, Charles."

Charles's expression turned thoughtful. "It feels… surreal, honestly. Sometimes I can't believe this is my life." He paused, then added softly, "But you know what the best part is?"

"What's that?"

Charles turned to face her, his green eyes intense in the moonlight. "That you're still here. After all these years, all these changes… you're still by my side."

YN felt her heart skip a beat at the earnestness in his voice. "Of course I am, Charles. I'll always be here for you. We made a promise, remember? Best friends forever."

Charles felt his heart race at her words. "Best friends forever." The phrase that had once brought him so much comfort now felt like a bittersweet reminder of the feelings he'd been harboring for so long.

As he looked at her, bathed in the soft glow of the Monaco night, memories flooded his mind. He thought of her cheering him on at his first go-kart race, of late-night study sessions where he'd catch himself staring at her instead of his textbooks, of the way his heart had leapt when she'd surprised him at his race in Italy on his 16th birthday. He realized he couldn't pinpoint exactly when he'd fallen in love with her because, in a way, he always had been.

The weight of his unspoken feelings suddenly felt unbearable. The thought of going another day, another year, without her knowing the truth seemed impossible. Charles took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to do.

"YN," he said softly, setting down his champagne glass and taking her free hand in his. "There's something I need to tell you."

She looked up at him, curiosity and a hint of something else – was it hope? – in her eyes. "What is it, Charles?"

Charles swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his ears. "You're right, we did make a promise to be best friends forever. And you are my best friend, YN. You're the person who knows me better than anyone else in the world. But..." he paused, gathering his courage. "But you're not just my best friend. You're the one I'm in love with. I always have been."

YN's eyes widened, her lips parting in surprise. Charles pressed on, unable to stop now that he'd started.

"I can't hold back anymore. I've been in love with you for as long as I can remember. Every success and failure, every moment of doubt or triumph – you're the one I want to share it all with. Not just as my friend, but as... as more."

He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving hers. "I know this might change everything between us, and if you don't feel the same way, I understand. But I couldn't let another birthday go by without telling you the truth. You're it for me, YN. You always have been."

For a moment that felt like an eternity, she stood frozen, her eyes locked with Charles's. The weight of his words hung in the air between them, charged with years of unspoken feelings and shared history.

Then, without warning, YN closed the distance between them. She reached up, cupping Charles's face in her hands, and pressed her lips to his in a kiss that was both tender and passionate. Charles, caught off guard for only a split second, wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer as he returned the kiss with equal fervor.

When they finally parted, both slightly breathless, YN rested her forehead against Charles'. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears of joy as she whispered, "I love you too, Charles. I think I always have."

Charles felt his heart soar, a smile spreading across his face that was brighter than any he'd ever worn on a podium. "Really?" he asked, his voice filled with wonder and hope.

She nodded, a soft laugh escaping her lips. "Really. I just... I never thought you'd feel the same way. You're Charles, I'm just-"

"You're everything," Charles interrupted, his voice firm but gentle. "You're my best friend, my biggest supporter, the person I want to share every moment with. You're the one who knows all of me, not just the racer, but the boy who still gets nervous before every race and who can't sleep without his lucky charm."

YN smiled, remembering the small trinket she'd given him years ago that he still kept with him at every race. "We've been quite oblivious, haven't we?" she said, shaking her head in amusement.

Charles chuckled, pulling her close again. "Maybe. But we have all the time in the world to make up for it now."

As they stood there, wrapped in each other's arms with the twinkling lights of Monaco as their backdrop, both felt as though they were exactly where they were meant to be. The sounds of the party drifted out to them, a reminder of the celebration waiting inside, but for now, they were content in their own world.

"Happy birthday, Charles," YN murmured, leaning in for another kiss.

Charles smiled against her lips. "Best birthday ever," he replied before closing the distance between them once more.

24th birthday

The sun was setting over Monaco as YN stood in front of the mirror, putting the finishing touches on her makeup. She smoothed down her dress, a sleek number in Charles' favorite shade of red. As she fastened her earrings, she felt a pair of strong arms wrap around her waist from behind.

"You look absolutely stunning," Charles murmured, resting his chin on her shoulder and meeting her eyes in the mirror.

She smiled, leaning back into his embrace. "You clean up pretty well yourself, birthday boy," she replied, taking in his sharp suit and perfectly styled hair.

Charles pressed a soft kiss to the curve of her neck, causing her to shiver slightly. "You know," he said, his voice low and playful, "we could always skip the party. Stay here, just the two of us…"

"Nice try, Leclerc," YN laughed, turning in his arms to face him, "But your team worked hard on this party, and all your friends and family are waiting." She reached up, straightening his tie. "Besides, I put a lot of effort into your gift. I want to see your face when you open it."

"Oh? Any hints about what it might be?" Charles' eyes lit up with curiosity.

"Not a chance," YN grinned, tapping his nose playfully. "You'll just have to wait and see."

He pouted for a moment before breaking into a warm smile. "Fine, keep your secrets. As long as I have you by my side, that's all the gift I need."

YN felt her heart melt at his words. Even after all these years, Charles still had the ability to make her feel like the luckiest girl in the world. She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

"I love you," she whispered against his mouth.

"I love you too," Charles replied, deepening the kiss for a moment before reluctantly pulling away. "But you're right, we should get going. We don't want to be late to my own party."

As they drove through the winding streets of Monaco, the city lights twinkling like stars, YN couldn't help but steal glances at Charles. Suddenly, she noticed that they were heading away from the bustling city center.

"Charles?" she asked, a hint of confusion in her voice. "I think we're going the wrong way. The party's downtown, isn't it?"

Charles smiled mysteriously, his eyes never leaving the road. "I thought we'd take a little detour first. Trust me?"

"Always."

They drove in comfortable silence for a few more minutes, the familiar sights of Monaco giving way to a quieter, more residential area. Finally, Charles pulled up in front of a beautiful house, its elegant facade bathed in the glow of streetlights.

"Charles, what are we doing here?" YN asked as he came around to open her door.

He took her hand, helping her out of the car. "I have something to show you," he said softly, leading her towards the house.

As they approached the front door, Charles pulled out a key. YN's eyes widened in surprise. "Charles, is this...?"

He unlocked the door and gently guided her inside. The house was empty, but even in the dim light, she could see its potential - high ceilings, large windows, and an open floor plan that seemed to invite warmth and laughter.

Charles watched her take it all in, his heart pounding with nervous excitement. Finally, he spoke.

"YN, from the moment I met you, you've been my home. No matter where I am in the world, no matter what challenges I face on the track, you're my constant. My safe haven."

She turned to face him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

Charles continued, his voice thick with emotion. "But I realized that while you've given me a home in your heart, I've never been able to offer you a physical place that's truly ours. Until now."

He took both of her hands in his. "This house... I bought it for us. I want it to be our home. A place where we can build our future together, where we can come back to after long days or weeks apart. A place filled with our love and hopefully... our family someday."

Tears were now flowing freely down YN's cheeks. "Charles," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion.

"I know my career keeps us traveling a lot," he said, reaching up to wipe away her tears gently. "But I want you to have roots, a place that's ours. Where you can always feel safe and loved, even when I'm not there."

YN let out a watery laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. "You never cease to amaze me, Charles Leclerc. This is... it's perfect. It's more than I ever dreamed of."

"So, what do you say?" Charles pulled her close, resting his forehead against hers, "Ready to start our next chapter here?"

Instead of answering with words, she closed the gap between them, pouring all her love and gratitude into a passionate kiss. When they finally parted, both breathless, she whispered, "Yes. A thousand times, yes."

They stood there in the empty house that would soon become their home, holding each other close. The party, the guests, the whole world outside ceased to exist for a moment. It was just the two of them, standing on the threshold of their future together.

After a while, Charles chuckled softly. "You know, we're probably very late for the party now."

"I know," she said, her voice still thick with emotion, "It's supposed to be me giving you gifts on your birthday, not the other way around."

Charles chuckled softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Well, I've never been very good at following rules," he teased. "Besides, seeing your face when I showed you our home? That's the best gift I could ever receive."

YN shook her head, a warm smile playing on her lips. "You're impossible, you know that? But I love you for it."

"And I love you, for as long as I can remember."

27th birthday

Charles stood on the balcony of their home, the same one he had surprised YN with three years ago. His fingers absently traced the outline of a small velvet box in his pocket, his heart racing with anticipation and nerves.

Inside, he could hear her moving about, putting the finishing touches on his birthday dinner. The aroma of his favorite dishes filled the air, bringing a smile to his face. At 27, Charles had achieved more than he ever dreamed possible – multiple Formula 1 wins, a strong contender for the championship, and most importantly, a life shared with his best friend and the love of his life.

"Charles?" her voice called from inside. "Dinner's ready!"

He took a deep breath, patting the ring box one last time before heading inside. The dining room was bathed in soft candlelight, the table set beautifully with their best china. YN stood by the table, looking radiant in a deep red dress that matched the color he wore on race days.

"Happy birthday, my love," she said softly, pulling him into a tender kiss.

As they sat down to eat, Charles couldn't help but marvel at how far they'd come. "You know," he said, reaching across the table to take her hand, "I was just thinking about my sixth birthday party."

"The day we met," she said with a warm smile. "How could I forget? I was so nervous about moving to a new place."

Charles chuckled, remembering the shy little girl who had hidden behind her mother's leg. "And now look at us. Twenty-one years later, and you're still the best gift I've ever received."

YN felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. "I remember you asked me to come to all your future birthdays," she said, her voice thick with emotion.

"And you've been here for every single one," Charles replied, his green eyes shining with love.

The weight of the ring box in Charles' pocket seemed to grow heavier, but he resisted the urge to pull it out just yet. Tonight was about celebrating. The proposal could wait for another perfect moment.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you," he continued, "but I thank my lucky stars every day that you walked into that birthday party all those years ago. You've made every birthday since then more special than the last."

"Oh, Charles," she whispered, tears now flowing freely down her cheeks. "You've given me more than I ever dreamed possible. That little girl who was so scared of not fitting in found her home in you."

They came together in a kiss that was soft and sweet, yet filled with the depth of their shared history and the promise of their future. As they held each other close, both were transported back to that sunny day in Monaco, two six-year-olds making a promise of friendship that had blossomed into a love story for the ages.

When they finally pulled apart, Charles rested his forehead against hers, a soft smile playing on his lips. "So," he said, his voice light but filled with emotion, "think you might stick around for a few more birthdays?"

YN laughed, the sound like music to Charles' ears. "Just try and keep me away, Leclerc. You're stuck with me for all your birthdays, forever and always."

As they finished their dinner, Charles felt the ring box in his pocket once more. Soon, he thought, he'd ask her to make it official, to promise him not just all his birthdays, but every day in between.

But for now, he was content to bask in the glow of their love, celebrating not just his 27th birthday, but the incredible journey they'd shared.

[gracieheartspedro]

Your Needs, My Needs

THE PRELUDE

a masterlist of how you can help gaza

pairing: cowboy!joel x f!reader (no outbreak)

description: you have made it to your new home in taylor, texas. your anxiety of owning your our home and being alone is coming to a head, but you need to be productive. a trip to the local furniture turns into you meeting some locals and your new cowboy neighbor.

word count: 3.7k words

warnings: there is no smut in this part. still MINORS DNI! no use of y/n! vague talk of reader's old life before texas, no real description of the reader, description of small age gap, joel being a sarcastic shithead. sarah is canon, so joel is a dad. distracted driving. talks of consuming food. reader has mental illness, mainly described as anxiety, but could be other illnesses. I make it pretty vague. the reader likes football? lmfao

author's note: this is the prelude to the many parts I have planned for these two. this is sort of just setting up everything. I want a slow burn for these two, so hopefully these first couple parts make you guys sweat with anticipation. I also wanna quickly thank all of you for the love on the preview of this fic. I hope you all enjoy it! let me know what y'all think. YEEHAW!

“Sign here and she’s all yours.”

When you brought the pen to the dotted line, you knew that this was going to be the start of your new life. 

While you were nervous about taking on such a huge project, you were ready to find solace in your alone time and work on yourself along with the beautiful farmhouse. You needed some peace and quiet, anyway. 

She was set on 20 acres of land on the outskirts of a small town called Taylor. The land looked like something out of a movie, it’s rolling hills and sprawling fields. 

The house was about 130 years old and needed a lot of TLC. You found it online after hours of scrolling. It was still liveable, but the older couple who owned it before moved to a retirement community and could not keep up with the maintenance. When the inheritance hit your bank account, you called the local realtor and told them you would be flying out there to check it out. When the car pulled up the long driveway, you knew that it would be yours. 

Texas was a new start for you. And boy, were you ready for it. 

You did not have a lot to move in, just a small UHaul full of boxes of clothes and miscellaneous trinkets. You left your furniture in your shared apartment in New York. You needed to find something that was more your style, anyway. 

You moved everything yourself. You were not sure you were ready to trust anyone to help you move in. You knew no one locally, anyway.

It took about three days to get settled, and by that, you simply put up a shower curtain and finally put sheets on your mattress on the floor. You had also created a laundry list of random things you wanted to get done around the house in the next month. Priority number one was getting the bathrooms working. The toilet downstairs doesn’t stop running and your upstairs one won’t flush at all. 

You decided that today was the day you would go out and buy some furniture for your living room and bedroom. You would also inquire to some locals about a plumber. It would take you days to work up the courage to reach out to someone in the phone book, so here’s to hoping you just run into someone on the street. 

You hop into the sedan that you were renting until you could buy a car. It was nice but it was no match for your long dirt driveway. You already expected to pay extra for all the dings on the exterior. 

The roads that lead into Main Street are long and winding. You loved driving, so when it was nice enough to put the windows down, you did so. 

Since there’s no one on this specific stretch, you decide to switch the CD you had shoved into the disc drive, opting for another mix you had made years ago. The radio never played what you wanted, especially the local stations in Taylor. 

In your distracted scramble for the CD, you don’t take note of the large stallion running next to your car. The CD is wedged between the seat and the main console and your fingers cannot reach the awkward position. 

You’re not speeding. But when a giant horse runs out in front of you, you can not hit the break quickly enough. You stop breathing, bracing for impact. You jerk the wheel slightly, swerving away from the steed.  Before your front end can make an impact, the horse is snatched back towards the divot in the road. 

You are in complete and utter shock over how abruptly it all happened. 

Your eye eventually catches a man on horseback, his cowboy hat shields most of his face, but you are more focused on how built this man looks. His biceps were straining against his button-up shirt as he held the lasso taut against his chest. His legs were locked around the brown stallion he was on, his jeans riddled with mud and dust. He had dark curls that peaked out from under his hat.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” You yell, your car slowly inching forward from its spot in the middle of the road, “Where did that thing even come from?”

The mysterious cowboy just shakes his head and trots away, clicking his tongue to guide the horse back into the field. 

Your heart felt like it may leap out of your chest. A car was chugging down the road ahead of you, so you knew you had to move out of the way. You turn into your lane and slowly start down the road again.

You do not even bother trying to find the CD, again. You would rather sit in complete silence. 

-

When you make it to the small stretch of downtown, your heart rate slows down. You spot a local furniture store that looks a bit dated. It was your best bet plus, you wanted to stand on solid ground and gain your bearings. 

You parallel park rather terribly and hop out of your car. You huff loudly, throwing your purse over your shoulder and slamming the door behind you. 

A hot cowboy saved your life. 

It’s the most Texas thing that’s happened to you since you moved here. 

You head inside the storefront. A smaller white-haired lady sits at the front desk, her head in a gossip magazine. 

“Well, hello there,” You muster in your best cheery voice, trying to act like you did not almost die, “I’m lookin’ for some furniture.”

She chuckles as she places her reading next to the register, “Well, you came to the right place, sweetheart.”

You return the laugh, glancing around the large store. Couches and recliners in rows in the front, wooden bed sets lining the back wall. You were so indecisive, you were not completely sure where to start. 

“I need a bedroom set and a couch or two. I just moved into th-”

“The old Caldwell farmhouse,” She cuts you off, hopping off her stool, “Saw you movin’ in a couple days ago. My boy is your neighbor.”

The joke about small towns is always true, you know that already. Everyone knows everyone else’s business. You could not shit without someone knowing about it. 

You raise your eyebrows, acting like you’re shocked she knows about you already. “Yes, that’s right. Your boy?”

“My oldest son, Joel. He lives across the way from ya,” She starts gesturing towards the couches, “Pop a squat on one and see which one ya like.”

You end up sitting on every couch before landing on a brown leather one with a matching loveseat. The old woman is a great saleswoman on top of being sickly sweet. She told you since you are one of her first customers of the month, she would give you a great discount on a coffee table. You were a sucker for a good deal. 

You knew what bed set you wanted immediately. It was a light-washed wood with tall pillars sticking out of every corner. It came with two matching dressers and one nightstand. It was only you, so you didn’t quite care about another side table anyway. 

When the lady starts tallying up your total, you watch the slow-moving downtown. A couple walking across the street into the small diner. An older gentleman walking his small dog. The rickety old trucks that loudly took up the roads. 

You’re so stuck in your head, you don’t even hear what your total is. All you do is hand over your credit card. She smiles and giggles as she swipes the card. 

“So I’ll have my boy deliver it to you tomorrow. He is busy workin’ today, but I’ll have him get it to you. He’s quite the handyman, always busy doing jobs around town. Will you be home in the morning?”

You would have to have some strange man in your home to set up the heavy wooden furniture. It made the hairs on your arm stand up. You knew you would not be able to haul it all, so you had to take the leap of faith and hope and pray this frail old lady’s son is not a serial killer. Or stalker. Or both. 

You needed your furniture, after all. 

It will be okay, you tell yourself. 

“U-uh, I will,” You swallow, “I don’t work right now, so I’ll be home all day.”

“Oh, goody! I will send him your way in the morning. He may have his brother with him just to get the bed up your stairs, but I promise they are good boys. If they aren’t, you come to me and their mama will deal with them.”

You laugh nervously, “Of course, thank you so much.”

–

You had woken up late, your anxiety creeping up on you last night. Your brain would not stop racing. You didn’t fall asleep until 2 am. You hop out of bed around 10:30 and wrap yourself in a cardigan. You have been leaving all the windows open at night, but you can tell the seasons are shifting because it gets so cold at night. 

The doorbell rings and it’s like your heart falls out of your chest. You know that after you open this door, you’re welcoming in someone completely new and unexpected and it makes your whole body jitter. You make your way to the front door and take a deep breath before opening it. 

Of course. It’s him. The hot cowboy. 

It made sense. The endless green across from your home had to be part of his property. The road you almost died on yesterday was right beside his land. His house was tucked right across from the end of your driveway, with countless barns spread across a couple of acres.

You were secretly hoping he would be some silly-looking hillbilly, but instead, you find out your delivery man is the ridiculously attractive cowboy from the day before. His hair is tidy and dark without the cowboy hat on. It’s peppered with some white hairs, but it only adds to his appearance. His flannel has the top three buttons undone and his jeans are stained with age. You are finally able to get a good look at his face with no shadows covering his permanent scowl. 

He had to be about 10 years older than you. You were not too far off from wrinkles, but you were still young enough to bear children without being considered geriatric. 

He squints at you when you swing the door open. The sun is hitting his eyes, highlighting the warm rich brown color. 

“Howdy neighbor,” He greets, a small smirk plays on his lips, “’m Joel. Nice to meet you officially.”

You introduce yourself, trying not to stutter as you say your name. He made you nervous. You chalk it up to just being nervous around men in general. But it’s the way his eyes trailed you as you moved just slightly.

You feel the need to clear the air because of the way he’s staring through you. 

“And uh, listen, about yesterday,” You try to apologize, but he cuts you off by raising his hand. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time an outsider got themselves hurt bein’ reckless down the backroads. Just glad you didn’t hit my horse.”

The response has a bit of a bite to it. You back up a step, your body also taken aback by his directness. You are used to confrontational people, but you’re not used to Southern folk being that way. 

“No, next time I’ll aim for the ditch and tell my insurance that there was a silly cowboy in the road that I had to miss.”

You can tell by the sheepish smile on his face that he was not expecting you to be feisty.

“Don’t think they’d give ya’ much money for that,” He says in a hushed but matter-of-fact tone.

You relax your shoulders, trying to collect yourself. “Probably not.” 

He turns back to his truck that has your bed frame in the back of it, disregarding the previous statements. “My brother is comin’ by in a few to help me get this stuff in.”

“Well, let’s not let all the air out of the house right now,” You extend the door wider for him. You are giving this man full access to your home now. You try to suppress your obsessive thoughts and instead decide that you know exactly what you can have him do while you wait. You remember his mom told you he was good with his hands, and since he wants to be snarky to you in the comfort of your own home, you would try to pick his mind about some of your home projects. “Come in, let me ask you something.” 

You begin, gesturing him into the entryway. He accepts the offer, kicking his boots off on the porch. You appreciate his thoughtfulness and for a second, you realize you may be the asshole. 

“Mama told you I was a handyman, didn’t she?”

You giggle, finding it funny that he could read the situation you were about to put him in. “She sure did.”

“She needs to stop tellin’ folks that,” His accent is so thick and syrupy, that it makes your insides tingle, “Got too many people askin’ me to fix their stuff.”

You guide him to the bathroom right off the living room and kitchen, “You know much about plumbing?”

“I’m assumin’ you don’t,” He mutters, “What do you have goin’ on?”

You point to the loudly running toilet, “This thing won’t stop running no matter what I do.”

“Well, what have you tried doin’?”

You both stand in the hallway, you looking up at him with furrowed brows, him looking down at you with anticipation. He was quick-witted, and you started to hate how much you liked it. He gave your sassiness a run for it’s money.

“I’ve flushed it a bunch of times. Cursed at it and kicked it,” He stares at you blankly. It makes your stomach roll, “Jesus, Cowboy, can you give a girl a break?”

He enters the narrow bathroom, approaching the toilet like there may be a bomb in it. He reaches towards the handle and jiggles it violently, which makes you giggle a bit. That’s exactly what you did. 

“So, why here?” He questions, squatting in front of the bowl. He continues to mess with the handle while you process his no-context question.

“What Texas or this bathroom?”

He chuckles, his smile spreading across his beautifully tanned skin. 

“You got tons of jokes, huh?” 

You don’t respond, just shrug your shoulders. He stands up, wiggling the top of the tank off the toilet. You watch his hands lock onto the sides of it, ensuring it will not drop off and shatter on the dated tile. 

“Texas,” He strains, freeing his left hand to mess with the handle. You lean against the door frame. 

You are not even sure why Texas. You just needed to get as far as you could away from New York. You did not want your past to catch up with you, and you did not want to get stuck in a city again. But you could not share all this with a random stranger. He may be in your house, looking at your commode, but you can’t completely trust him yet. 

“I just wanted a change of scenery. I always wanted a farmhouse.”

“Lots of upkeep,” He jabs, doing one more once over of the tank, “‘M thinking you may need a new float or chain. I can get my tools tomorrow and come over to fix it. May need to order a new part, though.”

You push off the wall, arms still crossed over your front. He puts the top back on and finally makes eye contact with you. 

He would come over again? To fix your toilet? 

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, ‘m sure it’s the chain or float.”

“No, I m-mean,” You start to stumble over your words. You swallow, collecting yourself for a moment so you do not look crazy to him. “Are you sure you’re okay coming back over?”

He gives you a thin-lipped smile, “What are neighbors for?”

-

His brother arrives in a rickety old truck at about 15 past 11. He looks a lot like him, but shorter. He has those same eyes though, permanently tired. 

“Nice to meet ya, ma’am. ‘M Tommy.”

You grab his hand to shake it and he lingers a bit longer than you anticipated. Joel stayed on your front porch, putting his boots back on to start unloading the furniture. 

You are thankful the weather was kind today, especially since every evening this week has been stormy. The sun was beating mighty hard on the men as they collaborated on getting your furniture inside.

While they get everything set up, you busy yourself making lunch. You get the bright idea to make them each a sandwich. It’s the least you could do. 

You pile the cold-cut turkey and cheese onto the white bread you had, topping it with some mayo. When you hear their footsteps trailing down the stairs, you race out with the sandwiches on a porcelain plate.

“For your troubles,” You say before standing in their path to the door. Tommy smiles brightly, instantly snatching a sandwich from the plate. 

“Thanks, darlin’,” He takes a big bite, humming in satisfaction. He walks around you, leaving you standing in front of Joel. His eyes are piercing, his lips ajar a bit, but nothing is coming out. 

“Turkey and cheese, I promise.”

He reaches out grabbing the sandwich from you, “No sweet tea to go with it?”

Your heart sinks, instantly becoming self-conscious of your decision to be nice to these hicks. He was so intimidating with his steely expressions and broad shoulders. There was an essence about him that did not speak to his stone-cold exterior. It was more gentle. But you could only see hints of it when he smiled. 

He can tell the wheels in your head are spinning. Before you can speak, takes a bite of the sandwich and shakes his head. 

“‘m kidding, Yankee. Thank you, I ‘preciate it.”

You settle for letting out a long sigh and returning to your kitchen. You spend a couple of minutes, putting back all the ingredients in their proper places. 

You hear Tommy yell for Joel, his voice kind of panicked. You race out the front door and see Tommy balancing your coffee table off the side of the truck. Joel is running to his aid, the dust from your driveway kicking up behind him. You hold your breath watching Joel help him balance the wooden piece of furniture. 

“Can’t have you breakin’ your back before homecoming,” Joel fusses, guiding the legs of the table to the ground, “You know damn well Maria would have me, too.”

“Yeah, what’s a homecoming game without the head coach?”

You perk up, instantly becoming interested in the conversation that you weren’t supposed to be listening in on. The two men lift the table and start heading your way, right on the threshold. 

“You coach football?” You ask Tommy, trying not to show your excitement. You loved football, it reminded you of Sundays with your grandfather. You never got the privilege to go to an actual game, even in high school. 

“Yes, ma’am, for the local high school in Taylor. We are gonna make it to the state championships this year.” 

You glance at Joel when he says it. He rolls his eyes, “Gotta win at least one game to do that, Tommy.”

They place the coffee table right in front of your new leather couch. Tommy grunts, trying not to argue with his brother in front of a strange lady. 

He can’t help himself, though. He instantly snaps back at Joel.

“You know them boys have been practicin’ day in and day out. Why ya gotta be so negative?”

Joel places his hands on his hips, “Cause Sarah told me the guys in her grade are a bunch of dummies. I highly doubt they are ready to kick Georgetown’s asses.”

Tommy starts towards the door, “Just cause Sarah says it, doesn’t mean it’s true.”

“I believe my honor student daughter before I believe my dumbass little brother.”

You are not shocked Joel has a daughter. You are just shocked that she’s in high school. He looked too young to have a teen, but then again, he did have some grays sprouting. You cross your arms over your chest, watching Joel scoot the table across your hardwoods. 

You’re staring at his hands, trying to conjure up a wedding ring on his left finger. But there’s nothing. Maybe he did not wear it when he was working. Maybe he just forgot to put it on this morning. Maybe his passive aggressiveness towards you was simply to ensure there was distance between you and him, giving you subtle hints that he was taken. 

He finally glances up at you, stopping in his tracks when he notes your gaze. 

“Somethin’ wrong?”

You have no clue what to say because you are so trapped in your head about him. He’s a stranger, god damn it.

“N-no, everything is okay.”

“Don’t look it.”

“I just was not expecting the coffee table to look so dark against the hardwood,” you lie, pulling whatever you could think of out of your hat, “Doesn’t it look dark?”

Joel looks between the floor and the table, shifting in his stance, “Don’t know bout that.” 

“O-oh okay.”

“Alright, well we got ya all set up now,” He starts to head towards the entryway. You trail behind him like a lost puppy, “I’ll be by sometime tomorrow with that part for the toilet. I’m expectin’ another sandwich for that one.”

You grab your front door as you wave to Tommy as he heads for his truck. He smiles and gives you a head nod. Joel turns back to you, his ears perked up for a sarcastic jab from you.

  You think back to something he said to you earlier. You crack a smile, “What are neighbors for?”

PART 1 COMING SOON!

taglist (ppl who asked to be tagged): @joeldjarin @taylorsmakingfuckingmacandcheese @mysaviorjoelmiller @brittmb115 @missladym1981 @jasminedragoon

[crownofgildedlilies]

christmas lights

pairing: kaminari x reader summary: Denki Kaminari should never be put in charge of making plans.  wc: 2.2k event masterlist

You should have known you were in trouble when Denki was the one who organized the group hangout. 

He had assured you everything was under control. All of your mutual friends—Mina, Kirishima, Sero, Bakugou, Jirou—had agreed to meet you both at a cafe in town just as the sun fell, then everyone would head over to the Christmas lights festival to enjoy the sights. 

Somehow, though, it just ended up being you and Denki. 

“Jirou just texted,” Denki waved his phone to emphasize his words. “She said she can’t make it, either. Something about her request to leave campus being denied?”

“Really?” Your face twisted in confusion. You hadn’t had any problems getting permission to leave, and neither had the others. “So no one else can come?”

Apparently, before you had even gotten to the cafe you were supposed to meet at, Mina and Kirishima both had separate family emergencies come up, Sero had gotten sick in the three hours it had been since you had talked to him last, and Bakugou had stopped answering his phone and was assumed to have fallen asleep. 

And Jirou was out, too. 

“Nope, weird, huh?” Denki laughed awkwardly, scratching at the back of his neck. The two of you were standing in line, waiting for your orders to go. The lights festival had already started, and you had really been looking forward to seeing all the bright decorations. 

“You still want to go, even if it’s just with me?” You asked hopefully. And maybe a little bashfully, too. How long has it been since you first started crushing on him? Somehow, his ridiculousness had won you over and you found him endearing instead of irritating. 

“Yeah, of course!” His smile was wide and genuine, and you couldn’t help but feel all sorts of mushy things in response to it. 

Mercifully, you were saved from having to respond without confessing your long harbored feelings for him by the sound of your orders being called out. Within a few minutes, you and Denki were out on the street, heading in the direction of the festival. 

The air was colder than it had been when you first left the dorms since the sun had set, and you had forgotten your scarf in your hurry to meet up with everyone—everyone resulting in being just Denki. 

Denki, who you were pretty sure was darting glances at you as you walked in silence. It was rare for him to be so quiet, so out of character that you couldn’t help but worry if something was wrong with him. 

“Are you good?” You hummed, shooting him a questioning look. At the same moment, you wrapped your arm around his, blaming the shiver that ran down your spine for why you needed to be so close to him and the flush in your cheeks on the chilled air. 

“Yeah, I am.” He smiled at you, and you fought the roll of your eyes in a defensive move. Instead, you dug your chin into the muscle of his shoulder to wordlessly reprimand him for the horrid offense of making you blush by simply smiling. He tilted his head to look at you better, but you watched as his attention snagged on something in the distance. “Woah, I see it!”

Sure enough, you glanced away from him and saw the Christmas lights in the distance. Red, green, white—warm and cool tones—drops of light in organized patterns or wrapped around trees. Twinkling, flashing, stagnant. 

Your eyes went wide the closer you got to the main part of the festival. Venders were stationed around the decorations, selling everything from t-shirts to sugar cookies to themed souvenir gifts. There was so much to take in, you involuntarily felt yourself clinging closer to the boy beside you. 

“Denks, it’s so pretty,” You breathed, and though you had been bummed before when you found out the rest of your friends hadn’t been able to make it, you realized you wouldn’t have wanted to miss the sights. 

And spending time alone with Denki was always a plus, even if it made you blush.

“Let’s look through the stalls. If you see any food that looks good I’ll pay for it.” Denki pulled you forward, and you shot him a curious look. 

“Since when do you offer to pay?” You teased, tugging him by his arm so that he slowed down and stayed pace with you. “Last time we all hung out, you begged Sero to pay for you.”

“I just forgot my wallet!” He defended, and the whine that left him had you tilting your head back with a laugh. 

“Whatever you say,” 

The rest of the festival passed with the two of you laughing and teasing. It felt like a normal hang out, even with most of the group missing, and you found yourself distantly thinking of more plans that you could make with just Denki. 

But after a while of looking at all the lights, he finally made good on getting you something to eat. There was a stand that sold handmade sugar cookies in various holiday shapes, and Denki dropped you off at a bench underneath a tree wrapped in colored lights so intricately, it looked as if the very leaves were made of light. 

While you waited for Denki to come back, you pulled out your phone and scrolled through social media. At first, nothing new popped up. After a while of scrolling, you decided to post a picture you made Denki take with you in front of a massive Santa Claus made entirely of lights, which then led to you clicking on Mina’s latest post. 

Her, Kirishima, and the so-called sick Sero all hanging out at the dorms, playing a card game. You were pretty certain you even saw a glimpse of Bakugou and Jirou in the back, and the sight left a bitter taste on your tongue. 

Did everyone make up excuses to bail on you?

“I’m back!” Denki called out in his usual energetic way, but you stood to meet him with a frown as you shoved your phone in his face to show him the post. 

“Look at this. How come Mina and Kirishima are hanging out right now if they both had family emergencies that kept them from joining us?” You pouted, absolutely feeling hurt that all your closest friends seemingly made up reasons to not spend time with you. You had been skeptical about Jirou not getting permission to leave campus, but you had planned to text Sero and ask if he needed any medicine while you were out, and Mina and Kirishima had apparently straight up lied. 

“Uh…” The color had drained from Denki’s face as he realized what was on the screen in front of him, as if he was at fault for everyone bailing on you. Still too annoyed, you missed his reaction and instead clicked your phone off, shoving it deep into your coat pocket. 

“Were they just pretending to be busy to ignore us?” You frowned, blowing out a puff of air in irritation. Your night had been going so well, you couldn’t help but be so disappointed in your friends’ actions. “That's so rude of them.”

“No! I doubt that.” Denki was nearly stumbling over his eyes, his face flush. With the hand that wasn’t holding the cookies he’d braved a long line for, he scratched the back of his neck and darted his attention all around the festival. “You know Kiri, he’d never!”

He was looking everywhere but at you, and that was entirely too suspicious for the man that hadn’t taken his eyes off you since you met up.

“Denki, you’re acting really weird.”

“Am I?” His voice came out in a squeak, and suddenly your annoyance turned into suspicion as you narrowed your eyes at him. For a pro hero in training, he was awful at covering his tells. 

“Yeah.” You accused. It was nothing but obvious he was hiding something. You hoped the disappointment you felt at him keeping secrets from you, too, was evident on your face. Your night was one wrong comment away from being ruined. 

“Okay! I admit it!” Denki cracked far faster than you thought it would, and he tipped his head back so he could look at the sky instead of you as he confessed what he knew. “I told them we had to bail on the plans for tonight so they wouldn’t come!”

“What? Why?” You could say with honesty that that hadn’t been what you thought he would say. 

“Because I might have wanted to hang out with you alone but I was too scared to tell you that so, surprise!” He was rushing through his words, so fast you barely could keep up. 

“Slow down.” You ordered, voice softer than it had been only previously. With your shoulders losing some of their tension, you took a tentative step towards him so that you were nearly toe to toe. “You wanted to hang out with me, alone?”

“Yeah,” He nodded, wincing. 

“And you didn’t want to tell me that?”

“Uh huh,” Another nod, and it was hard to keep your expression neutral. 

“So you lied to me and all of our friends to trick me into hanging out with you?”

“When you put it like that…” He trailed off, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” You huffed, crossing your arms. You were really struggling with hiding your grin, but you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to mess with him after he had apparently conned the entire friend group so he could spend time with you. 

“Huh?” He looked as if he had gone over his wattage, confused by what you had said and not quite sure you had meant it. Rolling your eyes, you stepped even closer so that your crossed arms were pressed against the toned muscle of his chest. 

“I’m not repeating myself until you actually ask me on a date.” You challenged, finally letting the traces of your amusement show through the cracks of your annoyed facade. He was just so adorable you couldn’t hold onto any of your anger. “You can’t just trick me into one.” 

“You wanna make this a date?” Denki asked, voice dripping in disbelief. 

“Close enough,” You muttered to yourself, setting one hand on the back of his neck and tugging him down so that his lips pressed against yours in a long awaited kiss. You could taste the hot chocolate he had drank on your walk to the festival, could feel him relax into the kiss when he processed what was happening. 

His hands found a place on your waist, giving an experimental tug to pull you closer. Remembering you were in public and not wanting to be a PDA couple—not that you figured Denki would mind much—you savored the kiss for a few short seconds before pulling back to smirk up at him. 

“Man, I should have just done that from the start,” Clearly, he had thought he had blown it from the moment you found out about his ruse. He was a little breathless, and somehow knowing he was just as affected as you made you giddy. 

“You think?” You grinned, teasing, enjoying the way your lips stung from both the cold and the absence of him. Needing to feel him close again, you set your chilled hands on his rosy cheeks, squishing them together only slightly. “Next time, you should really just ask me.”

“Next time, huh?” He smirked, the effect lost by your touch on his face and sounding entirely too smug for someone who had accidentally stumbled into a first date. “My plan worked then?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Rolling your eyes, you darted forward to give him another short kiss. “I’m pretty sure anyone else would have left you here the minute they found out you tried tricking them into a date.”

“I was going to ask!” He pouted, turning to the side in an oh so incredibly guilty way. The movement jostled your hands, so you dropped them to his shoulders, needing to feel him beneath your palms and confirm that it was all very real. “Eventually.”

“I’m planning the next date,” You settled, and the megawatt smile that flashed on Denki’s face drove away any chill encroaching on your soul. You forced yourself to step back slightly, but made up for the distance between the two of you by threading your fingers in his and tugging your conjoined hands into the pocket of your jacket. “Now c’mon, I want to see the rest of the lights.”

“Whatever you want,” Denki grinned, easily placated. Though, you were certain that you could get him to agree to whatever you wanted at the move, just only with the promise of a second date. Smirking up at him, you gave a wicked look he should know only meant trouble.

“I’m so telling everyone what you did as soon as we get back to the dorms.” 

“Aw, come on! They’ll never let me forget it!” 

You only laughed, but you couldn’t help but think that you would never forget it, either. 

Not with how pretty he looked under all the Christmas lights. 

[astroboots]

Past Lives

Author's note: Prequel to Every You Ever Me (but can be read as standalone).

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You meet Miguel O'Hara for the first time in a life-changing encounter.

Word count: 1.3k words

Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist 

You're standing on platform B at Main Street station, teeth chattering as you zip up your jacket. You're freezing your tits off.

This is why you don't like going all the way to Flushing. As bad as the stations get closer to the city, reeking of piss, body odor and stale vomit, at least it's always warm underground. Out here, there's no shelter, the tracks are exposed to elements.

It seems as if you are the only one stupid enough to come out here at 6 am on a Sunday, because there's barely anyone else here on the platform.

It's dreary and dark. The leftover snow has melted leaving only grey sludge and a slipping hazard behind.

From the corner of your eyes, you spot movement on the tracks.

You don't think much of it at first. Must be another oversized rodent feasting on discarded pizza, except... it's much too large for that, maybe a dog?

Your head whips back to get a closer look and the sight has your blood freezing to ice.

Is... Is that a man?

You stare at the bulky build crouched over on the tracks. Even as he's bent down, you can see that the man must be freakishly all.

"Sir?" You call out hesitantly.

He doesn't answer you. Doesn't pay you any attention at all. Is he drunk? He's dressed in dark blue spandex from head to toe, obscuring any facial features, wearing a sparkling Lucha Libre mask like he's on his way to WWE.

Yeah, definitely drunk then.

You glance up nervously at the departure board. The green LED light ominously reads: "4 Min".

If the man doesn't get off the tracks he's going to be pancaked by the oncoming train.

Walking up closer to the ledge, you shout across to him. "Hey! You need to get off the tracks."

He doesn't move out of the way.

Shit!

You don't understand. How did he get there. There wasn't anyone on there just a second ago. You would've heard if someone had jumped down from the platform. Where did he come from? Did he materialize out of thin air?

"There's an oncoming train," you try again. It doesn't make a lick of difference from the first time you shouted.

Why you think you can talk sense into a drunk who seemingly can't hear you (or is pretending to not hear you) is beyond you.

Glancing up at the board, you only have 3 minutes left now. It would be entirely too late to call for staff to help. By the time they'd show up the man would already be tomato paste across the tracks.

"Sir!" you shout again. But nothing.

Shit. shit shit shit.

He's not moving of his own accord. The only thing that could get him to budge would be to tackle him... which is absurd for you to do. You must be nearly half his size.

But what else are you supposed to do? Stand by and watch a man die?

You get queasy at the doctors when they draw blood for check ups. You cry when the dog dies in a horror movie. You would never be able to walk away from a man dying, only a few feet away from you. It would haunt you for the rest of your life.

In the corner of your eyes, 3 minutes turn to 2. Before you have the time to slow down your thoughts and properly think, you're already scooting down against the ledge and jumping down the track.

What the fuck are you doing. Why are you risking your life for a drunken stranger?

Your heart is hammering through your chest, beating its way up your throat. You feel queasy with adrenaline as you squeeze your eyes tightly shut.

In the total darkness behind your eyes, you leap forward, with your entire body weight as you slam into him.

There's an angry growl of surprise as you make contact. The man is built like a brick wall. It's like you ran up to a building and collided with hard concrete.

Both of you tumble across the tracks and in that split second that seems to last forever, there is a pandemonius roar that bellows out behind you. Wind whips past your side so hard that it's painful, and you think to yourself that maybe you didn't make it in time.

Except you did.

Because when you open your eyes, instead of eternal darkness all you see are scarlet red eyes, staring up at you with wide shock. You've never seen eyes like this before. They shine like rubies even in the dim dark.

Underneath the blue mask, the man is gorgeous. All sharp angles, and cut jaw with pouty lips that belongs to a Hollywood starlet-- Wait where's the mask?

You could've sworn that he was wearing a mask over his face before.

You don't get to contemplate on that thought for long. There's a flash of glaring light blinding you, the grinding screech of gears closing in.

Oh fuck.

The northbound train is arriving.

You need to get up. Need to climb over the ledge before it's here. You try to raise yourself up on your elbows, but the strength is zapped out of you. Rubble digs into your knees. Everything stings and burns.

The yellowed lights are too close, the screeching of metal is right in your ears.

Oh shit. Oh fuck. Oh god! There isn't enough time. You're going to die.

A strong grip envelops your waist, hoisting you up. The ground below you disappears. You don't know how, but gravity seems to fall away, and you find yourself high up in the air as the sight of train tracks recedes.

You're flying.

Looking up, you see the man's face once again covered in the blue mask from before. He's holding onto you with one arm, while the other is stretched outwards into the empty air. There's web connecting his hand to the sky as he swings you through the landscape of Flushing beneath your feet.

From up here, even something as vast as New York looks small.

He lands the both of you on solid ground, on a nearby rooftop, arms still wrapped firmly around you as he sets you down on your toes and doesn't let go until the back of your heel is firmly planted.

You on the other hand, are still holding onto him tightly. Hands in a death grip into the muscle of his forearm.

Up close, he's staggeringly tall. The angle you have to crane your neck to look up at him feels unnatural, like you're observing a landmark monument, not just a person.

The mask disintegrates, the red and blue material disintegrating to reveals his face to you again.

You're too stupefied by the events that have taken place in the last few minutes to react appropriately

"Are you--" you start, but you don't know how else to finish that sentence. Is he what? What do you want to ask him after he flew up in the sky and saved you? Is he human? an alien? Do you ask him what just happened? Where he came from? Why the hell he was on the train tracks and didn't move! even though you told him to?

You blink up at him, running through each one of the questions and stupidly instead, you settle for the simplest one of all.

"Are you okay?"

He's smiling at you, an amused expression glinting in his eyes.

"Yeah, I'm okay," he answers.

Stretching out an arm above him, a string of web shoots out from the palm of his hand into the sky.

"See you around," he says. Then he swoops into the air and he’s gone. 

Author's notes: I got some questions a while back about how Miguel meets Nena, and this is part of that answer.

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[marginofthought]

Rearrange ~ Wincest smut

It's still Christmas were I'm from so here is another present - aka I can't draw but I like to write for this post

___

“Dean?” Sam asked with a frown, looking up from the newspaper he was reading. “What are you doing?” Dean only made a non-committal noise while he left the highway, taking the exit ramp and merging onto the next street.

Sam dismissed his brother and focused back on the research he was doing. Maybe Dean noticed something with the car he wanted to check out or maybe Dean needed to take a leak, this wasn’t the first time Dean had randomly pulled off their current route for any number of reasons. 

When Sam looked up again a moment later they weren’t headed into town like Sam had expected but were rather turning onto an even more remote road. Sam didn’t even want to call it a street, it was in such poor condition. 

“Dean, there was a sign for a gas station and a McDonald’s if you needed a piss.” Sam said and looked over to the driver’s side. 

“Not what I need,” Dean grumbled and Sam was surprised by the mixture of concentration and distraction on Dean’s face.

Sam folded the newspaper in his lap and laid it onto the dashboard before turning towards his brother. “Everything alright, Dean?” 

Dean shot Sam a quick look at the concern in the younger brother’s tone but turned away just as fast, grunting once again.

A few seconds later Dean pulled the car onto the basically non-existent shoulder near a copse of trees. He turned the car off and turned to Sam just as he was opening his mouth again. “Out!” Dean ordered, though not unkindly. 

“What?” Sam asked, confusion and annoyance warring in his tone. 

“Out, Sammy!”

Sam shook his head in disbelief but followed his brother’s orders, getting out of the creaking door and stepping into the warm sunshine. The main road was still visible and Sam could hear cars whooshing by. 

The driver’s side door opened with another creak and Dean’s heavy boots hit the dirty ground before the door fell closed again. 

“Come here,” Dean gruffly said and patted the hood of the car. 

Sam wanted to argue but knew that it wouldn’t do much good and sighed, rolling his eyes and walking towards where Dean was standing. “Okay, what’s going on?” Sam asked once again when he was standing just in front of Dean. 

“Do you even know what you’re doing to me? All nerdy and hot in my car.” Dean asked back gruffly, pulling Sam into a quick kiss before turning him around and using Sam’s temporary confusion to pin him to the hood. 

Sam grunted in surprise, barely able to support himself with his arms, landing on his elbows as he was bent over the warm metal. 

Dean stepped up behind him, interrupting Sam’s “What?” when he ground his hips against Sam’s ass, making his intentions clear. 

“You know, Dean, there was a sign for a motel too.” Sam chuckled, his laugh quickly turning into a moan. 

“Yeah but I want you right here, wanna fuck my baby on my baby.” Dean breathed against Sam’s ear, nipping at the sensitive flesh afterwards. 

It wasn’t the first time Dean had used some variation of that phrase but it always managed to make Sam flush like a teenage girl, the blush spreading down to his chest. 

“Dean,” Sam whined as he remembered where they were and where they had been on their way to. “Two hours and we can do this on a bed with some pre-”

“No!” Dean growled into his ear. “Now. On my baby.” 

Greedy hands wormed under Sam’s body, struggling to open his belt only by feel. Sam lifted his hips a bit until Dean finally managed to open the belt and loosen it, he popped the button open before he forced Sam’s jeans over his hips without even pulling the fly down. 

Sam grunted a little when he was tucked backwards before the material slid down the rest of his legs, his boxer shorts immediately following. 

Dean was obviously in a mood and Sam had learned early on in their relationship that it was best to let his brother get it out of his system with minimal complaints. 

His brother’s hands roamed across his naked skin before he started kneading Sam’s ass, pulling the cheeks apart and exposing Sam’s most intimate parts to the summer sun. 

A dry finger rubbed over the furled skin with purpose and Sam was barely able to choke out a warning before Dean pushed it inside him. 

“You’re not fucking me dry!” Sam growled out, trying to push his hips forward and out of Dean’s grip. 

Dean grumbled before a fat glob of spit landed on Sam’s exposed hole, running down the crack before Dean scoped it up and shoved it inside along a second finger. 

“Fuck,” Sam gasped out, the friction rough and he could feel his body heating up. It wasn’t quite painful yet but Sam knew that that could still change.

Dean was big, not just proportional for a 6’1” guy but actually big, call it Winchester genes or a blessing or whatever but Dean was huge. His soft cock alone was probably what guys would dream of having when hard and then add on that his brother, much like himself, was a grower, meant that Dean was much larger than average. 

It had taken them a few tries to even stretch Sam wide enough for Dean the first time and he was still struggling sometimes, especially in the oral department. 

That wasn’t to say that Sam disliked it, oh no, quite the opposite. Sam loved the feeling of being stuffed to the brim, stretched out by Dean’s cock, filling him up like it was made for him. 

Sam just usually preferred it with a healthy amount of lube and stretching beforehand. Once they had done it with just spit and Sam had been uncomfortable for days afterwards, and not in the fun - i can still feel you - kind of way.

Dean’s two thick fingers were pushing deeper into Sam and soon another wad of spit was added, slicking the way but not nearly enough. Sam tried his best to relax into it and move with Dean instead of against him but it didn’t seem to help all that much.

“Dean,” Sam groaned again. “Get the lube from the glove box.” 

Sam had started to keep a bottle there after the previous incident, not willing to risk it again. Dean however ignored his request, continuing to pump his fingers in and out of Sam’s tight hole, instead even pushing a third finger against it. 

A hand shot out and grasped Dean’s wrist, stopping him. “Get the lube, I mean it, Dean.”

“Sammy, c’mon.” Dean tried to plead.

“No, it’s like five feet and you know what happened last time.”

“That I do,” Dean said smugly but he finally pulled his fingers free. Whenever the incident was mentioned Dean had that stupid smug grin on his face, self satisfied with his dick and the ability to make Sam go wild from it, which Sam couldn’t even really deny. 

Dean’s weight lifted off of him and Sam could hear the creak of the door before Dean came back. A second later the fingers were back too, this time coated in cold slick lube and Sam breathed out a sigh of relief.

The third finger was quickly added and while Sam usually petitioned for a fourth, Dean apparently really was impatient after Sam had made him stop once already. 

There was the quiet sound of a zipper and fabric before Dean pulled his fingers back out and the blunt head of Dean’s dick was pressed against the wrinkled hole.

Sam braced himself, taking a deep breath and tried to relax when Dean pushed inside. The head of his dick squeezed past the first muscle and Sam’s breath was punched out of him when Dean continued to push forward.

“Fuck,” Sam groaned again, the pressure overwhelming and he couldn’t keep his noises in. He knew he was whimpering and whining, groaning and moaning while Dean buried himself balls deep in his little brother’s ass. 

“Feel so good, Sammy. So goddamn fucking tight, squeezing me so tight.” Dean told him. 

Dean gripped Sam’s hips, pinning him to the Impala before pulling back out and pushing back inside. He quickly established a rhythm, hips pumping forward and backward.

The pressure was perfect, Sam feeling so incredibly full but the friction was still quite uncomfortable where he wasn’t quite stretched enough. “More lube,” Sam grumbled after Dean pulled out once again. 

There was some shuffling and shaking from the side and a slick noise before another glob of lube landed on Sam along with a small noise from Dean.

“What?” Sam asked and tried to turn around to look at his brother.

“Erhm, the lube is empty.” Dean said and Sam could imagine the look on his face but before he could reply or react in any way, Dean shoved back inside.

The slide was slicker that was for sure but Sam would surely feel it tomorrow, especially after Dean established a rhythm again. 

Dean’s hips were continuously moving, his dick pushing deep into Sam, filling him up and Sam swore he should be able to see a bulge in his stomach. (Once when they had fucked in the morning and Sam’s stomach was at it flattest, it had actually happened and Sam could swear that Dean had never been more pleased or cum harder than that morning) 

Every thrust made a pass by Sam’s prostate and his own dick was bouncing and twitching under him, almost ready to burst just from Dean fucking him like this. Pushing all the way inside again, Dean stilled for a moment before he rocked his hips just a little, making Sam mewl just a little. 

“Love your little noises,” Dean said breathlessly, continuing to rock into Sam. 

Sam couldn’t concentrate, split open and flared wide by his big brother and he absentmindedly worried that Dean would leave a gape when he was done. “Nngh,” he managed intelligently. 

His brother chuckled behind him again. “See, that’s what I mean.”

Sam tried to make his mouth work but was interrupted once again by Dean pulling out before roughly thrusting back in. It made Sam moan loudly, a hint of discomfort in the sound as Sam was split open again and again on Dean’s thick cock and the little lube they had was almost dried up.

Dean’s hands shifted, pulling Sam up against his chest. In the back of his mind Sam marveled at the easy strength with which his brother could manhandle all of Sam. His brain however was still in shambles and it was difficult for Sam to make more than unintelligible noises.

The angle change brought tears to Sam’s eyes as Dean was able to fill him even better, his rim pulled wide with every thrust. Sam tried to brace himself on Dean’s arms but his hand slipped on the sweat slick skin. 

“Fuck!” Sam cried out as his orgasm bowled him over. His body seized up, hips rocking back into Dean as he came without a hand on his dick. Every one of Dean’s thrust made another spurt of cum erupt from his cock, white streaks tarnishing the black metal of Baby’s hood. Sam keened loudly and his vision went fuzzy, when Dean doubled down, his brother’s name falling from his lips. 

“Take it, baby, c’mon.” Dean’s voice was rough, his breath fanning hot across Sam’s neck. A few thrusts later and Dean pulled him even tighter while his hips stuttered and he filled his little brother up inside. 

Sam collapsed back onto the hood once Dean released his grip, pulling out too quickly at the motion and making Sam hiss at the sore feeling. 

“You okay?” Dean asked with a pat to Sam’s side. 

Sam grunted before extricating a hand from under him and putting up a thumb. “Yeah,” he slurred.

..

It had taken Sam a few minutes to peel himself off the hood, pulling up his pants with shaking legs and trapping Dean’s cum in his boxers.

Sam looked like a mess when he saw himself in the window reflection. His hair was tousled even though he couldn’t remember either of them getting a hand in it, he was flushed and sweaty both from the activity and the summer sun. Sam’s cheeks burned even brighter when he noticed the visible stains of cum on his shirt and he quickly whipped it off, reaching into the back for another t-shirt. 

Sitting down was equally as uncomfortable as his wet boxers met his sore ass. Sam was a little tempted to both change his boxers and also reach inside his current ones to feel if Dean finally succeeded in leaving him gaping.

Dean whistled nonchalantly as he got into the car after wiping down the hood and sank into the driver’s seat with a pleased expression. 

Sam was still struggling with a decision and words when Dean turned the car back on, reversing up to the main street before turning onto it. 

“Dean?” Sam asked when Dean had ignored the highway and drove into town this time. 

Dean ignored him again until he pulled into the town's diner and Sam’s stomach churned at just the smell of grease that hit him when Dean’s door opened. “C’mon, I’m hungry now.” Dean grinned cheekily and got out, striding towards the front door. 

Sam shook his head bemusedly, his brother ever the hedonist. Sam stiffly got out of the car, hoping no one nearby was looking at him before opening the trunk and pulling out his duffel bag. 

Dean was already sitting at a booth when Sam walked past him and gestured at the restroom near the back, waiting for Dean to nod before he left for it. 

A few minutes later Sam came back out in a fresh pair of boxers, though he kept the jeans the same so as not to attract too much attention. 

He slid into the booth opposite from Dean and carefully sat down, his mouth twisting slightly at the sore feeling.

“You’re replacing the lube at the next store,” Sam hissed at his brother, trying to look stern.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t act like you don’t love it.” Dean grinned back and knew he was right when Sam’s face turned even more sour but didn’t say anything else. 

..

Dean had chatted shortly with the elderly waitress and was now biting heartily into his greasy mess of a double cheeseburger, of course with extra onions. The sight and smell were enough for Sam’s stomach to turn and he tried to focus on his own plate. 

The chicken wrap he had ordered was a little dry but he preferred it to the grease dripping down Dean’s fingers. Sam bit into one of his fries and even though it was kind of gross, found his eyes wandering back to his brother. 

There was such a happy and satisfied smile on Dean’s face that Sam temporarily forgot his disgust. It was rare to see Dean this carefree and Sam would do most things to ensure Dean could look like that more often. 

That was until he shifted in his seat and was reminded of just how sore his ass was and then he had to wonder how Dean could eat so nonchalantly, talk with strangers and jam out to music when he had just rearranged Sam’s guts a few minutes ago. 

Sam shook his head, feeling like every person in sight could read exactly what they had done not too long ago but well, he would do it again, wouldn’t he…

[cecropiacrown]

Fic #4 for my December Writing Challenge

Characters: Mu Qing, Feng Xin, mentioned: Mu Qing's mom

Pairing: pre-relationship fengqing

Word Count: 2k

Plot Points: grief, overwhelm, panic, hurt/comfort - whumpee: Mu Qing

Two weeks.

Two weeks until Mu Qing will be allowed back into his apartment complex after a water main break caused significant damage to his unit and almost every other unit on his floor.

Before being forced to temporarily vacate, he was able to grab a few bare essentials from the tattered remains of his flooded apartment, but it's certainly not much. His unit—unfortunately—took the main brunt of the flooding and, save for a couple of well-preserved keepsakes and the laundry that was tumbling away at the laundromat down the street, the place is a total loss.

And, perhaps one of the worst parts about the whole ordeal, is that it's not like Mu Qing can afford to stay in a hotel in the meantime. Hell, he's lucky to have enough money to meet the minimum balance requirement in his savings account.

He has no car to sleep in and his initial plan of splitting his time between work, public libraries, a 24/hr gym, and the large train station in the center of the city, fell apart within the first day and a half of his homelessness.

So it's with a clothes basket's worth of belongings and his battered pride that Mu Qing finds himself sitting at Feng Xin's kitchen counter, sipping on over-steeped tea and trying—desperately—to not tear his hair out from the humiliation.

It's December and a heavy layer of fresh snow covers the ground. Mu Qing can see it in all its undisturbed glory as he looks past the lace-like frost on the kitchen window. It glitters in the pale bluish light of the streetlamps, looking endless and unforgiving in a way that makes Mu Qing feel incredibly grateful to be indoors.

The sky is overcast this evening, wispy looking clouds visibly roiling through the sky like smoke. It's nearly midnight, but Mu Qing has only been in Feng Xin's apartment for less than half an hour, not having been able to accept he needed help until he had no other choice but to reach out to it before it crawled into bed for the night.

Feng Xin is still rummaging around in the closet in the hallway. Mu Qing listens, but keeps his eyes on the window, tracing the pattern of the frost until he feels dizzy and then, with his eyes still open, he tries not to see anything at all.

A heavy wind licks at the building and Mu Qing shivers involuntarily, curling his fingers ever so slightly tighter around his mug and trying to bleed the warmth of the tea into him by osmosis alone.

Though he'd never admit it out loud, Mu Qing is quite sensitive to the cold, and the walk from the bus stop to Feng Xin's apartment building was not a particularly short one. He lets his eyes come back into focus and, in the reflection of the window, he can just barely make out his face, which is still flushed with cold from his walk. His cheeks—the tip of his nose—his ears—they have yet to warm up completely and he's acutely aware of the ache in the joints in his hands.

He brings the mug up to his dry lips and sips on the tea, just to have something else to focus on.

"You should have called me sooner," Feng Xin says as he emerges from the hallway with a heap of fabric in his arms—a towel, a couple of blankets, and a pillow, it appears. The clear reprimand in his voice makes Mu Qing roll his eyes. He shifts in his seat and doesn't reply. Snow begins to fall anew, only visible in the cones of lamplight illuminating the parking lot.

"I would have picked you up, y'know. You didn't have to take the bus," Feng Xin continues, piling the things onto the counter and taking a seat across from Mu Qing. He drags a hand through his messy, untied hair and sighs, loud and put-upon. It makes Mu Qing feel sick to his stomach so he scoffs and takes another sip of his shitty tea to at least appear like he's being a gracious guest.

"What were you going to do," Mu Qing can't help but snark, "Come pick me up in that?" And as Mu Qing says this, he frowns and waves a hand in Feng Xin's direction, indicating his choice of bedtime attire: a t-shirt and boxers.

"I would have gotten fucking dressed first, asshole."

"You didn't bother to get dressed to open the door, so you can't blame me for not having any confidence in you."

Feng Xin's face grows hard and impatient—a button Mu Qing has always been skilled at pushing. But he appears to bite his tongue and shake it off, much to Mu Qing's displeasure.

"I would have gotten dressed for you."

"I got here just fine on my own, didn't I?" Mu Qing says, shrugging. He purposely ignores Feng Xin's attempt to be civil, not really knowing what to do with such a thing.

Feng Xin clearly disagrees with that statement, scrutinizing Mu Qing's face like it holds all the proof he needs.

"Why?" he asks suddenly, his eyes hard and his brows furrowed. Mu Qing turns back towards the window.

"Why what?" he replies, annoyed. His leg starts to bounce and he anxiously thumbs at the handle of his mug. The sight of the falling snow suddenly pisses him off so he turns again, grimacing down into his nearly empty cup of tea.

"Why do you always need to do it all by yourself, Mu Qing?"

What a stupid thing to ask.

"Because I can," he answers easily, rolling his shoulders back and forcing himself to finish the rest of his tea.

"You don't have to."

"Of course I have to," he snaps, setting down the mug with a bit too much force and pushing it away from himself. He glares at Feng Xin and only grows angrier having to see all the kindnesses Feng Xin has offered him spread out between them like they're trying to remind Mu Qing of what an awful fucking person he is.

"What would you even know about doing shit yourself—as if you haven't always had a fucking safety net to fall back on. You might live on your own, Feng Xin, but daddy's money has never left your fucking sight—"

"Shut your fucking mouth!" Feng Xin snarls, slamming a hand down on the counter top as he stands up.

Mu Qing follows suit, ripping himself out of his chair and accidentally kicking his laundry basket. He growls under his breath and kicks it again—on purpose this time—denting one of the handles until it snaps cleanly off. He snatches the basket off of the ground, stuffs the broken handle in amongst his things, and makes for the entryway.

Feng Xin moves to block his path, one hand gripping the corner of the counter top and the other pressing into the wall beside the fridge, effectively cutting Mu Qing off. Mu Qing doesn't dare look him in the eyes, staring straight passed him and trying to shove his way through.

"Don't fucking be like that," Feng Xin says, having lowered his voice considerably. There is a lingering kindness in the way he speaks, in the way he looks at Mu Qing like he's disappointed, as if he expected better of him. Mu Qing can't stand it. He tries to shove through the barrier of Feng Xin's arm again but Feng grabs hold of the other side of the basket to try to stop him.

Mu Qing loses it.

He rips the basket out of Feng Xin's grip but uses too much force. The basket knocks into the pile of blankets on the counter, slips out of his hands, and slides all the way to the other end of the island. It collides with the mug, which hits the chair Mu Qing had been sitting in and clatters to the ground, shattering.

Feng Xin's rage boils over again. Any gentleness he may have had for Mu Qing is gone—just like Mu Qing deserves.

"God, what the fuck is wrong with you, Mu Qing!?"

What's wrong?

"Get the fuck away from me, Feng Xin! I'm leaving! I don't want to fucking be here anyway!"

What's wrong?

Feng Xin makes to grab Mu Qing's wrist but Mu Qing swivels on his heel and shakes him off, ending up with his back to the fridge and no where else to go except around the the counter in the other direction and through the path of unnecessary destruction he caused.

What isn't fucking wrong?

It's December again.

Another year without Mama.

Another year where nothing seems to have gone his way.

"Why are you always trying to start a fucking fight? Can't you just say what you fucking mean for once? None of this meaningless, petty bullshit—god, I'm so sick of it!"

Mu Qing squeezes his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms to try to ground himself. He wants to move, but there's broken ceramic all over the floor and he doesn't have his shoes on.

He's cornered—like an animal.

Feng Xin sighs, dropping his hand from the counter but keeping his other one firmly planted on the wall beside Mu Qing. Their eyes meet and something vile swirls in Mu Qing's stomach, making him feel like he's going to vomit.

"Listen, just—" Feng Xin searches Mu Qing's eyes, his own expression having softened into something too tender for Mu Qing to hold and yet, too nice to bear looking away from.

"Just say what you want. None of this deflecting, roundabout shit. I'll fucking listen, okay?"

Mu Qing swallows hard, his breathing picking up against his will. He stares at Feng Xin's face, waiting for him to lose his patience, but all Feng Xin does is stubbornly stare back.

It's too much.

It's all just too much.

Mu Qing's resolve starts to deteriorate.

"I'm so tired," he finally says, not having known what words were going to come out of his mouth until they had already been spoken.

Feng Xin's face falls, his hand twitching uselessly at his side. He's looking at Mu Qing with too much care in his eyes and Mu Qing can't possibly stand it.

"I'm so tired, Feng Xin," he says again, his voice so hoarse he almost chokes on it. A familiar ache throbs in his chest and he's left feeling horrifically small and on display. His next inhale is too shaky to be his own; he's not allowed to make such sounds.

Feng Xin reaches out to him then, his hand gently encircling Mu Qing's wrist, and the touch is all it takes for Mu Qing to finally crumple under the weight of it all.

His chest heaves with his next breath and he stumbles over the ensuing sob, his whole face trembling from the effort to hold it back—but he can't. He slams a hand to his chest to try to calm himself down, sucking in breath after breath to no avail. Helplessly, he looks around, as if he'll suddenly be able to see a previously overlooked escape route through his tears.

"Mu Qing," Feng Xin murmurs, and the sound of it hits Mu Qing like an arrow shot clean through his lungs.

"I can't—" Mu Qing shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut as if it will change anything.

Feng Xin steps further into Mu Qing's space, his warmth so overpowering it makes Mu Qing unsteady. He stumbles and ends up with his face pressed into Feng Xin's shoulder, hands grasping at Feng Xin's shirt with an urgency he's never felt before. Feng Xin doesn't hesitate to wrap his arms around Mu Qing and pull him close, cradling him with a hand on the back of his neck.

"I'm here," he says into Mu Qing's ear and Mu Qing sobs again, shaking apart in Feng Xin's arms whether he wants to or not.

"I have you."

And—for the first time in Mu Qing's life—he's never been more relieved to have been had.

[gwendolynlerman]

Things that surprised me as a European tourist in the United States

This is based on my experience as a Spaniard traveling to the United States (specifically New York City and Washington, D. C.).

Like many people around the world, I have grown up in contact with U.S. culture through literature, film, and music, so I didn't experience much cultural shock, but some things still surprised me.

All vehicles (cars, trucks, school buses...) are huge! Most cars are pickup trucks or SUVs. The most common brands came from the United States, but I also saw many Japanese cars, especially Nissan and Toyota (mostly Prius, USAmericans seem to love this model 😂).

Customer service is great, not only in restaurants or places where one is expected to leave a tip but also in museums and subway stations.

I heard many different languages spoken by locals, including Mandarin, Russian, and Spanish, as well as European languages spoken by tourists, such as French, German, and Portuguese. (I think that this is mostly the case in big cities, and especially NYC.)

People wear face masks more often, although I guess that this is transient due to flu season. Still, way fewer people wear them in Spain.

Taxes are not included in the price. (I was aware of this but used to forget about it at first.)

Toilets are not as deep as in Europe (the water is really close to your butt 😖), and many flush automatically. Public restrooms always have seat covers but normally do not have a toilet lid.

Doors are really heavy! No wonder many people (mostly men) held them open for me. I once had to throw myself against the door to open it. What is the deal with doors in the U.S.? (Is it a NYC thing only?)

People were quite loud (and this is coming from someone who grew up in a country that is renowned for how loud we talk) and played music/videos without headphones in the subway 😑

Cops are surprisingly chill despite the reputation that they have. A guy was insulting a couple of them from across the subway platform, and they just smiled and waved at him. In Spain, it is a crime to insult a police officer, so I was surprised that they were so calm about the whole situation.

On that note, there were a lot of cops around the city at all times (even at 5 a.m.). I counted nine of them in Penn Station!

Drivers honk all the time because of every minor inconvenience. On Thanksgiving Day, there were a lot of traffic jams, and people were honking as if that would magically clear the streets... And, of course, if one person honked, the rest honked as well, so walking on the street on the main avenues was really deafening 😐

Traffic lights are quite far away from where cars have to stop.

Fire truck sirens are really loud and sound like emergency alarm systems. (It reminded me of those TikTok videos ranking them.)

People say "Excuse me" in the subway when going in or out, which was a nice change from the shoving and pushing I'm used to in Madrid.

I saw a lot of people carrying around huge reusable water bottles. (Here's an explanation for why USAmericans drink so much.)

People called me "Ma'am" instead of "Miss". I know it's the polite way to address people, but it was very weird 😂

New Yorkers love to use cardinal directions (north, south, east, west) when giving directions. Someone once told me, "Go west on Broadway" and I was like "I have trouble orienting myself when I use Google Maps, do you think I know which direction I'm going in at all times??".

There are lots of caution signs about worker safety on construction sites, both in English and Spanish, which leads me to think that there are many work accidents 🤔

As a solo female traveler, I was a bit concerned about my security in a city that I have heard is dangerous and in a country where mass shootings are a relatively normal occurrence, but I felt mostly safe. I was surprised to see many posters that read, "If you see something, say something".

Related to the above, I was shocked to see "This is a gun free zone" posters in public places and "No guns allowed" posters on supermarket doors.

I was really surprised to see ads with phone numbers with words in them, like the one below. After doing some research, I discovered they are called vanity numbers and are easier for people to remember. (If, like me, you're wondering how to dial these numbers, apparently you just press the number that corresponds to the letter on the keypad.)

I smelled marijuana everywhere! Although illegal in Spain, you can also smell it sometimes, but it seemed ubiquitous in NYC. (I personally hate the smell, which is why I noticed.)

[suzdin]

D A T U R A

Dave York x Joel Miller x f!reader

currently a WIP.

preview below cut.

I am fully blaming @survivingandenduring and @kateispunk for this 🤭

don’t judge me for the crappy header. :\

-

Dave prods his index finger at the highlighted portions of the floor plans on the tablet, which he presents to his compatriots.

“There are entrances here, here…and here,” he points out, tapping the third for emphasis. “She’ll be expecting those. Watching them.”

Dave brushes his bottom lip with his thumb, brow creasing in contemplation.

“Ari and Resnik can head off the two main entrances. Joel, you take the side. And I’ll enter…here.” He places a finger where there’s a hastily drawn ‘X’ facing a private alley and courtyard.

“Don’t see a door or window,” the tall, tan man to his left drawls, placing a hand on his hip.

“Right. There’s a secret entrance there which leads to a crawl space left over from the city’s bootlegging days. None of the residents know. And guess where it exits?” Dave asks, eyes darting between the three men.

He places a finger where the bedroom closet would be.

A smirk twists Joel’s mustache. “Shit,” he says, scratching thick, weathered fingers through his scruff. “Gonna hit ‘er from all sides.”

“Exactly,” Dave responds, mirroring the way his companion places his hands on his hips. “We’ll strike at 10 PM sharp. That’s when the main festivities begin. No one will hear a thing.”

——

Dave crouches next to the hatch that leads to the secret door beneath the building, long since defunct due to the city’s proclivity for flooding.

A crackle resonates through his ear piece.

“Miller. Anything?” Dave asks.

“Nothin’,” Joel answers in a low southern lilt, positioned at the bottom of the narrow stairwell on the east side of the building, clicking the safety off on his Glock.

“Ari, Resnik? Station yourselves. Miller, I’m going in.”

“10-4,” Joel returns.

Dave yanks up on the metal hatch and it opens with a jarring creak, drowned out by the roar of the crowds on Bourbon Street and another jazz band playing their rendition of Oh When The Saints Go Marching In for probably the 1,000th time that evening.

He slips in easily and finds a peeling red door, which is shockingly ajar. A stray cat rushes out with a shriek, spitting feline obscenities at him.

“Fuck!” Dave snarls as the dark, furry void streaks past him and into the night.

“What’s goin’ on?” Joel’s voice.

“Nothing. Fucking cat. I’m inside.”

A low, throaty chortle sounds through Dave’s ear piece.

“Eat shit, Miller. Start heading up. I should reach her apartment in five.”

“Unless there’s more cats guarding the place.” This time it’s Ari’s voice. Dave pointedly ignores him.

The crawl space is narrow and damp, crushing in at him from all sides and choked with cobwebs and god knows what else, but it’s surprisingly not the worst place he’s ever been.

The space quickly dead ends into a ladder that looks like it’s seen far better days, rusting from the hinges out. Dave can’t help but wonder if it will support his full mass.

“‘M at her front door,” Joel remarks through the ear piece.

“Climbing the ladder now,” Dave responds as he begins his ascent, gripping the bottom rung and giving it a hard jostle to test its integrity.

The metal rungs protest and groan under his weight, but the structure holds true.

The boys had thought it absolutely ludicrous when Dave had come to them for their help with the hit. Four men for one single woman?

Bullshit. A waste of time and resources.

That is until they’d familiarized themselves with your rap sheet. Just shy of forty murders in less than a decade, and a weapons and ballistics specialist to boot.

You’d earned the moniker ‘Datura’ for good reason.

But it would all end tonight, and that price on your pretty little head would be a nice cherry on top.

He reaches the latch leading into your closet a moment later, twisting the mechanism that holds it flush to the wooden floor above.

He draws the Beretta from the holster on his hip, flicking off the safety as he strains his hearing to listen for something, anything, that would give him pause; that would make him abort the mission.

He hears nothing but the music seeping in from the streets through the century old brick.

“I’m in, Joel. I’m in,” Dave whispers, lifting the hatch as he silently crawls inside your closet, the scent of you overwhelming his senses, making his nostrils flare. Cock already half hard in his dark denim jeans at the prospect of yet another nefarious name scratched off his list.

Your name.

——

Thanks for reading!

If you’d like to be tagged, let me know.

[dantegreaves00]

Addicted (Dead Island 2 Ryan x Gen Reader)

You and Ryan stumble across his old place of work, and he treats you to a private show.

Warning sexy times alluded to but not shown and a piss poor description of a strip show and lap dance

Big shout out to @brunos-wife360 for giving me the opening paragraphs and for allowing me to use them

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

●●Y/N's POV●●

Walking along the desolated streets of Hell-A me and my boyfriend Ryan were looking at the different buildings that were once places of entertainment.

As we continued our path along the asphalt, me and Ryan stopped in our tracks.

I looked up and saw a sign that read ‘the big hose’ which I knew from Ryan was where he worked as an exotic dancer before the outbreak.

Ryan’s cheeks flushed a red hue upon looking at the sign, when we both looked at Each other, not speaking a single word.

“The horde might catch up to us soon and as much as I hate to say it, we should seek shelter in here” Ryan said as he started to approach the main door.

Following him inside I was greeted by a wall with all of the dancers on it, and right in the centre in a gold frame was a picture of Ryan with the words "Best Dancer in house" under it.

"Y/N, can you please stop staring at my stripper photo and help me secure the doors and windows" Ryan said breaking me out of my trance.

After making sure that our makeshift shelter was secure for the night we made our way towards the bar area hoping to find some food and drinks to take back to Emma's in the morning.

●●Timeskip●●

A couple of hours after arriving me and Ryan had been drinking from one of the bottles that we found. Being slightly tipsy I started to approach one of the poles that was in the middle of the main stage.

"I always joked when I was a teen that if I didn't have a job by the time I was 25 I'd become a stripper" I said as I wrapped my hand around the pole. I felt myself slip after an attempt at spinning went wrong, Ryan got up on the stage and caught me by my waist before I could fall,

"Why don't you leave the dancing to the professional baby" Ryan said as he guided me back into the chair that he was previously sat in before he made his way back onto the stage.

"What are you doing?" I asked as he got the dj's station running.

"I am going to give you a private show darling" he replied as the music started.

Seeing Ryan dance was incredible, the way he twisted his body around the pole to the beat of the song playing was hypnotic. I was sat on the edge of the chair trying to get a better look when suddenly he started crawling towards me on his hands and knees.

"Now there are a few rules that you can't break, if you do I stop ok?" He asked and all I could do was nod my head yes.

"Good, now first rule is no touching, second rule is no biting, you may feel tempted to but don't and finally enjoy yourself baby" he said as the song that was playing stopped and changed to a slower song.

Having Ryan so close to me but not being able to touch him was hard, he swayed and gyrated his hips in front of me and all I could think about was grabbing him and forcing his hips to mine as he slowly started to remove his clothing.

Once the song was over and a new one started I gave up on following the rules and wrapped my arms around his neck as he dipped down in front of me.

"What did I say baby, no touching" Ryan said as he tried to remove my arms.

"As much as I am enjoying this, I'd rather do something else" I said as I bit his earlobe.

He paused before turning around to face me, "that can be arranged."

●●Timeskip●●

The club smelt of sweat and sex as me and Ryan laid on one of the couches, our bodies stuck together.

"Is that how a dance normally ends for you?" I asked while trying to find my clothes.

"Na, I don't normally sleep with clients but I make an acception for you baby" Ryan said after getting dressed.

Once we were both dressed, I went to the window to check to see if the music had drawn in any zombies. Just as I was about to tell Ryan that the coast was clear, a hand banged on the glass.

"Oi love birds quit shagging and come out" we heard Jacob yell from outside. Me and Ryan looked at each other before bursting out laughing.

Opening the door to the club we were greeted by Jacob, Dani and Bruno, that latter was flipping his knife with a grin on his face.

"Enjoy your private dance Y/N?" Bruno asked me as we walked down the street towards the checkpoint that would take us back to Bel-Air.

"Let's just say I'm now addicted to the way he moves"

[mr-camhed]

Name: Tailgater

Age: 4.64 million years

Gender: male

Faction: Decepticon

Assigned Forces: Decepticon army, 212th Urban Assault Battalion, Karashni squad

Role: lieutenant

Motto: "What's more suitable for relaxation after battle than cleaning up trash after war?"

Personality: Tailgater is a really nasty piece of work. He does not hesitate to aim a sniper Rifle at medics and rockets at civilians. To him, murdering non-combatants, medics and even wounded, no matter The species or allegiance, is an incomparable kind of relaxation. However, this caused him to lose his chances of promotion as The act of killing potential prisoner, recruit, logistics personnel and even fellow officers just because they aren't carrying weapon in the opens is still frowned upon even by Decepticons, and the frustration he had accumulated would be then be unleashed upon more combatants and his own men, which only worsens his chances.

Alternate mode: Tailgater transforms into a navy Blue first Generation Audi A8 Sedan.

Appearance: Tailgater is about 6.7meters tall and has a transformation scheme similar to Bayverse Que/Wheeljack. His headsculpt is similar to that of Energon Kickback, with a faceplate similar to Bruticus Maximus. His robot mode part's main color is gray, with rare accents of teal and silver.

Weaponry: Taigater is rather strong, but is only of average intelligence. Under vehicle mode, Tailgater has a top speed of 274 kilometres per hour, and has a notable advantage on durability and acceleration, but his handling suffered from a soft suspension. And under both vehicle and robot mode, his headlights can emit a concentrated beam of energy that can disable and even melt optical equipments, a Machine gun mounted on his front fender/shoulder and a missile launcher on his outside shin/rear fenders and two mine launchers on The back of his shins/both side of his rear bumper. In robot mode, Tailgater also has a variety of weaponry provided to him by Bulwark or his unnamed benefactor including electromagnetic sniper rifle with a variety of ammunition such as anti armor fragmentation shot, heavy duty missile launcher with a variety of warheads such as scraplet, cosmic rust and other biochemical warheads, railgun scattergun, plasma assault rifle, nucleon bomb and so on.

Character Biography: Tailgater from Rodion was a forged from a high caste house. He has been a bully since he was a sparkling, and the tolerance from his guardians due to his status only boldens him. However, he was forcibly sent to the military school when he wounded a Senator in a prank go wrong, and was regarded as a good team leader although he is slightly bad in discipline and may be a promising member of the military. However, Tailgater would later be kicked out from the academy as the fall guy when he and a group of his fellow cadets started a bar fight with several recently unemployed miners transported back from Messetine that ended in The death of a cadet, several miners (many of whom were shot by the police when they responded or later died in custody due to "unknown circumstances", while several were shot and killed by Tailgater and his fellow cadets when things seems to go bad for them) and an innocent bystander that was thrown down to the streets below by his fellow cadet Onslaught for getting into his way.

Luckily for Tailgater, he was approached by Zeta, the Senator he had wounded before, to work for him in clearing out people they considered troublesome. He would be responsible of or at least taken part of incidents such as the attack on Rodion Police station, The Institute Conspiracy, the assassination of Sentinel Prime and probably the most notorious incident, The False flag Raid on The great Archives and attempted assassination of Orion Pax, in which he was responsible for leading the other thugs in attacking the archive while disguised as Decepticon Terrorists and flush Orion Pax to an area where he can be sniped by a prepositioned assassin.

Tailgater took this job with a Machine gun and glee, as Orion has been a thorn in his side since The bar fight where he dared to arrest him and his cohorts for "putting those dirty obsolete peasants into their place", and takes testimony from the miners instead of them; and also obstructs him whenever he was helping the Senate to "make Cybertron a better place" by cleaning out factors of social instability and trash parasites, even almost catching them after their assassination of Sentinel Prime and forced them to hide in the sea of rust after their getaway transport crashed and flipped over.

However, despite Tailgater and the goons were able to drive Orion pax to the designated area through massacring archivists, security, other staff and even occasional visitors of the archive, blocking Alternate exits with arson, explosives and traps, and left graffitis and gruesome display of corpses to make the blame on the Decepticons more convincing, the assassin would hesitate at her shot and failed to kill the intended target; which Tailgater just decided to do by himself. So under the cover of his fellow thug Timereckon, he bursted into The room, and opened fire on Orion while he was mourning The Death of his friend, mentor and Head archivist Codexa. However, Orion would fight back, killing Timereckon when he was rammed into a wall by Pax in truck mode, and crushed to death, before Pax was shot up and gravely wounded by Tailgater.

Unfortunately for Tailgater, before he could finish his goal, he was tackled by Ariel(who has been friend with Orion pax since they were in the emergency department together, at The time was a volunteer assistant archivist alongside Pax and would later become the leader of Autobot operations in Decepticon occupied areas of Cybertron during The war, although it is nothing beyond speculation that they were romantically involved), who was able to knock him over, and before he could attempt to draw his sidearm or knife, the other survivors would also gang up on him and knocking his lights out by beating, kicking, and bludgeoning him with furnitures and even his own Machine gun. And with Orion Pax escaped and out of The reach of the Senate, Tailgater was once again a scapegoat, this time he was tried as a Decepticon Terrorist and sentenced to death.

However, before the execution could be carried out, the prison facility he was held in was raided by the Decepticons who were breaking out several felons they were looking to recruit into their ranks, including Monstructor Six, Bludgeon and Shockwave. Many more prisoners and even guards(such as the Combaticons who were fellow cadets with Tailgater) would join the Decepticon Cause that day, including Tailgater. Afterwards, he would participate in many raids against the Senate and Cybertronian Infrastructures.

He was also present during the Kaon Riots where he participated in the massacre of Senators and their associates, and witnessed the Death of Zeta Prime in the hands of Megatron, the subsequent fight between Megatron and Orion Pax which saw Orion Badly wounded by Megatron's fusion cannon before being resurrected before being chosen by the Matrix of Leadership to become the new Prime.

He would then be a part of the battle of Nyon which signified the beginning of the Great war, and the early stages of the war.

However, he was forced to leave the Frontline when he shot and killed a Decepticon staff officer in the aftermath of the battle of Sherma Bridge where he mistaken the officer as an Autobot Medic which he had previously blinded, and was reassigned to the Deception Prison Colony of Styx, and later Fort Straxus in Darkmount and the Grindcore Prison Camp by the time if the Simanzi Massacre as a perimeter guard and sometimes(not enough in his own opinion) executioner.

Fortunately for him, by the time of the attack on Kimia Station, he was allowed back to the frontline where he was a part of the 212th Urban Assault Battalion where he was Assigned over several Genericons, Vehicons and a Couple of Seekers as a squad that participated in the battle of Karash where they wreaked havoc on the Autobots' logistics and local population's support, which earned them the title of Karashni Squad. He would then rope another Decepticon named Bulwark who was an Armorer into his squad, and by the conclusion of the Earth Campaign where Megatron announced his surrender to the Autobot Authorities, the end of the war and Dissolution of Decepticon and its Causes, Tailgater was among the ones that refused to admit defeat and continued to wage war on Autobots, Neutrals, Decepticons who had accepted defeat, and biological lifeforms. However, this time, he seems to have begun working for a mysterious benefactor who he seems to have known from way back…

Weakness: Tailgater has no notable physical Weakness except for the headlights and his handling which suffered from a soft suspension; but his constant misbehavement and tendency to draw enemies makes his subordinates less and less willing to follow his command.

Commentary: you won't understand how may times Hellsite sh*t itself and lost my progress on this. It just refuses to save progress after he got in jail for some reason. write anything about him joining the Deception, save, and "something went wrong". Anything else, "saved successfully". Fuck you, Tumblr

[wanderingnewyork]

From 2018: The Main Street-Flushing Station on the No. 7 line, #Queens

#New_York_City_Subways

#mtanyctransit

[atomic-two-sheds]

Okay, since @bluestockingbaby expressed interest from an earlier note, here's a personal story involving, but not centered on, Garth Brooks. It's long and convoluted, so I'll put it below the cut. Names changed, yadda yadda.

So, spring of my sophomore year of college, some friends and I decided to go get food at 1AM. This limited our choices, because we went to school in the middle of nowhere (having grown up there), and there were precisely two places in the entire county open after midnight. So Dave and I piled into Jim's car and headed out to Hardee's (AKA Carl's Jr. for the rest of the country), which served breakfast after midnight.

Now step one of this is to get on the main road through the tiny town in which our college sat, follow said road for about nine miles, and that put you right in the center of my hometown where the restaurant was. It's the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, and we're the only people on the road.

We get cut off.

Not three minutes into the drive, someone in a pickup jumps out ahead of us from a side street, close enough that Jim has to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting him. Mildly annoyed at this, especially given that the road was wide open otherwise, Jim lightly taps his horn in a "c'mon, man" gesture. He doesn't lay it in, hit it multiple times or anything. Just a quick beep. A minute later, the guy pulls off the road, waits for us to pass, and pulls back on behind us. From there, he begins maintaining about two car lengths of distance from us. We speed up, he speeds up. We slow down, he slows down. We come to the conclusion that he's now following us. Odds are decent he was heading the way we were anyway; I mean, there's one main road, with maybe two major spots to turn off for most of the drive. We're three big dudes in a car, but anyone who might decide to follow a stranger on the road in the middle of the night is probably more than we want to handle. So, we decide on a test. There's an all-night gas station right as you get into town where we're heading. Plenty of light, cameras, etc. We'll pull in there, circle around to the rear pumps, and if he pulls in after, we'll zip out the other exit and head in another direction.

We pull off, he pulls off behind us. By the time he pulls around back, we're out the other side and headed back the way we came. Okay, late-night biscuits are out, but the other place that's open is on the previous turn, and we can head there. It's a Waffle House in all but name. Same shape, same general menu, same atmosphere. It's a late-night diner where the late shift is run by an ancient German immigrant who was the type to bounce drunks without help and give free drinks to her favorites. It was a Friday, so there were good odds they'd be busy, and they were also across the street from the State Police Depot (Fun fact; a few years prior the police station had moved across town. The restaurant, which had been next door, moved with it to help reduce response times.). It was the kind of place that had armed security on the weekend, but the food was good.

On our way to the restaurant, I set forth an idea. Let us not go to this place; nay, let us go to The Pancake House.

The Pancake House was a nigh-legendary 24-hour restaurant about a 45-minute interstate drive away. It had a statue of a large Japanese cowboy outside. I'm certain that the cowboy was not originally intended to be Japanese, but the person who painted the eight-foot waving behemoth was having none of it. "This cowboy is from Japan," he must have said, "as all giant and powerful cowboys should be."

Jim protested; he didn't have the gas to make the trip and travel home that weekend; I, flush with scholarship money, said I would supply the needed cash. With that, the other two agreed, and we turned away from the diner an onto the nearby interstate, headed North.

Now, I will preface this part of the discussion with the note that companion Dave is a lying liar who lies. Mostly, this was the bullshitting type of lie, making fantastical stories and such to puff himself up. You could hear anything out of his mouth, but given all our backgrounds, we could gauge the odds of truth pretty well.

Almost immediately upon merging onto the interstate, Dave had to go to the bathroom. Being the middle of nowhere, there aren't exactly a lot of exits to pull over and find a place. The closest exit is about fifteen miles away, one of those restaurant/truck stop/state rest stop areas you find where there's nothing else. He whines and whines until we get there. It's deserted with the exception of a large bus at the end of the lot.

Dave goes in and does his business. When he comes out, he says, "Guys, I think I just took a piss next to Garth Brooks." Knowing Dave, we call bullshit. He expounds, "No, seriously! I go in the bathroom, and there's two guys standing on either side of a closed stall door. Now I figure [homophobic supposition redacted], so I'm trying to do my business and get the hell out. That's when "Friends in Low Places" comes on over the muzak, and the dude in the stall laughs in the same voice."

We continue to express doubt as Jim starts the car back up and begins pulling out. At that point a lone figure in a t-shirt and sweatpants jogs from the building, across the lot, and climbs onto the bus.

It was Garth Motherfuckin' Brooks. I don't know if the toilet on his tour bus was busted, or if he just wanted to stretch his legs, or what, but he was in a truck stop on the highway in the middle of the night. The next day we checked his tour schedule; where he was the night before and would be the night after was a straight line through where we were. Dave earned some credibility with that one.

So we continue our trek for pancakes, because the night was far from over. We arrive in the shadow of the Japanese Cowboy and go in to be seated. This is long enough ago that we land in the smoking section, because Dave and Jim both had the habit. While we're waiting on our food, Dave locks eyes with a guy across the room, and they both look away quickly. "Shit," he says. "Guys, that's my uncle."

Jim says, "Uh-oh. Are you afraid he's going to rat you out to your parents for smoking?"

"Nah, I think I'm in the clear. That's not his wife he's eating with."

Food comes, food is uneventful outside of occasional uneasy glances between Dave and his uncle, and we decide to return home. It's now something like 5AM. Once again, because middle of nowhere, we have to go to the town we were originally headed to to get to an ATM so I could provide the promised gas money. I get the bills, pass them to Jim, and he tucks them in the car visor for safekeeping. We head toward the school, and decide to take a winding back road for fun, because we've all been up for like 20 hours, full of syrup, youth, and hubris, and what could go wrong?

As we are winding down the tree-lined road in the mountains, we pass what can only be described as a lot of clean-stripped deer skeletons by the side of the road. Like, not a ton, but more than one should reasonably expect, which is none. Not carcasses, or roadkill, or scattered bones, but whole, clean skeletons. Which, as any country person can tell you, isn't a thing that happens naturally. We all confirmed with each other that we had seen it, confirmed with each other that it was both weird and terrifying, and decided that we would not speak of it again for fear of drawing the attention whatever crazy bastard would do that. We drove the road again a few days later; no skeletons. I don't know if that was good or not.

As the winding back road merged back onto the main road close to our school, I should note that this road runs along a ridgeline. There are no wind breaks, there are no trees, nothing. You get the full force of whatever weather is going on. For some reason, Jim rolls down his window to catch the morning breeze. Turns out there's some serious wind going on, and the gas money blows out the window. We pull over, and search frantically for the cash as the sun comes up. No dice. We probably searched for a half hour along this narrow two-lane as cars and trucks blew past. We're afraid it went over the ridge, or got caught on the tire of another car, or something. I beg off the search, desperate for sleep, which angers Jim because he needs the money, but he relents and we head back. We go to the dorms and call our respective girlfriends (this is pre-ubiquitous cell phones) to meet us at the cafeteria for a snack before we collapse. Dave and I head back to our rooms. Jim heads back out to search for the money, and finds it immediately on a stretch of road we checked a dozen times.

Not the only odd stuff that happened in that crew of people, but this is probably the longest single chain of connected events out of all of them.

[acteur-dramatique]

Chapter Fourteen: Evening Walk

Around 5 PM, TJ stepped out of his dorm, feeling the need to clear his head. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long, golden rays that painted shadows across the campus walkways. The trees, in their late-autumn glory, glimmered in shades of deep green, gold, rich brown, vibrant orange, and even the occasional dark purple. The colors softened in the light, giving the campus an almost dreamlike atmosphere, but TJ’s mind was anything but calm.

As he walked along the familiar pathways, his thoughts drifted back to Chase. The way he’d felt around him earlier, the magnetism of his smile, the warmth he brought into the room—it all felt so vivid. There was a subtle spark there, a feeling he couldn’t explain or ignore. But as soon as he acknowledged it, a sense of confusion took over, throwing him into a spiral he wasn’t prepared for.

I’m not… he started to tell himself, but the thought trailed off as he remembered the way his heart had raced, the flush that rose to his cheeks whenever Chase’s gaze lingered. He’d dated girls in high school, he reminded himself—nice girls, ones who made him laugh and who his friends liked. But with them, he had never felt this raw pull, this sense of being seen in a way that both comforted and excited him.

The path led him away from the main campus buildings, past a line of trees that shaded the trail toward town. He could see the small shops of the town square coming into view, the lights in their windows just starting to glow against the fading daylight. TJ paused for a moment, his footsteps slowing as he stared out at the scene before him, trying to make sense of his thoughts.

Maybe it’s not about being gay or straight, he thought. Maybe… maybe it’s just about feeling connected, feeling drawn to someone in a way I can’t control. But even as he thought this, he could feel the weight of years of assumptions pressing in, the expectations he’d always had about himself and who he was supposed to be.

He let out a sigh, feeling the first flickers of doubt fade into something more honest. Whatever this was with Chase—whatever these feelings meant—he knew he couldn’t keep pushing them away. There was something real here, something undeniable, and he wasn’t sure he could keep lying to himself just because it felt unfamiliar.

The street lights began to flicker on as the sun finally disappeared behind the trees, casting a warm, welcoming glow along the sidewalks. The chirping of crickets filled the evening air, grounding him in the simple beauty of the moment. TJ turned back toward campus, letting the quiet sounds of the evening calm his racing thoughts.

As he passed the Casey’s gas station, its neon sign blinking against the dusk, TJ took a deep breath, feeling a small sense of peace settle in. He didn’t have all the answers, but he was starting to understand that maybe he didn’t need them—not yet, anyway. This feeling, this connection to Chase—it was a part of his journey, even if he didn’t know where it would lead.

With the crickets singing their song and the warm glow of campus lights guiding him back, TJ walked on, his heart a little lighter, his mind a little more open, ready to see what this new chapter of his life might bring.

[buttercupkg66]

Brandon Harris, 35, was charged with attempted murder and assault in the attack.

[valerienrhapsody]

Chapter 5: Logan's

Jericho was behind them, the familiar glow of lights from above the treeline growing smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. The classic rock station on the radio became garbled with every mile, eventually dissolving into complete static, drenching the space between them in silence. Jesse seemed content to stew in his own thoughts, his face almost completely impassive except for a single crease worried between his golden brows. Evaine could only stare out the window as they drove, making note of street signs and landmarks as she tried to figure out exactly where they were going, her mind swimming with a mess of chaotic thoughts and questions, none of them quite able to summon the fear she knew was deserving of the situation. 

Their destination turned out to be a little roadside bar out in the middle of nowhere, hidden behind the building of a gas station convenience store where no passersby would be able to see it without going out of their way. There were no signs or advertisements as would be expected from a place of business, and in fact the only reason Evaine knew it had to be a bar was a notice posted beside the door which read “No patrons under the age of 21” alongside a quotation of the local liquor laws. There were only a few cars and bikes parked along the dirt lot out front, and over the entry there was a dirt and moss caked sign which read LOGAN’S.

One hour, forty-five minutes. Evaine took a deep breath to steady herself as she read the clock on the dash. Almost home.

“Remember when you said you’d follow my lead?” Jesse asked as they pulled into the lot, effectively cutting off their view of the main road. He seemed just as cool and collected as ever on the outside, but his tone had taken on an added measure of caution and control. 

“Yeah?” Evaine answered as a question, feeling a pang of anxiety as she looked up at the building just outside the window. She didn’t know what made her more nervous: walking into a room full of people while she looked like such a mess, or whatever it was that had suddenly put Jesse on edge.

Jesse shut off the car and twisted in his seat to face her, opening his mouth to speak before something about her caught his attention. His eyes narrowed and darkened, his mouth clamping shut with a definitive click, and he reached out to touch the space just behind her left ear. His touch sent a shock of cold that zapped from her neck all the way down her spine, and when he pulled his hand away, his fingers bore a smear of blood that she had left behind from her efforts to clean up. Evaine sucked in a small breath at the sight of it, a brief wave of nausea swirling over her, but Jesse seemed to come back to himself at the sound and quickly closed his fist over the blood, offering her a small twitch of an almost remorseful smile.

“You look like sharkbait,” he said, hinting at some joke that Evaine was in no space of mind to comprehend. “Listen, just do me a favor and try to keep your head down, don’t look anyone in the eye, don’t speak to anyone. This crowd isn’t so good with strangers…or boundaries. We’re going to make this as fast as possible; I don’t want to linger any longer than necessary.”

She couldn’t agree more with that plan, although his warning left her curious as to what sort of people warranted that level of caution. Sharkbait, he called her. If he thought she was the bait, were they the sharks?

As they left the car, Jesse taking the lead walking toward the entrance, the sounds of chatter and clinking glasses wafted out through the open windows. It sounded much like a bar should, if a little quiet for a Friday night, and yet Jesse’s shoulders were tensely set as they approached the door, his jaw clenched hard enough that Evaine could see the muscle working below his skin. What the hell was going on?

“Stay close,” he instructed, reaching one arm across her to bridge the distance between them, bringing her flush against his side. He had no warmth to give her, and beneath the smell of old blood, wet dirt, and new car, there was something musky and withered that she couldn’t quite place. “Whatever you do, try not to stare.”

Evaine nodded without giving much thought to his actual words, still caught off guard by the casual way he had touched her without warning; it made her feel unsteady on her own two feet, unsure of what to do with her hands or where to direct her gaze. No time to fret about it, however, as Jesse pushed open the door of the bar, sending an abrupt hush through a room which had been full of voices a moment ago.

Forgetting his warning, Evaine reflexively cast her eyes about the room, taking in the scattered display of tables and chairs, booths lining the walls under low-hanging lamps, the polished bartop and shelves of glittering bottles against the back wall. There couldn’t have been more that twenty or so people, sitting or standing around—Evaine was sure her classes at school were more crowded than this—but she didn’t get a chance to take a closer look before Jesse moved ahead of her, angling his body so he was partially covering her own, and she remembered she was meant to be keeping her head down. She let her eyes drop to stare at the hardwood floor and kept pace as the two of them entered the bar.

As they moved forward, the voices tentatively resumed their conversations, but the cadence was different from before, the words more hushed and secretive. She caught just enough “who is that” and “look at the blood” that she knew everyone was talking about them. It was a strange feeling, considering most people in Jericho never looked at her twice, and to suddenly be thrust into the center of attention made her skin prickle with awareness of all the eyes on her. She felt vulnerable even as she cowered behind Jesse’s form, altogether exposed to their scrutiny.

They hadn’t gotten five steps into the room, just passing the nearest table, when a foot suddenly shot out in Evaine’s path, obviously meaning to trip her. Because she had already been looking down, she was spared from a full-on tumble, but still took a stuttering step to catch herself, grasping at Jesse’s arm for balance.

“I’m so sor—” she began to say in a knee-jerk reaction, looking up to see who’s foot she had just accosted, but the words caught in her throat as she met the eyes of the person sitting at the table. 

Yellow eyes. Glowing yellow. The seemingly human face below those eyes split into a grin as if the man they belonged to knew what she was thinking and delighted in her shock.  Sitting across the table from him was a woman who seemed more irritated by the interruption, and she tapped her long, sharpened nails against the wood surface in an impatient tempo. No, not nails. Bones, Evaine realized with a horrified gasp; the tips of pure bone were growing from the woman’s knuckles, filed down into perfect spikes at the ends.

Jesse’s grip around her waist suddenly tightened, dragging her back to his side as he quickly put space between them and the odd pair at the table. Evaine clamped her jaw shut to hold back the barrage of questions threatening to burst out of her, or perhaps it was just a long overdue scream of fright that was now stuck in her throat.

“Stay cool,” Jesse reminded her in a low murmur. They had reached the bar at the far end of the room, and he pulled out a stool for her. “Have a seat; I haven't seen my friend just yet.”

Evaine did as he said, her hands shaky and uncoordinated as she gripped the edge of the stool. She had been perfectly fine just a moment ago, dealing with the sudden violence of the evening as well as could be expected, but now it seemed she was deteriorating into full-blown hallucinations as her mind struggled to make sense of those yellow eyes, those bone fingers. She wanted to cry for the want to go home, to laugh at the absurdity of it all, to scream into the faces of everyone who still stared at her “What the hell is going on? How are you not freaking out?” It was only Jesse’s steady presence beside her that kept her rooted to her seat rather than bolting out the door.

“Logan, how goes it?” Jesse said to the man standing on the other side of the bartop, his voice far more pleasant than it had been a moment ago.

Following his gaze, Evaine found the bartender standing across from them, and she had to lean back to get a full view of him. He was a great beast of a man, taller than the average person by two heads, with a mane of brown and gray hair loosely tied at the nape of his neck. She couldn’t tell where his beard ended and his chest hair began as all of it was spilling out the collar and sleeves of his stained yellow shirt. He was looking down at her, his honey-colored eyes sharply focused on her as she shrank before him. Everything about his face that might indicate his mood or attitude was hidden by that forest of hair.

“Well, well…what have you brought me, Mr. Rayne?” the bartender asked, his voice as broad as a boulder rumbling through his cavernous chest. His eyes moved away from her face to look over her blood-matted hair, the smears of red by her ears where she couldn’t quite wipe it all away.

“My patronage and nothing more,” Jesse replied casually enough, but Evaine was able to recognize the thin line of tension that hinted at a warning. “The lady is my guest.”

“You’re no fun,” Logan said, his teasing tone coming out more like the echo of distant thunder than anything friendly or endearing.

Jesse laughed for a moment and shook his head, seeming to accept Logan’s humor as innocent, and his golden hair released a few flakes of red with the motion of it. “Hey, have you seen Louis around?”

“He called earlier to hold a table. Haven’t seen him,” Logan answered with a shrug that made his hair audibly ripple. 

Evaine listened to them speaking back and forth to each other like perfectly comfortable friends, and she finally started to relax. Nothing would really be okay until they were in the car and headed back to Jericho, but at least for the moment, nothing bad was happening.

One hour, forty minutes.

“Excuse me, miss?”

The voice came from just beside her, opposite from where Jesse stood, and Evaine felt herself instinctively freeze to keep from looking over. She finally believed that he had been right to tell her to keep her head down, and she didn’t care how rude it made her seem—she was going to ignore everyone but him until they were out of the bar.

“Miss?” the voice said again, more insistent this time.

It was much harder to ignore when the newcomer seemed to be demanding her attention, so she looked to Jesse, hoping that he would intervene on her behalf, but he wasn’t looking at her. He didn’t seem to have noticed the speaker at all, which felt impossible as their voice was so loud in her ear. He continued his conversation with Logan, oblivious to the presence on her other side.

“Young lady, you look at me when I’m talking to you!” the voice boomed, echoing from one ear to the other like a punch to the brain. It was only then, when she reacted in fear while nobody else seemed to notice, that Evaine realized the voice had been in her head the entire time.

She opened her mouth to call out to Jesse for help, but the words caught in her throat when a thin hand snaked into view, grasping her by the chin with nails that dug into her cheeks. It forced her head to turn toward the newcomer who had been speaking to her in her mind, and her stomach almost dropped right out of her.

The creature sitting beside her was the cruel imitation of a woman with skin so pale that it verged on blue, hanging on her skeleton without an ounce of true flesh. Her inky black hair draped around her shoulders in two oily curtains, and her smile was far too big without any gums to speak of. The most unsettling part, Evaine thought, was the twin empty hollows in her skull where her eyes should have been, just two craters like the skin there was being sucked in toward her brain.

“Hello, little flower,” the woman said out loud, her voice sounding filtered and far away. The hand on Evaine’s face dragged down, light as running water, until her thin fingers brushed against her throat. The sharp taste of acid climbed up toward her mouth in response. “Such a cruel thing to ruin this pretty neck…what kind of heartless beast…”

The face of the man outside the monster house flashed through her mind, his strong hands crushing her throat, slowly squeezing the life out of her. In a flurry of panic, Evaine snatched the hand at her throat and tore it away. Surprise flickered across the other woman’s grotesque face, but Evaine refused to release her wrist, gripping it with all the strength she had, sure she would leave nail marks before the panic could subside.

Jesse seemed to have finally taken notice of what was happening, but Evaine could barely hear whatever he was saying while her own blood rushed in her ears, filled with her terror of the woman, but more so at the images and feelings resurfacing by such a brazen touch of her neck. She would claw that memory out with her bare hands if she could.

“Do not…touch…me,” she ground out through clenched teeth. Where Jesse had been so good at hiding subtle warnings in his polite words, she let her threat ring loud and clear, hanging in the air between them. 

The woman grinned, her long teeth filling up almost half of her face, before she retracted her hand with a little jerk. She stood up and began to walk away, her white slip of a dress barely clinging to her skeletal frame. 

She turned over her shoulder as she left, calling, “Good night…Miss Dawson.” Evaine was too upset, chest heaving with the rush of her anger and fear, to even wonder why the woman knew her name.

After she’d had a moment to take a deep breath and calm down from the encounter, Evaine righted herself on the barstool, surprised to see Logan leaning across the bar with one hand extended to stop Jesse from intervening as he’d apparently been about to. They were both frozen in shock, giving her the most incredulous of stares.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Jesse said quickly, cutting off Logan who was also about to say something. He reached up to shove away the bartender’s hand since the danger had apparently passed. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Braver than me,” Logan said with a surprised huff of laughter. It sounded as if he was trying to keep his voice low, but that wasn’t a realistic effort in his case. 

“Getting into trouble already, are we?” said a new voice from behind them.

“Hey, Louis,” Logan greeted with a nod of acknowledgement. 

Evaine only turned around when Jesse did, and the man standing there was thankfully ordinary, sharply dressed in a cobalt suit with a glittering gold watch and shiny leather shoes. His dark hair was cut in an expert fade, the top slicked back in an old-fashioned sort of style, his pride showing through the apparent effort. His eyes passed over her only for a moment, quickly looking away either out of politeness or disinterest, but it was long enough for Evaine to catch a glimpse of that same odd red glint as she had seen in Jesse’s eyes.

“Finally,” Jesse said, reaching out to shake the new man’s hand. “And not a minute too soon. How are you?”

“Fine, thanks,” Louis answered, reaching across the bar to extend a similar greeting to Logan. Evaine thought she heard an accent there, but it was faint enough that she couldn’t place it. “Who’s the bird?”

“Long story,” Jesse told him, shooting him a look that gave every indication that he didn’t want to be overheard. “We should sit.”

By way of invitation, Louis held out one hand in the direction of an empty booth off to the side, and Jesse tapped Evaine’s shoulder to tell her it was time to move. As they walked, Louis said to Logan, “A round, if you will.”

Jesse let Evaine slide into the booth first so that he could sit as a buffer between her and the rest of the room, and Louis took the seat across from them. Logan came right on their heels to drop off two glasses of something dark that reeked of alcohol, and a water for herself. Something about that struck her as funny, as if the legality of serving alcohol to minors was even a concern to a creature like Logan with such patrons as she’d seen so far. Still, it was nice to wrap her hands around the cold glass, letting the sensation ground her to reality while it felt like everything around her had turned to insanity.

Louis took a quick sip from his drink, giving it a little swirl to let the ice clink against the sides as he said, “I was surprised to get your call tonight; I figured you would have ditched the phone by now. Not worried about being tracked?”

“No, she made it very clear that she can find me whenever she chooses,” Jesse muttered against the rim of his own glass before he took a slow drink. “I thought I’d have a few days to get myself sorted, work out my next move before…well, the situation’s changed.”

“You mean she’s here?” Louis demanded, one corner of his lip curling back in an angry sort of snarl. He glanced down at Jesse’s bloodied clothes with new understanding. “What has she done now?”

Jesse opened his mouth to answer, but quickly stopped himself by snapping his jaw shut. He pressed one finger to his lips in a shh signal, then made a writing motion with his hand to ask for a pen.

Louis reached into his inner breast pocket to pull out a sleek black pen with gold lettering printed on the side, and he seemed sorry to hand it over. Jesse took it without noticing his friend’s expression, and then grabbed one of the napkins Logan had brought for their drinks. He didn’t bother shielding his note from Evaine as he wrote, even though he did angle himself to keep it secret from anyone who might happen to pass by their table.

Jensen Calloway is dead

He folded the napkin and passed it across the table to Louis, along with the pen. The other man took just as much care to read it in secret, seeming to go over the line again and again like he couldn’t quite make sense of it, and then his eyes widened with shock. It only lasted for a moment, however, and then he recomposed himself with a nervous grunt to clear his throat.

“I see,” he said, passing the note back like he wanted nothing more to do with it. 

Jesse picked up his glass to spill a little of the liquid over the napkin, watching as the words smeared and lost form until they were unreadable. Then, he and Louis both raised their glasses to clink in the middle, and they downed their drinks in one gulp each.

“How did it happen?” Louis asked when he set his glass down. His brow was knit in a stern expression as he pointedly avoided looking at the now soggy napkin sitting on the table.

“I’ll tell you everything somewhere a little more private,” Jesse promised, giving his friend a knowing look. “First and foremost, I need a cleaning crew up at the house as soon as possible. I did what I could, but I don’t even have running water, so my hands are kind of tied here.”

“Better for you to leave it alone. In fact, get a hotel for now; let my people handle it,” Louis said, reaching down to pull a cell phone from the pocket of his slacks. He tapped the screen a few times, then nodded to Jesse in confirmation. “They’re on their way. What about the girl?”

Evaine’s heart suddenly leapt into her throat, knowing the time had come to learn of her fate in all this. By the way Louis was refusing to look her way, by the conspiratorial tone of his voice, she feared that he was of a mind to dispose of the only witness to Jesse’s crime.

“The girl is here because…” Jesse’s eyes flicked once to Evaine, then quickly dropped to look down where his hands rested on the table. His fingers splayed and rubbed together like he was feeling for something on his skin, and he said, “He came to the house for me, but he dropped everything to take out some random kid passing through. All he did was touch her hand, and it was like he forgot all about me; turned his back, distracted, and that was that. Louis, you’ve always been more…perceptive than me, so I need you to touch her.”

“What?” Evaine blurted shrilly, remembering only at the last moment to watch her volume. Louis glanced at her with surprise as if it hadn’t occurred to him that she could speak until she deigned to interrupt. “That’s why I had to come out here with you? I could’ve been home by now!”

“Will you just trust me for a minute?” Jesse said in a scolding whisper, casting an eye at the other patrons of the bar to see if anyone had noticed the outburst. He took up a whisper when he spoke to Evaine, cupping his hand over the side of his face so that his words wouldn’t carry. “I saw enough of what happened to know that he wasn’t trying to hurt you until he touched your hand. I, for one, want to know why. Don’t you?”

Evaine fell quiet, not wanting to give him an inch of grace while she felt so hot tempered, but his decision to drag her along with him, to bring the matter to an impartial friend, the way he had interrogated her immediately after it happened suddenly made a lot more sense. It had been something about her that made that man try to kill her earlier, and it was the echo of his rough, hateful voice, “Say goodnight, freak” that kept her from arguing any further.

“Everything went down so fast, I had no idea what to do or what to make of it all,” Jesse continued to explain, this time to Louis. “When I touched her earlier, I thought there was something, but I’m not sure what to make of it. I figured that you might have an easier time of it.”

Louis arched an eyebrow, but with a teetering nod he seemed to accept Jesse’s logic. He turned to give Evaine his full attention for the first time, and extended his hand to her, knuckles littered with little lines of long-faded scars and the edge of a gold watch peeking from beneath his sleeve. “Miss…I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name. Please, allow me to be of assistance.”

Evaine uncertainly nodded her consent to the test, reaching out to accept his hand. His touch was too cold for the warm environment of the bar, but his grip was loose in a way that seemed meant to keep Evaine at ease. There was a long pause in which Louis closed his eyes and turned his ear toward her as if to listen to her breathing, and it felt eerily similar to that moment on the driveway of the monster house when Jesse had so intently examined her in the moonlight. Then, that moment passed and his eyes flew open with a look of surprise.

“That’s curse magic,” he concluded, tearing his hand away from her like he thought she might be contagious. “I don’t deal with curses, Jesse. Messy business.”

Evaine’s hand remained dangling in mid-air, too dumbfounded to move until she let it drop limply to the table. She couldn’t tell if it was meant to be a joke or not, even though the expression on Louis’ face was as serious as it had ever been. But it had to be a joke, or a code word of some kind, because there was no way he could have just said something as outlandish as curse magic and meant…magic. 

Yellow eyes. Bone nails. No eyes. Evaine gripped the cool glass of water in front of her once more as her head swam with nausea, struggling to make sense of the picture being laid out before her. No, she decided for herself, she had to be missing something, or perhaps they were. Magic wasn’t real, and even if there were such things as curses, there was no way it had anything to do with her. She was too ordinary, her life was too simple, and anything symptomatic of a curse would have stuck out like a sore thumb. She thought Jesse would have automatically come to the same conclusion, but there he was nodding his agreement with Louis.

“What does that mean?” she asked, her voice coming out as a meager whisper in her too-dry throat, but neither man seemed to hear her. Her grip on her water glass tightened as the anxiety danced across her nerves.

“Chelle might fare better in this matter, if you really want answers,” Louis was saying, and he offered his friend an apologetic wince at the mention of the name.

“What do you mean cur—”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” Jesse said with a reluctant sigh, again unable to hear Evaine’s barely-there croak. “That, however, is a matter best saved for after we get that body off my lawn, but thanks for trying. Let’s get this night over with, shall we?”

There was a soft crunch and clinking as the water glass shattered under Evaine’s grip. The two men immediately froze as they had been preparing to depart, and they looked down at the water slowly spreading across the table top. 

Evaine looked down at her palm, a thin slice beginning to bloom red where the glass had cut her. She hadn’t even felt how tight her grip was, but her fingertips had gone completely white under the force of it, and there was an ache in her knuckles that was quickly overshadowed by the sharp sting of the cut. 

“Ow…” she said, more as an afterthought than from any real pain. She looked up to ask for a napkin, but stopped when she saw the expression on their faces.

They both stared openly at the small wound on her hand, at the blood that was barely enough to form a single droplet. Jesse’s jaw clenched tightly, and when he finally tore his eyes away, it was Louis that he sought out. Louis’s mouth hung slightly agape, the sharp points of his canines protruding past his lips. That strange red in the irises of his eyes was suddenly glaring and bright as if reflecting more light than the little lamp over their booth could give.

“Everything alright, friends?” came the cool rumble of Logan’s voice as he walked up to the table. He had a spray bottle in hand which he instantly used to squirt down the table, the solution within filling the air with a sharp chemical smell. He pulled a fresh looking rag from over his shoulder and handed it Evaine, and she gratefully used it to cover her hand.

“You good, Louis?” Jesse asked, speaking his friend’s name a little sharply.

Louis cleared his throat and patted down his suit jacket to compose himself. He nodded briskly, but didn’t open his mouth to speak again, his eyes pointedly looking away from Evaine.

“Good,” Logan said, casting a glance over his shoulder at the other bar patrons. Only a few people had seemed to notice the disturbance, but they were trying to be discreet about their interest. “Get that bleeder out of my bar or we won’t have peace very long.”

“You’re right about that,” Jesse said, following his line of sight. He finally turned back to address Evaine and said, “I know you want answers, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know, but for right now we need to leave. Can you just trust me for a little longer?”

Evaine gripped the rag against her hand as she looked into his dark pleading eyes, eyes glinting that same red that warned her of a nature far beyond her realm of comfort, and she nodded.