#Man he just wants to grill /ref

[doostyaudi]

Simon in different outfitssss + him having some culture shock whenever he arrives at earth

[bcolfanfic]

hi hi! I’ve been reading all your young vets HC, do you have anymore about rosie and Aiden?

aiden and wosieeee!!!! my babies!!! yes i do!!! have posted this before but just for ref again this is what aiden looks like in my head.

i’ve covered this before but aiden is curt's childhood friend that curt set rosie up with when he was like okay maybe its not that you're bad with woman maybe you dont LIKE women

worked out though <3

aiden has um some of curt's special (terroristic) tendancies lmfao. they grew up together. they are life long friends for a reason. he’s been around the block in the nyc queer community, for lack of a better word.

but rosie mellows him out a little. dating someone with a little daughter will do that to you <3

funny bc he didn’t even want kids like- at all. only even let curt set him up with someone that had one because he didn’t think it would be anything serious.

*loud incorrect buzzer*

was just so enamored from the first dateeee but how nervous and sweet and nerdy rosie was.

and by how when he took him home he finished in his pants and was so apologetic and embarrassed about it that he almost cried lmao.

curt is proud of his foresight in setting them up for the rest of his fucking life. runs that victory lap foreverrrrr.

but yeah. aiden loves the boy bad.

always finding excuses to hang out and like it’s talked about in my recent blurb- tries to go out of his way to include naomi in things too which goes right to rosie’s heart.

rosie also falls hard pretty fast which he struggles with a little. just. scared it’s inevitable that he’s gonna scare him off or turn him off or something. realizes he’d be heartbroken if this didn’t work and is like ohhh no.

there are some. growing pains re: aiden not having a military background and feeling a little out of his depth trying to help him with his hurts from the war.

feels like anything he says or does is going to be Wrong and is scared of making it worse somehow. but talks to curt about it which helps him at least figure out an Approach for next time it comes up.

a lot of rosie’s trauma is surrounding nash’s death (background being: nash started spiraling after some kids he bonded with in the area were killed. went out to smoke in a high risk area that people weren’t supposed to but did anyways now and then. got argumentative when people were like hey man go somewhere else, stayed up there and ended up getting a sniper round in the skull. both rosie and ev were there and saw it </3)

so it also helps aiden help when rosie is a little more open with him about that. carries a wholeee lot of guilt about it. and has some more ‘niche’ triggers related to it that come up every now and then too. (rachel came up with him getting triggered at aiden’s parents house bc his dad asks him for help with grill stuff and he. has a little Moment he gets real embarrassed about after because does not like raw meat smell or appearance texture)

sweet boy. let your boyfriend that’s obsessed with you help- he loves you!!!

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Amor Fati--Chapter 8: Seism

Paul and Maelyn have been trying to keep their relationship under wraps, but it all comes out. Caveat: Neither is their imprint. How long can smooth sailing go on?

Paul Lahote x Black!Fem!OC.

CW: 18+ content (Smut adjacent) in this chapter.

Series Masterlist

Complete Masterlist

The waves crash into the shoreline, threatening to wipe away the lines, threatening to take back into the sea their boundaries of play. But it doesn’t really matter if the faux lines are washed away. There’s very few on the beach besides the pack. Everyone knows when they’d be out of bounds and with Embry as referee, order will be maintained. He wears a whistle around his neck, his black t-shirt taped with a sign that reads, Ref, in Leah’s sharp and clear cursive. The smoke ripples up into the air as Sam and Emily man the grill higher up, aluminum dishes bowing with the weight of the food they’re preparing. This is all in the background, amongst the tap of the feet against a soccer ball. Maelyn manages to fake out Seth, sending him tumbling just for a second. He won’t stay behind for long so Maelyn charges upwards, watching as Leah grins at her approach. 

It’s healthy competition. No one's feelings will be hurt long term. But Maelyn, Quil, and Jared are already down one game. At the very least they need a tie against Leah, Seth, and Jacob. Paul and Jared swapped after the last game with Paul too pissed at the loss to feel safe enough to continue to play. Maelyn saw he wanted to play but he seethed, making the choice to sit in the sidelines rather than cause a scene. A choice she knows most likely hurt to have to make, but he made it and for that, she’s grateful. It’s progress that will carry them closer and closer to their goals and desires. 

What Maelyn is not grateful for is Leah’s attempts to kick the soccer ball out from her feet. They’re not touching, but they do dance up the makeshift field and exchange heated grunts. “C’mon, baby, you can take her!” Paul shouts from the side. 

Leah’s laughter is short and hard from the effort of her run and defense. “Oh, don’t make me sick now, please.” 

Maelyn hears the tease, watching instead as Leah takes a step forward. Right at the outskirts of her periphery Maelyn spies Quil running up the beach, his arms brushing at his side and he lengthens his stride. Maelyn fakes right but Leah doesn’t take the bait. 

“I know your tricks,” Leah laughs. 

Seth’s behind, Maelyn can tell, can feel his presence and she makes quick to strike the ball in the direction she hopes Jared is in. The ball rolls, and Jared captures it. It narrowly avoids Leah and Maelyn exhales. Now it’s a foot race. Leah’s fast. Faster than just about everyone here. Maelyn is a close second but that’s not much when Leah can dust her with a whopping 5 second gap. Jared passes to Quil. Quil and Jacob laugh as they nearly collide but Quil’s a bit more graceful. No one is truly playing a dedicated game of goalie. Instead, it’s a job shared depending on who’s closest to the back quadrant and Maelyn slows just a hair should Leah or Seth attempt to come back down to score again. 

Quil takes his shot, it arches and bounces after its descent, rolling through the orange cones to donate the goal, inching just past the tips of Jacob’s fingers. Jared roars at the score, chasing down the ball before it gets swept up into the ocean. Embry calls outs, “Time! A tie. Anyone care for match point?”

The beach’s air fills with their ragged breathing. Maelyn shakes her head. The tie is more than enough for her. She only played when Leah played and on the opposite teams to keep things as fair as possible. But four games under her belt has her tired. In the gaps of the cloud cover passing overhead, there’s just enough sun to make the day warm. Not that she can tell all that much by her own temperature but the few other kids with their parents further up the beach are dressed in shorts so she takes it as a sign. A white flash of light momentarily swirls in her eyes and she catches the faint winding of the disposable camera. Paul grins at her, the little preview box lined up over his eye. Another flash but she’s prepared this time, a soft grin pulling at the corners of her cheeks. 

“What are you doing?” Maelyn asks. 

“For prosperity's sake,” Paul answers, lowering the camera and pulling a bottle of water from his back pocket. It arches with the flick of his wrist and Maelyn catches it with ease. The camera seemingly disappears to the same pocket the water was from as it’s not resurfaced. “Proud of you. Last goal was tight but you managed unscathed.” 

Maelyn smiles around the gulp of water. “Thanks. You all good now?”

Paul nods at the question, slipping one free hand into hers. “Yeah. I am. Emily did very cautiously hand over a couple burgers and that helped. A lot. Just annoyed I lost though.”

“Maybe you, Embry, and Jared and play a game or something.”

The hum is noncommittal, like Paul’s not deeply set one way or another. “We’ll see. I do have to stop by the Locklear’s before our date tonight and I’d rather not stink too much or have to shower twice.”

“What’s at the Locklear’s?” The family lives about a mile and a half from Paul, and only a half a mile from Maelyn. They were quiet, with their three kids, but nice enough. Maelyn and Paul were both a couple years older than the oldest child, so they weren’t strangers to each other.

Paul starts up towards Sam and Emily, Maelyn pushing into the sand to keep up as her stomach growls deep and low. “Just a leaky kitchen faucet,” Paul answers. “Shouldn’t take more than an hour at most. I think it might be a faulty part, or something’s just not tight enough. Mr. Locklear said it’s a slow drip so it’s not immediate as long as they can get it fixed here soon.”

“I hope it’s an easy fix,” Maelyn notes. She wouldn’t qualify herself as someone well versed in plumbing, but she is handy enough. 

“I think so. And you’re sure you’re okay with a date at Shannon’s? We could go somewhere else. I’m not sure what movies are out, but we could head out there. Or maybe try the new pizza special at Annie’s?”

Maelyn takes the plate Paul extends to her, peering over the array waiting in the foil pan. She takes a fork to pluck up two hamburger buns and a hotdog bun from the stack. “I don’t mind. I really want a rootbeer float.”

“You say that but you are lactose intolerant.” It’s a low tease as he presses a kiss to her cheek, sliding over the bottle of ketchup after she gets her choices of meat onto the appropriate buns. It’s a rather light plate, but Maelyn makes a mental plan to come back for seconds while still having more than enough space for dinner later too. 

“Oh, rich,” Maelyn snorts, shaking at the bottle to get the ketchup to fall towards the nozzle. “Sometimes I worry about what you’re eating. Last night was torture.”

The group howls, having caught the entire conversation between the two of them. Paul secures his arm around her waist, hoisting her up from the ground. It’s not true anger. Not even close. Paul’s face lights up with his amusement. “You take that back,” he hollers. His face is pressed into her back, pressing a kiss into her spine. 

Maelyn laughs from above. “Never.”

“I’ll say it. I’ll reveal everything,” Paul warns, letting her slip gently back down. Her feet hit the ground first and she turns to face him. “I swear I will.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” She smiles as she says it, knowing the worst Paul might be able to cook up is that she still slept with a teddy bear or maybe something about the way she slept. She’d been warned once that at times she talked in her sleep, but never consistently. Most notably when under a lot of stress, she’d pipe up from her sleep state with strange quips about taking ice cream from freezers or about carrots and rabbits. But nothing majorly offense. 

Paul shrugs. “I could be convinced if you keep outing secrets.”

“Stinky farts do not qualify as secrets, baby. Not even in the slightest.”

“That’s what you think.”

The centimeters between them close, lips meeting in quick pecks. But it doesn’t seem to satiate Paul for long. His hands slip further down on her waist, inching ever so slightly down to her ass and Maelyn laughs into the kiss, pulling his hands back up by his wrist. “Not so fast there, tiger,” she whispers against his lips. 

Paul’s teasing growl comes in return before pressing another kiss to her lips. This one is deeper, longer than the others, but tame after the warning. His hands now rest against her cheeks, thumbs rubbing at the bones that rest beneath the fat. Faller cheeks have been Maelyn’s curse since she was a baby. There’s a small commotion, a chorus of greetings that picks up behind them that’s just enough to break apart their kiss. 

“I hope there’s enough for one more.”

Maelyn recognizes the voice, heart racing in her chest. She didn’t think Rachel would be coming back this soon. The end of Rachel’s last letter said that it most likely wouldn’t be until the middle of next week before she’d make it back. Her last final was tougher than anticipated and she’d wanted to get it turned in before making the trek back. It’s not so much Rachel’s return that worried Maelyn rather than the promises she made to Jake. She misses him, but knows how tortured he is currently at the state of things, how he’s still not with Bella like he wants to be, even though he keeps saying it’s okay. And Maelyn’s still hurt, still missing her mother, but the more the days pass, the more understanding seems to build between them. 

Maelyn’s blink is slow as she starts to turn towards Rachel. But she notices the stiffening of Paul’s body against her, arms that were pressed so tightly into her flesh feel like now they’re hovering. “Hi, Rachel,” Maelyn calls out but she flicks her gaze up. 

Paul’s head is hung. He clears his throat, throwing a rather soft, “I’m-I’ll be right back” towards Maelyn before pushing away. 

“Oh, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Rachel hisses. The apology in her tone is evident. But Maelyn watches Paul make a beeline straight for Sam. Emily’s lips are rolled together, eyes growing larger before locking in on Maelyn. The entire pack is frozen. Embry, Seth, Leah, Jared, Quil, and even Jacob all stare with a bit of horror on their faces. 

“Jake said that I could come and it would not be a bummer, but now I’m starting to wonder if he lied to me,” Rachel laughs. 

But all Maelyn can do is watch. Each face that watches her carries a sadness that looks more and more like pity the longer and longer she watches. But why would there be pity? Kim clutches to Jared’s arm and even she too looks horrified. And if Kim is horrified, it must be awful. 

“Paul,” Maelyn calls out. 

He stiffens at his name, but doesn’t turn around. It’s not a great sign. Her heart starts to buzz at the thought. What happened in all of a blink? What could’ve happened in all of a blink? Sam looks up and over Paul’s shoulder. His voice carries as he waves at Maelyn to come in closer. “Mae, can you come here for a second? Rachel, get whatever you want. Sorry about all this. We got caught by surprise. It’s all good. You’re fine.”

“You sure? Because it does not look fine at all.”

“Eat, Rachel,” Sam urges. “It’s fine.”

Maelyn’s feet are carrying her, but she watches. The entire walk over to Sam and Paul she watches the eyes following her. Emily meets her only a couple steps out, hand outstretched for hers. And she catches it now, beneath the crashing waves, a sniffle. 

Paul’s sniffle. His shoulder’s shake. “I-why’d this have to happen?” he hisses. It doesn’t appear to be directed at any one in particular. A general question to the cosmos at best. 

Sam drifts his gaze, only for a second, over the pack. But when his eyes land back on Maelyn, they’re soft and full of regret.  Like he wishes he didn’t have to say or do whatever it is has to say or do. Maelyn knows that look. It's the same one he gave her when Sam told Maelyn about her mother. It’s bad news. It’s always going to be bad news when Sam looks at her like that. “I think you two need to talk,” Sam notes to Maelyn. 

Talk, but Maelyn knows what talk means. Yet, she wishes with everything in her that it’s not true. But why else would Emily be holding her hand this tight? Why would would everyone be staring at her like this? Maelyn tears her hand from Emily, turning now to see Jacob and Leah a couple feet behind her, moving in closer. “Lyn,” Jake starts. His voice cracks, eyes heavy with a kind of sadness that precedes awful news. 

It’s just her nickname. One simple syllable. But it cracks at Maelyn’s chest. She turns back to Paul, who’s facing her now. “Baby, I-” it falls with a crack, a horrible sound from Paul’s throat. 

Right in front of her. It all happened right in front of her and didn’t even see it. Couldn’t have stopped. 

Maelyn turns back to Rachel. She’s being coaxed now by Jared and Kim to fix her plate. They’re promising her that everything is okay. But it’s not okay. Nothing is okay. They have to say that for Rachel’s sake, not for Maelyn. 

“You, right then and there?” Maelyn questions. They have to be careful. Though, in the end, it won’t really matter. Paul will tell her. Rachel will be brought into the fold. She’ll learn about the vampires and the wolves. She’ll know everything that Maelyn does. Rachel will take everything Maelyn built. 

“Baby,” Paul tries again, reaching for her hand. 

Maelyn’s not a wild animal. Not always. But right now she can see the way Emily and Sam are slipping in at her side. From behind, Leah and Jacob are approaching. She is not a wild animal, and for damn sure, she will not be boxed in like one. “Not another step!” she bellows. 

It stops everyone in their tracks, even the folks further up the beach stop, their laughter cut short and dying on their tongues. Maelyn blinks back her tears. But her chest feels like it’s caved in. Feels like her lungs won’t ever be able to expand deep enough for a full breath. Paul jumps in her vision due to the rapidly forming tears but she faces him, a singular digit singling him out. “Did you or did you not? And you answer me straight. Don’t make me ask again.”

His mouth opens, like he’s going to say something else, a step forward but stops at the arch of her brow. Paul exhales. “I did, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

It’s not even his fault. It’s not an intentional thing. Paul has no control over if or when he imprints or on who. But not wanting to hurt her wouldn’t save her from the blow. Nothing would. The threat seemed to grow smaller and smaller. Imprinting was the exception to the rule and that thought was a life line. After Quil imprinting, it seemed more common, but she still clung to hope. Maelyn thought she and Paul would tough it out. That the odds may have been in their favor in different ways. That it would always be just her and him. 

But it’s gone. All that’s gone. She couldn’t even fight it. 

“That doesn't matter anymore.” The words are bitter. It would matter--in a couple years once she was beyond this. Once she had more control over her phasing. Once she was out from this rez, Paul’s intentions would matter more. Not right now though. 

All she wants to do is crumble, let herself fall into dust into the sand and be washed out by the waves. Paul moves, just a step forward and she takes a step back. “Don’t, please don’t do this to me. I love you, you know that?”

“No, no, you loved me. You did,” Maelyn agrees. Her voice shakes. Her skin feels hotter, but there’s very little buzzing. She doesn’t feel like she’ll explode. She feels like she’s imploding. Like every bone in her body is being turned into dust. All her joints are melting. She’ll be nothing at the end of this.   

“But that’s over now,” Maelyn continues. “All of it. It’s all over.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Look at Sam, look at Jared. It’s exactly like that,” Maelyn croaks out. Even if she didn’t want it to be this way, it would. She wanted Pauls to be hers. She wanted to sleep next to him every night. That wouldn’t be happening now. Even if Sam had attempted to make it right with Leah, even if he’d been ordered by Emily to do so, there was no true resistance. The gravity of the relationship would win out in the end. 

“We-we have plans. You going to school, me getting into an apprenticeship. The purple dress Leah joked about. The apron I found. I haven’t even made banana bread with you like I promised I would. I wanted to marry you. You think I want to throw all that away?”

It’s not even about what they wanted now but the bitterness rushes back up her throat. the past tense use of the verb isn’t lost on her. Even if Paul still loves her, he didn’t want her anymore. Not in the same way. She lets the bitterness coat her tongue as she hisses out, “You think I wanted my boyfriend to imprint right in front of me?”

Paul’s eyes flash--mouth setting hard with the anger taking over his face. He surges forward, hand wrapping around her biceps. “You think I wanted to imprint right in front of you? Hmm? You think any of this is fucking ideal for me either? I know what this will do to you, is doing to you. I know what I’ve done to you.”

“Don’t make yourself the martyr,” Maelyn warns. “It’s unbecoming.”

He inhales. Maelyn watches, counting the three seconds. Then he exhales for five seconds. “I-we probably should talk later. I don’t want to say anything I’ll regret. I don’t think you want to either.”

Maybe she already did say something she would regret. Would a fight even solve this? It couldn’t undo what the fates had decided. Nothing could probably undo that. Her eyes well again. She can feel the sting before the tears fall. All of her instincts tell her to settle into Paul’s chest, to wrap her arms around him. That he’d be able to comfort her. But Paul’s not safe anymore. He’s the person pushing her over the edge. 

“I don’t know where else to go,” she confesses softly. Going home didn’t feel safe. Her father would have questions. She told him she’d be out all day. And she knows she can’t go to Paul’s, or at the very least shouldn’t go to his place. But it’s a comfort, to curl into his sheets, to have the smells of cedar and leather pressed into her lungs.  It’s a refuge. 

“I have nowhere else to go,” Maely cries again. Because it’s always been Paul. 

“Oh, no, please, baby.” His embrace is tight, cheek pressed into the top of her head. “I hate it when you cry.”

Though Maelyn shouldn’t, she gives into Paul, wrapping her arms around his waist. His heart thumps in his chest against hers, the gemstones pressed hard into their chests. She hates it when she cries too. She hates that all she wants to do is commit to memory the smell of the Gain laundry detergent mixing in with his natural musk. She wants to tattoo it into her lungs, breathe him in every second of every day so today’s never the last time. 

“Let me take you to dinner tonight, like we planned. Please, it can’t end like this. If it has to end, I want it to end well.”

Maelyn doesn’t think it’s supposed to be a question, but the uncertainty is laced in every single word. The request makes her stomach lurch. It would be their last. And that would haunt every second of it. But could she let things end like this? Right here on this beach? Maelyn peels herself from his embrace, arms folding up under her chest. The air is too light now, like it won’t be able to support her from falling over. 

“Let me think about it, okay?” 

Paul starts to say something else, but stops. He nods instead. “Yeah, of course.”

There’s no way to continue on now. No way to turn and pretend to Rachel or anyone else that she was fine. Maelyn motions over her shoulder with her thumb. “I’m-I’m going to go now. Home, I think,” she states and doesn’t wait for a reply. 

Leah and Jacob are there, still, behind her as Maelyn turns. “Lyn,” Jake starts again. His eyes are so heavy, pushed down with a hurt that makes Maelyn wonder if somehow he’d been broken up with too in the midst of the ordeal as well.  “I’ll kill him. You just give me the word.”

“Jake,” Maelyn says and shakes her head, effectively ending whatever rant he’s headed towards. She starts up from the beach, towards the parking lot, arms still pressed under her chest to keep herself together. 

Leah slips in next to her, wordlessly wrapping an arm around her. They walk up the asphalt, hips bumping with their steps. Her car is unlocked. She’d left the key up behind the visor so that she wouldn’t risk losing it in the sand as she played. And she doubted anyone wanted to steal the old car anyway. The passenger side door creaks open and Maelyn slips herself inside.

Jake leans up against the door, head passing in through the rolled down window, as Leah slips into the driver’s side. “For what it’s worth Lyn, I’m here. If you need me, okay? Just call.” 

By the time the words click, enough for her to consider a response, Jake’s gone. His stride fierce as he heads back down toward the rocky beach. “Thanks,” Maelyn whispers to the empty air. 

The drive is silent between, but Maelyn’s ears fill with the whizzing crack of her ribs. The ache settles deep into her chest. There’s no noise to come from her chest, no sound that will ever truly encapsulate the feeling. The trees are just various shapes and blobs of brown between the speed and the tears. Maelyn can’t even hate Paul. It’d make things easier if she could. But it wasn’t his fault. And would having someone to blame change the truth of the matter?

The saving grace is that when Leah pulls into the driveway of her place the yard is empty. Her father is one less person she has to try and explain this too. For now at least. Maelyn’s not sure who opened the door, if it was her or Leah, but the moment her feet touch the gravel driveway, Maelyn heaves. It’s an empty and wretched sound. Nothing comes up, considering she hadn’t actually eaten anything. But still her stomach twists and churns. 

“Nothing will be the same,” she sobs. 

Leah rubs a hand over her back. “And this won’t last forever. It’ll feel like it. But it won’t. Get it out. All of it. The rage, the sadness. Get it all out. Because there’s going to be something else, something more for you out there.”

But Maelyn’s not sure if there is rage--the true kind of rage that shakes her bones and makes her think she’s going to burst. Right now it’s just sadness. The utter shock that everything she’d been anticipating wouldn’t come true. It’s all just gone. 

It’s all gone. 

Maelyn doesn’t make it further than the couch. Leah doesn’t force her anywhere else. She disappears for a few minutes, the rushing of the faucet cutting through Maelyn’s on broken sobs into the couch cushions. 

“You’re going to want this later,” Leah notes, as the glass thuds against the coffee table. She settles onto the floor in front of the couch, right next to Maelyn’s head. Her ears are undoubtedly throbbing with the sound of Maelyn’s crying. Leah presses her forehead into Maelyn’s. “It’s not going to kill you, okay? Even if it feels like it is. It won’t. You’ll find a way through this all. We’ll find a way through all this.” 

Though her lungs crave the smell of cedar and well worn leather, Maelyn inhales Leah’s scent. Leah’s always smelled like spring, a light floral that almost shares a similar profile to lilac’s. Maelyn wonders if she gets lost in a field of wildflowers, if that will ease the ache she feels in her chest. 

When the shivers settle, when there’s nothing left in Maelyn’s throat but a rough and dry crackle, she reaches at the hand’s Leah’s kept pressed to her cheek. She’s still alive, however, unfortunate that feels for a fleeting second. And though Maelyn had a direct line to Leah’s though, though she knew it felt like, Maelyn’s still floored that it hurts this much. That Leah went through this all alone. 

“Will you stay with me?” Maelyn asks. It feels selfish to ask. But Maelyn’s going to be swallowed up if there’s no one else to ground her. 

“Have no other plans,” Leah nods. “Good luck getting rid of me.” 

Maelyn has no plans to let go. 

Her head’s not on the scratchy couch cousin. It’s the first thing she notices when she wakes. Instead now pressed into her pillow, she can tell by the soft satin cover. The second thing Maelyn realizes is that she’d actually fallen asleep. For the briefest of moments, it all feels too distant. Like maybe she had a bad dream but the throbbing at the back of her head makes her realize it’s not as distant as she wanted to believe. The blanket falls from her shoulder when she pushes up. 

In front of her are Jake and Leah, a deck of cards split between them. Jake flips over a three of spades and Leah flips over a seven of hearts. As she does, she moves the entire messy stack between them closer to her. Jake sucks at his teeth and turns up a six of diamonds as his next card. Leah’s next card is a four of clubs. The sky’s a tad darker than before, a orangish hue versus the rather bright early afternoon sun they had earlier. 

“Drink this,” Jacob states, lifting the glass from the coffee table. He drops his head back for a second into the cushion Maelyn just pushed up from. “You look like hell.”

The cup of water Leah fixed early. Maelyn takes it wordlessly and sucks down the entire glass in just a few gulps. Maelyn grimaces at how roughly the water goes down. “I feel like hell,” she whispers back, voice more raspy than she anticipated. 

Jake takes the glass back and pushes up from the floor. “I’ll get you some more. One second. Don’t fucking cheat, Leah.”

“I’d never dream of it,” she huffs and then sets her portion of the deck down. “You’re not going to like this. But Paul’s outside. Has been for an hour and half now, I think. Wants to talk to you, if you want to talk to him of course. He called before showing up and I told him then to get lost. He doesn’t listen too well.”

The glass falls back just into the periphery of her vision. Maelyn takes the glass with a small thanks up to Jake. She hadn’t given him a clear answer about whether or not they were still on for the dinner date at Shannon’s. It almost feels trivial now to think about it. But she’d wondered then on the beach if she wanted to leave things like they were. And she doesn’t. If the universe was going to be cruel, she didn’t want to add onto the shit pile. 

Her gaze slips to the front door. For Paul to walk nearly two hours must mean something. They had nearly a year together. In another two months it would’ve been a full year. Maelyn considered a weekend trip; she wanted to take Paul off the rez and out of Washington even if only for a couple days. It wouldn’t have been anywhere fancy, but it could’ve been nice. Not that it mattered anymore of course. 

“I’ll talk to him,” Maelyn answers, still staring at the door. He can hear. The front door would mean nothing. 

“You’re sure about that?” Jacob asks. “You don’t have to.”

Maelyn takes down half the glass of water.  It starts to soothe the scratchiness of her throat. “Wasn’t I supposed to call you before you showed up?”

Jake laughs, one sharp bark of a laugh. “This is going on your tab. Besides, if I recall correctly, you didn’t necessarily wait for a call when diving in front of that leech alongside Leah, so I figured I really didn’t have to wait for you to call me either.”

“Do you want us to stay? While you two talk?” Leah’s question is direct but her eyes are soft. 

Maelyn’s not even sure how to answer that. She didn’t want them to leave, but it would be undoubtedly awkward in front of both of them. 

“We could,” Jake starts, “just stay on the porch too. The illusion of privacy and all.”

They’d hear, but it’d be less awkward for sure. “If you don’t mind,” Maelyn whispers, eyes darting between them--Jake above her still, Leah still sitting on the floor. 

Leah nods, pushing up from the floor. The cards still lay strewn about on the coffee table. Maelyn looks away when the pair approaches the door. But she listens, fists clutching at the frayed gray couch cushions as the door creaks open. “Is she okay?” Paul asks. 

Someone sucks their teeth. Maelyn concentrates instead on the thumping of her heart, trying to keep up with the erratic beating. She doesn’t know if she should slow it down. 

“Sounds like a rather stupid question considering the circumstances,” Jake quips. “All things considered.”

“I know, I just-”

“Yeah, well, we’re right outside,” Leah’s voice interrupts Paul’s. There’s shuffling, a tense rumbling deep from someone’s chest and then the door shuts. Maelyn’s waiting. He’ll take those steps. He’ll move closer. But as the seconds tick pass, as her heart thunders in her chest, she doesn’t hear anything. Paul doesn’t move in any closer. 

“Will-will you look at me, baby?”

Maelyn pulls at the blanket, bringing it up towards her chest. If she were actually bleeding the poor white blanket would be saturated in a dark crimson. The pet name takes her air, sucks the breath out of her lungs, until she has to remind herself to breathe again.

“Maelyn, please,” she begs, dragging her head up, inches up his body so slowly, she notices how neatly his boots are tied. The jeans are loose and splattered with grease stains that clearly won’t come out. The black t-shirt decorates his chest, where he’d been bare chested earlier. The Locklear’s, Maelyn remembers, who had the leaky faucet. 

If she looks like hell, the red eyes and pink tinge to his cheeks match perfectly to the furrowed brows. He looks haggard, looks like he’s fought actual demons. She can only watch for a moment, mouth primed to speak but never actually getting the words out when her eyes fall back down to the chain around his neck. The tiger’s eye still adorned on his neck. 

“Is it okay if I sit down?”

She’s not sure if she trusts herself with him that close. But there’s little in regards to sitting arrangements--the couch and a small loveseat. Maelyn nods, staring down at the left behind cards. It’s a mixture of face up and face down cards, diamonds, jack’s, and clubs mixing in with the blue paisley print on the back of the cards. She doesn’t know how was winning in Leah and Jacob’s game of War, but it doesn’t look like it matters now. 

The couch sinks with his weight. “I think I liked it better when you were yelling at me,” Paul comments. 

This close she can smell the smoke that’s still clung to his skin. She wonders if Paul grilled, taking over from Sam, after she left. “I liked it better when I felt something other than empty,” she whispers. 

“We all know Sam still loves Leah. Maybe not like before, but it’s there.”

“But we all know Sam chose Emily.”

Paul winces, pulling the hand he’d inched closer to her away. “I don’t want you to be angry at me. And I know that’s selfish. But the idea of you hating me, I don’t like it.”

She doesn’t hate Paul. And then she thinks about it, how all Paul had to do was look up, one simple look shattering everything. “What was it like?”

“Ba-Maelyn,” Paul corrects, “do you really want me to answer that?”

Maelyn looks up, catching sight of the wobbly chin Paul’s sporting. He supports his weight on his forearms, which are pushed into the tops of his thighs, a couple inches up from his knees. Like he might be trying to shrink himself, but he looks at Maelyn. If the entire ground she’s been walking on for the least year has to crumble, she at least wants to hear it from Paul first. She doesn’t want to have to see it through his eyes later. 

“What was it like?” Maelyn asks again. It’s a stupid question. The answer will only hurt her more. But she’d like to get it all over with now. She’d like to know how deep the stab wound goes. 

“I’m not answering that.” Paul shakes his head as he speaks. As he does, the gem shakes around his neck. 

“I’ll find out eventually. When we phase again and the thought creeps up, even if you don’t want it to, it will. When someone looks at me and then looks at you, they’ll think about the beach, and then you’ll think about the beach, and it’ll be all out there then.”

“You’re torturing yourself and for what Maelyn? We already know the answer.”

It’ll be torture for quite a while. But Maelyn’s not a stranger to torture. “What was it like?”

“I feel horrible, Mae. I saw Rachel and it’s like everyone says. It’s like everything clicks. You sort of know, I guess, when it’s happening. But everything shattered the second I looked back at you. And you hadn’t even opened your eyes yet. You didn’t even know, but I did. I knew. I knew instantly I was going to break your heart.”

Maelyn replays it---the kiss, how she smiled, satiated with Paul’s touch against her flesh, how his weight felt comforting. But he opened his eyes before her. He’d managed in just seconds, possibly even factions of a second, to look up and away and to see Rachel. Had he been pulled from the kiss? Had Rachel’s approach called to him unlike her?

It is torture. Her head throbs against her skull and Maelyn presses the heels of her hands into the sockets of her eyes. It wouldn’t matter in the end. None of it would, but there had to be a reason. There had to be something in this that would make it all make sense. She just needs for it all to make sense. And right now, it doesn’t. 

“I want to do right by you, Maelyn. Please, if I can’t do anything else.”

He’s so close. Inches from her and he sings to her. Paul is all she’s ever wanted. And he’s right there, sitting on the other cushion, just to her left. Maelyn drops her forehead to his shoulder. It always made sense with Paul. Always. But the last words to him can’t be full of anger. They can’t be hostile. 

She exhales, clutching at the blanket in her lap before pushing up to face him. “I’m not promising to be perfect.”

He grins, wobbly and hesitant. “When have I ever asked for perfection?”

“I’m sorry--for all the angry shit I said.” Because Maelyn won’t let this end bitterly. Not if she can help it. 

“I wouldn’t take you any other way.”

“So, how do we do this? This last supper sort of thing?”

Paul hisses, rubbing a hand over his chest. “So I’m Judas now?”

“Well, I never said that. But,” Maelyn teases. Her face hurts as she pulls her lips up into a grin, but Paul nudges at her shoulder with his, a roll of his eyes. This is easy. This has always been easy. 

“Could I pick out your outfit? While you go hop in the shower. Then we’ll go back to my place. I shower, you pick out my outfit. We’ll get dinner, like we planned? I feel like you deserve more than that, but someone wanted a rootbeer float and the only good ones are at Shannon’s. I ain’t naming no names though.”

The mention of food makes Maelyn’s stomach growl again. She’d left her plate behind, all too focused on just getting off that beach. Paul laughs at the sudden intrusive sound, “And I’ll heat up your plate from earlier before all that too, I guess.”

“My plate?” Maelyn questions. 

Paul nods. “When Jacob left the beach after you and Leah did, I made him bring back a plate for you. I take it by the sound of your stomach, you didn’t actually eat any of it though.”

“I fell asleep.” Which is true, she did. But it’s not the full truth. She remembers Leah’s embracing touch, the press of their foreheads and the tears. So many tears. Then it went black, the dark descent of exhaustion until she woke. 

“You mean you cried yourself to sleep. You don’t have to lie to me.”

She’s really lying to herself. Her face is tight. She can tell she’s cried her heart out and then some. But Maelyn’s not ready to put into words just how hard she sobbed. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Paul’s hand is heavy on her knee. “I’ll go heat it up for you.”

Before Maelyn can push her palms into the cushion, the front door creaks open. Paul’s already in the kitchen, dragging down a plate to place everything on. Leah’s thinly pressed lips enter through first before the rest of her fills out. Jacob’s just behind her. “I take it you don’t want us to hang around for the rest of this,” Leah quips. Her brow arches, filled with the questions she doesn’t verbalize. 

Maelyn crosses the floor to them. “If it all goes downhill, I’ll call. Or you’ll hear me sobbing.”

“No one wants that,” Leah returns softly. “But if you’re sure, I’ll go. I’ll even take him with me.”

“I’m not that bad,” Jacob defends, focusing his gaze on the thumb Leah’s thrown over her shoulder to him. 

“I’ll be okay.” Maelyn says it so she believes it herself. Maybe they’ll believe it too. Maybe this is all just a big mistake. Maybe it wouldn’t be. 

“Call me, whenever,” Leah urges. Her hands squeeze at Maelyn’s shoulders, the embrace abrupt, but welcomed. “Please call me. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I will.”

Jacob hovers, arms opening like he intends to go in for a hug, but he’s hesitant. She understands the concerns, so Maelyn steps into him, head nestling in at his shoulder. His exhale is sharp and the squeeze is long. “I’m sorry about all this,” Jacob whispers. “I know he made you happy and this just sucks, really.” His voice is full of the annoyance he doesn’t state. 

“Are you saying that as my best friend or Rachel’s little brother?” Maelyn questions. Her tut of laughter is short as she speaks. 

“Oh, it’s definitely both,” he laughs into her hair. “But as your best friend more than anything.” 

The reassurance soothes her chest. There are still people in Maelyn’s corner. The entire world’s not ending, even if it feels like it is. The beep of the microwave is the only thing that ends the embrace. Jacob presses a kiss to the crown of her head and slips out the front door wordlessly. The plate clicks against the counter. Paul will be there, when she turns. The smell of hamburgers reaches her nose and just behind it, she knows Paul’s scent is there too. It won’t be a figment of her imagination, if she can stomach the reality. But her hunger wins out, so Maelyn turns. The ketchup bottle sits next to her plate alongside the jar of relish for the singular hotdog. Just the way she likes it, how she’d nearly finished assembling the plate earlier today. Paul tucks himself into a corner, the place where the sink and the last quarter of the counter meet before the fridge slips in, arms folded over his chest.

They feel like strangers, now, with the two feet between them as Maelyn stands in front of the sink to eat her pre dinner snack. But they’re strangers that know everything about each other. Like the way Paul takes his drinks with light ice at restaurants, and how he’ll bounce his knee or tap his blunt nails into the counter as the silence continues on. He knows she likes extra pickles and omits mustards off anything she can, how she can’t watch a movie without trying to guess the ending before it starts. Paul knows everything

“Promise not to fight me tonight? It would be deserved, or it is. But I just need you to promise me that.” Paul’s pressed into the door of her bedroom, having crossed inside, but hasn’t actually faced the innards of the room. He’s staring at her, as Maelyn’s pressed into the door for the bathroom. She inhaled the burgers in only a minute or so, leaving behind nothing but a few crumbs of the bun and Paul washed the plate wordlessly while she waited for him. 

“You know me better than that.” She nearly adds baby but it catches in her throat. 

“Which is why I’m making you promise me. I just, I want this to be as normal as possible.”

“I won’t fight you,” Maelyn promises and then slips into the bathroom. 

She stands at the base of the shower head, watching the water fall into the basin. The splatters echo off the tile walls and it almost sounds like laughter. Like her laughter before today went to shit--easy and full. As the water falls, it slithers into the drain, a bubbling sound as it goes. Where the present is, a bubbling sound sucking down everything with it. 

There’s no sense in delaying the inevitable. Her and Paul were done now. Though she agreed to this last date, to keep one last good memory, delaying the inevitable would not stop it. She lathers her soap onto the cloth, scrubbing the sand and salt from her skin. She focuses on her right arm first, then her left, over her chest, her armpits, stomach, back, butt, legs, feet. She scrubs circles one body part at a time. Just one thing at a time. One thing at a time. She washes her face, does a quick rinse with her mouthwash. Just one tooth at a time as she moves her toothbrush over the enamel. 

Until there’s just her bedroom door, ajar, and she spies Paul rifling through her makeup bag on her vanity. Her clothes are already laid out on her bed. A cropped top, black and floral, and jeans. A pair of black heels rests on the floor beneath the ensemble. She spies a pair of red boots she got for her 17th birthday spilling out from her closet, like maybe Paul thought about them but then decided at the last second to go with a different pair. 

“Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?” Maelyn asks, after a minute or so passes of him pushing through the bottles and tubes. 

“What is half this stuff anyway?” Paul quips, holding up the bag for a second. He pulls out a black tube, reading the bottom of it out load, “Cotton Candy Girl? Like what is that?”

Maelyn snorts. “It’s a lipstick. It’s actually a shade of pink.”

His face widens, the realization dawning on him. “Oh.”

“Are you looking for a shade?”

“You have this red lipstick that I’m looking for. But if I’d known the little black tubes were lipstick, I don’t think I would’ve messed half that other stuff.” He points now to her vanity and a few tubes of mascara rest on the glass, alongside a few lip pencils, a couple lipglosses, and eyeliners. “And whoever names these things really needs a new hobby, Royalty Court? Like how do you know which color it is?”

“That’s purple.” 

“I’ve never seen you wear purple lipstick.”

“It’s a purple eyeliner actually. And there’s been no need, with me being a wolf for half my waking hours and all.” Maelyn finally pushes through the threshold, pressing the towel to her chest though it’s already looped and tucked in. “Hand it here. You said it’s red, right?”

Paul nods, holding the bag up to her. Maelyn pulls out all three lipsticks she owns, a color her mother used to tell her she couldn’t wear until she was older. At the time she only had one but since added two other shades. One’s a bright true blue red, one’s a brick red, and the last one has a berry undertone to it, making it almost a purple but not quite. She holds the butts of them out to Paul and tries not to buckle at the brush of his fingers over her kneecap. She can hold it together, even if it burns. Even if she thinks it could break her.  

Maelyn exhales before speaking. “The bottoms have a sticker that shows the color. So for future reference, you don’t need to know the name of the color unless you’re buying a replacement.” 

“Are you serious?” he snorts, snatching up the pink lipstick again. He turns it up and there at the bottom is a swatch sticker, a light pink staring back at him. “This whole time!” he laughs. 

“The whole time,” Maelyn agrees softer than Paul’s exclamation. “If it was a snake, it would’ve bit you.”

Paul takes the middle tube, the one that’s a brick red and sets it to the side. “I hope I would’ve been tasty. Is that outfit okay?”

Maelyn drops the remaining lipsticks into the bag, without sparing the clothes a second look. “It’s a great outfit.”

“I’ll take care of this.” Paul motions to the makeup he’d previously removed, reaching up for the bag. 

It shouldn’t be awkward--the undressing to get redressed. The thump of her dresser drawers as she digs out under garments. It shouldn’t be awkward, yet it is, just a little, knowing this really is the last time. Maelyn’s thought a lot about last times, how she’d redo things over with her mom if she had known it was the last time. Now, she has that knowledge. She knows everything here that’s happening in this room, and on the drive to Paul’s place and on the date at Shannon’s will all be last. Yet she worries, if she leans in too much on the fear that Paul will be in everything more so than he already is. 

*******************

“Here, let me,” Paul says, having watched Maelyn getting dressed from her reflection in the vanity mirror. He pushes forward now, to ease the zipper up on the back of the shirt, securing the choker and top to her body. 

She doesn’t fight the request, instead whispering out a soft, “Thanks,” once the top is fully zipped up. The amethyst necklace still rests against her chest, as if she’d never taken it off. Paul wonders if she had. It’d been on when he was invited inside. Was the stone even doing its job anymore? Would it ever?

Maelyn’s face isn’t as puffy as before. Though her eyes are a tad pink, it’s fading. It’d be useless to blame himself. But Paul still feels guilty. He still can’t wipe the furious and heartbroken shadows on Maelyn’s face from his memory. How the tears flowed down her cheeks. He would’ve drowned himself in her tears if she asked. 

“How do I look?” The question comes soft and slow. 

The heels make her taller than him, only by about three inches or so he’d guess. But her gaze stays locked on the ground and she’s never looked smaller. Maelyn should never look small. She should never feel small either. “Hey,” Paul starts, taking just a step closer to her. “Look at me.”

He knows he probably shouldn’t but he takes Maelyn’s face between his palms. The weight…doesn’t feel the same as before. He’s much too aware of it in his hands. He remembers how light it used to feel; he remembers how right it used to feel. Paul aches for his fingers to carry the weight with grace. But it doesn’t change. So, he ignores that, for the time being, and waits for her eyes to drift up to his. They’re glassy. “You look beautiful. Drop dead gorgeous.”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

And the moment he returns with the answer, he wants to take it back. It wouldn’t be anytime, though he’d want that too. Paul couldn’t have it all. He knows that. But for the briefest of moments, when Maelyn slides around him to pick up the lipstick, Paul wishes he could have it all. He wishes he could keep the plans with Maelyn, wishes he could take back the hands of time and ask Rachel to never come. But the desire, the wish, doesn’t last for long. His gut lurches at the thought of Rachel never showing up. 

How would he ever reconcile these feelings? How would he ever be able to look himself in the mirror again for not wanting to break Maelyn’s heart like this but feeling the need to wonder about Rachel too? Sam hadn’t talked about this. It was clear that he still loved Leah, just not in the same way. How had he managed to reconcile both those kinds of loves?  Had he managed them at all? 

“This red doesn’t really go with the necklace and all, you know,” Maelyn reports, straightening up from the bent over angle to get the lipstick on. 

“Color theory isn't my strong suit,” Paul huffs. 

“It’s a good thing I’m useful.” Maelyn turns now and the outer corners are darker--a brownish color--paired with muted red in the middle. It tones the brightness of the red down. Paul hasn’t tasted lipstick from what he can recall. All his aunts used to decorate his cheeks with kisses, leaving behind the faint stains. But he wonders what it might taste like off Maelyn’s lips. He hadn’t caught the name of this color, but hopes it isn’t food related or he might find out just how bitter the cosmetic item tastes. 

“Aht, aht,” Paul hurries out when Maelyn reaches for her wallet. “I got it.”

“Root beer floats aren’t cheap.”

Paul takes her hand. It’s heavier too than he remembers. But at least the weight reminds him that she’s real. That she’s actually next to him. “I don’t care. Do you need anything else, not including your wallet?”

“House key, but that’s it apparently.”

“Damn straight it is.” 

All the keys go on the wall next to the coat rack in the living room. Paul’s watched her hang those keys many times; he’s grabbed those keys in a rush once or twice for her. So he’s confident as he weaves them both to the front of the house. Each room or hallway they leave, Maelyn clicks off the light. Paul carries them all the way to the keys and grabs the only remaining set, hanging off a green lanyard but doesn’t hand them over, not until they’re out on the porch so Maelyn can lock the front door. 

 The entire drive Paul keeps his hand on Maelyn’s knee, even though the drive is short. The material of the jeans is rough, the thick strong construction holding up during all the washes it’s been through probably. But Paul’s never realized that just beneath that he can feel a raised scar. Had it always been there? And if so, why hadn’t Paul noticed before? Maelyn’s fingers dance over his veins, the touch lighter than it’s ever been before and he thinks even if she promised not to fight him, she’d have to fight herself. 

He reaches up, when her fingers come back down to his knuckles, he turns his hands up and takes her fingers. She doesn’t pull away and Paul threads his fingers through hers. He just keeps trying to remember how all this used to feel right. It doesn’t feel wrong. Maelyn’s touch is still comforting. But he just notices it all more. There’s something that’s so conscious about all these touches. It irks him. He doesn’t want any of these last moments to feel tainted, to feel off from their normal. And yet it does. 

“Was it bad? At the Locklear’s?”

Maelyn’s sudden question almost startles Paul. He’d somehow gotten so lost in the weeds of his own thoughts, he’d forgotten she was there. “Fine. Just a clog, actually. Wasn’t anything hard,” Paul answers. “Was rather tame though getting into the damn pipe was the hardest part.”

“Hard, with those muscles?” she teases, squeezing around his bicep. 

He laughs, incredibly thankful that for the first time in the last half hour that he’d been with Maelyn that she was managing a joke. “Don’t bruise a man’s ego, please,” Paul scoffs as he pulls into the driveway. 

“I think it’s my specialty.”

His house is quiet and dark when they arrive. A heaven sent sign, though in the back of Paul’s mind he does wonder if his father is okay. Paul slips out of his work boots before heading further into the house but Maelyn doesn’t hesitate, heads straight for his room. Her heels click against the hardwood floors, a sound that carries even as she goes deeper. By the time Paul gets the last of the laces undone, he hears the drag of the shower curtain over the metal rod. 

A pair of boxers rest on the bathroom counter, neatly folded which Paul knows is not how they looked in the drawer. He’d been apprehensive about wanting to go digging that deeply in her drawers. Not that he didn’t know which drawers her bras and underwear were in and not that it really mattered which underwear she wore, but it felt a bit too intimate for him to have that level of involvement when it was him pulling the pin on the grenade. It’s not lost on Paul as he showers that pair of boxer briefs that wait for him are the dark green pair that Maelyn complimented him on once. 

Paul only has a few pair of good jeans left--two work pair, and two nice pairs. The black wash jeans rest across his bed paired with a crisp white dress shirt that he only has for weddings and funerals--which are few and far between. Maelyn’s leaning against the closet door, arms folded under her bust. “You’re picky about shoes so there’s a couple options,” she warns, nodding down to the floor. 

There’s a pair of black sneakers--a pair of shoes Paul doesn’t even remember having and yet somehow they’ve materialized in front of him --and a pair of dress shoes. “Those dress shoes are for weddings and funerals and the last I checked no one died.”

“Not yet anyway,” Maelyn whispers, but picks up the black dress shoes and places them back in the closet. 

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

Her headshake is small after she turns back to face him. “It’s fine, really. It’s true at least. No one’s dead.” 

“You’re not. Gonna die, I mean. I’ll--” Paul pauses, reaching for his small jar of lotion. He’d really only kept it handy because of Maelyn’s insistence but now the ritual is so far ingrained into him, he can’t undo it. Could he really promise that he’d still be there? What would life even look like after this? Would all his plans still turn out the same? “Leah and Jacob won’t let it happen. Against your wishes and all.”

“I think I’ll have to write them into my will at this point.”

“Maybe just Leah,” Paul returns. There’s a surge of jealousy. Paul can admit that, but he knows he doesn’t have much ground for it anyway. But still Paul had been there. He’d been there for Maelyn and would always want to be there in some capacity. 

Maelyn snorts, stepping in closer as Paul works his jeans up. “Is that jealous I hear? Didn’t take you as the type.” She holds the shirt open for him to slip his arms into the sleeves. 

“I’m not,” Paul snips. Because someone would come in after him. Someone not Leah or Jacob would come into her life now. He’s now opening the door that he so desperately wants to keep that close. 

Maelyn’s fingers are swift to fix the collar of the shirt. “If it helps you sleep,” she whispers.  Her exhaled tuft of laughter brushes behind his ear and the shiver is slow as it crawls down his spine. Would that still happen? Would Rachael know that he loved that, the tickle of breath just behind his ear? Would Maelyn be the only one to trigger it?

Paul’s spinning before he can stop himself, hand cupping at the back of her neck. Maelyn stiffens for a second, just long enough for Paul to feel it and he loosens the hold a hair. This close, watching the lightning strike of fear flash over her face, Paul realizes that he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t be jealous. He shouldn’t be worried about who comes next. He shouldn’t be thinking about what comes next for him. But he can’t fight the need, can’t tamper down the voice in his head begging him to leave a mark. 

“Paul?” she questions softly. 

“You’re going to always matter to me, Mae. You’re always going to be the first. I need you to know that.” It’s so incredibly selfish, but Paul’s glad he is the first for her too. Knows it without needing her to confirm it. Maelyn’s chin quakes but she nods. He moves to hold her face steady now, but beneath his palms he can catch the shaking. 

“Say it, for me, please.” Paul’s not above begging. He’s not. “Say you know.”

“I know,” Maelyn returns. The whispered phrase falls so softly from her lips, Paul’s not even sure she said it until he catches the whiff of her minty breath. The first tear is slow down her cheek. But the second one comes faster. 

He really fucking shouldn’t, but Paul closes the centimeters between them and seals a kiss to her shaky lips. Not even the kisses feel the exact same. Like there’s missing something missing from them, but Paul can’t put his finger on what it is exactly that’s missing. It’s like when a recipe has everything it’s supposed to have it, but not the right amounts. Could he make this work? Could he get used to the ache and run away with Maelyn tonight? “I’m sorry. About all this.”

Their lips brush as they speak, hushed voices in the still room. “I know you are. And I wish I could say the apologies felt like something.”

They probably don’t mean much right now. They’re probably the last thing Maelyn wants to hear, but Paul’s tongue burns with them. Apologies are all he has left. “I’m sorry.” He’s sorry that sorry doesn't help. He’s sorry that this is even happening. He’s sorry for being this selfish in the end. But he needs this too. 

Paul kisses her one last time--short this time, almost as if testing if this kiss will be like the last. And it is. It’s still almost right. The slight hollowness lingers even as he situates the last of his clothing--rolling up the sleeves to the shirt and lacing up his shoes. 

“Paul, Maelyn.” Paul’s father greets as he shuffles past the door. Not dunk this time, but clearly tired. “Looks like you two are headed somewhere fun.”

Maelyn’s wince is unmistakable. But his father thankfully doesn't push it, though he does arch his brow at Paul. Paul shakes his head. It won’t stop the comment, but Paul wishes it would. The arched brow never lowers and Paul can imagine now how that conversation will go--the thump to the back of his head undoubtedly and his father’s disgruntled murmuring about Maelyn being a good person though he’d been the one to tut about how all women are the same. 

“I’ll be back later tonight,” Paul informs. 

“Don’t make any more trouble,” his father warns and then continues on to his bedroom.

 It’s much too late for a warning like that. Paul’s already made too much trouble, the kind of the trouble that will haunt him each time he looks at Maelyn. But Paul can’t undo this. And it’s hard to accept—hard to swallow down that this kind of shift came with no warning. But Paul’s not sure he’s the type to heed warnings either. If Paul somehow had a warning that today he would’ve imprinted, he would’ve run. He would’ve taken his chances with Maelyn any day of the week. 

But perhaps, it’s a good thing that Paul doesn’t get warnings about his own fate. Maybe there’s something good in this in the end. It only seems murky now, unclear waters that they’re treading in though they’ve both witnessed a tragedy like this already. Sam and Leah as a blueprint didn’t mean much though. Because Paul’s not Sam and Maelyn’s not Leah. They knew what they were getting into and they chose to take the risk anyhow. 

They’d gambled and unfortunately, lost. 

“Shannon’s doesn’t close for another three hours,” Maelyn quips, squeezing at his fingers on her knee. 

Paul looks down and sees the speedometer teetering up and over 70. He eases his foot off the gas, pressing into the clutch to bring the gear down to handle the cruising space they should be at. “Sorry.”

“We’re both a bit distracted, I guess, it’s to be expected.”

“Have been so scared that I was going to the person that would be left behind,” Paul starts with a tuft of laughter pressing out from his lungs. “Hadn’t even thought about what I would do if I was the one initiating the leaving.”

“Life’s funny like that, isn’t it? We’re so scared of what we want or so worried about our own anxieties, we never really prepare for all the possibilities out there.”

“I guess it is,” Paul murmurs. 

Shannon’s isn’t all that busy when they enter. The bell chimes, per usual, above head and Laurie, the eldest granddaughter of Shannon’s smiles at their entrance. There are plates in her hand that she holds with ease, though the tension in her tendon shows how much weight there is in her hands. “Hi Paul, Hi Mae. Settle down anywhere. We’ll be right with you.”

Paul leads them over to a booth, one down from their first official date. Paul knows that booth by heart, now, watching it each time he came to visit Maelyn on a shift. It currently houses an older couple so Paul doesn’t throw a fit about wanting to get the exact spot and lets her settle in first before sliding in next to her. Maelyn plucks the menu’s from the waiting rack at the end of the table, next to the window. 

But Paul doesn’t really need the menu and he doubts Maelyn does either, not in terms of selecting her food. She clutches onto it, like one would a lifejacket. And maybe it is. But Paul wants that to be him, so he reaches up and takes her right hand to thread their fingers together. “Oh, if it ain’t my favorite lovebirds,” Shannon teases. 

Her voice reaches them before she does--a big and booming voice from such a small frame. She’s not taller than 5’2’’ but that’s never stopped the older woman win her graying hairs and dyed ends. She wears a deep purple now at the ends, and taps her pencil to her pad. Maelyn tenses again at Shannon’s words. “Oh,” Shannon softens now. “Rough day, there?”

“Yeah,” Paul nods. 

“I love you Paul, but I was talking to Maelyn.”

He snorts and nods. “Yes, ma’am.” Tact is not a word Shannon cares to know, so she doesn’t. And given as long as she’s been around, no one really calls her out for it either. 

“Yeah, rough day,” Maelyn answers. Her voice is thick with the emotions she doesn’t put into actual words. 

Paul can only watch the tense moment both women lock eyes. Shannon’s eyes dart towards him and then back to Maelyn. He’s sure something--if not the whole truth--is painted on both their faces, staining their eyes a shade red. 

“Root beer floats fix rough days. Come to think of it,” Shannon hums, “they can fix a lot more than that too. Broken hearts, stomachaches. All sorts.”

Paul will wear the brand on the rez for a while. But he won’t try to dodge the burden. It’s the least he could do. 

“Can I get extra ice cream, please?” Maelyn asks. And somehow the request stings. Is double ice cream code for just how bad the heartbreak is?

“Honey, you can get whatever you want here.” Shannon spins, her bright white Keds squeaking as she turns. 

Maelyn tugs her hand back and Paul lets it go, though she’d promised not to fight, he understands the discomfort. The loss of her weight isn’t sudden. But he notices it, how part of him still wants it around. “I don’t--”

“You don’t what?” Paul asks after the thought falls into silence. 

“This was a bad idea. Shannon’s going kill you now. And then me next for showing up tomorrow too.”

Paul bites back his grin. “You’re allowed to miss one day of work, baby.”

She shrinks into her corner of the booth even more. Paul sighs, knowing the second the petname falls, that it’s a mistake. It’s just easy. It’s what he’s always called her. It’s just what they use for each other. “Please.”

“Maelyn,” he corrects, “You’re allowed to miss one day of work, Maelyn. That’s going to take a bit to get used too. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” It falls hot. There’s a pause as if more is to come but nothing does for a moment. 

Paul reminds himself that Maelyn’s hurting a lot more than he is, in different ways than he is. But still it hits his core. He’s not spitting in the face of everything they had. He’s not intentionally setting it on fire. He’s not basking in the warmth of the fire from the wreckage. “You know,” Paul starts, spinning the lamented menu on the table with his fingers. “I don’t think this analogy about gravity shifting is correct.”

He watches from the corner of his eye as Maelyn curls her fingers into fists. She’d ask about this. And maybe she did deserve an answer, more than what Paul had tried to spare her from. “It’s not?” she questions through her teeth, the ‘S’ consonant coming out with a strong hiss. 

“No. There’s a tug. Something in your gut that just sort of nudges you along. It’s probably why I broke the kiss first. And when you look at them, in the eye, it all goes quiet. Every thought you’ve ever had leaves for a second. Any anxiety you had just disappears. But that only lasted about a second for me. Because right behind that I felt so fucking angry. Or maybe it’s shame. I don’t know. I just felt awful. Wasn’t sure if I’d keep my cool which is why I booked it to Sam so immediately. I still feel awful.”

Paul exhales, palm pressed firmly into the top of the menu. The lamented paper stops its spin. He looks over to Maelyn who’s only blinking at him. There are tears tracking down her cheeks. Her eyes are swimming with tears. Or maybe she swims in his own vision now. The sting’s catching up, can feel how it makes his face hot too. But he won’t stop now. He still needs her to understand. 

Paul continues on, “Right behind what most people have recounted as a pretty magical moment in their lives was the worst wave of emotions I’ve ever met. Didn’t know if I wanted to die right there or not, but God, Mae, God, I wanted to not exist anymore. Because I still and will always love you, Maelyn. I was the wrecking ball. I am the wrecking ball. And I know that. But I will always care about you. So, don’t get snippy about this with me. As someone said, making yourself the martyr is unbecoming. I am guilty of breaking your heart. Sorry doesn’t fix that but I wish it did. And fuck everything if you don’t think I wish it did.”

He turns now, to face the empty side of the booth again. His own lower lip is wobbly. “Paul,” Maelyn whispers. Her palm is firm against his cheek and he allows himself to be turned to look at her again. “I know it’s not your fault. I wish I had someone or something to blame this all on. I’m sorry. You’re not the one to be blamed.”

Luckily for Paul sorry does mean a lot. It means he won’t always be the bad guy. It means maybe in time he can still be there for her if she wants it. He takes hold of the hand on his cheek and presses a kiss to her palm.

 The glass hits the table first—Marlyn’s root beer float, the extra scope of ice cream nestled almost to the brim—and right behind it is the red plastic cup that fizzes. “I didn’t forget about you, Paul, this time,” Shannon warns, placing the straws down on the table. “I’ll be back in just a couple minutes.” The sentence is punctuated by a stack of napkins. 

Not even the spoon rattles as Pau hands her the glass. Maybe there’s more ice cream and heartbreak than ever anticipated. “Want a bite?” Maelyn offers. 

“O,  it’s okay.” He normally would. Knows he’d take a spoonful or three and grin at her about how it’s the boyfriend tax. 

Maelyn cuts apart a heap of ice cream and then holds it out. “My tab’s already long enough. I don’t want one last boyfriend tax added to it.” Her smile isn’t right. Like she’s fighting back even more tears. 

“Something tells me that tab’s gonna get forgiven anyway.” He takes the heaping spoonful anyway. The vanilla’s a mild taste—the only thing that feels mild even though the dinner’s a such familiar place. 

“I don’t want the necklace back,” Maelyn notes pointing with the flat end of her spoon to his neck. 

“Good, because you weren’t getting it back,” Paul laughs. “Maybe over my dead body. And maybe not even then.” 

Maelyn slips the glass over to him when he motions for it. “I knew you’d be back for more.”

“Sue me,” Paul huffs before getting his second scoop. 

“Don’t tempt me with a good time.” 

Paul’s tempted to tempt himself, teetering on the edge of an idea that’s only ever going to leave him not fully satisfied. He’d do it for Maelyn. Instead, he shovels more ice cream into his mouth. It hadn’t worked all that well for Sam when Emily ordered him away. Though Paul’s not Sam, he thinks Maelyn wouldn’t entertain the possibility. “I’m sure you think it’s cursed now. But I’d appreciate it if you kept your necklace too.” 

Maelyn’s grip on the glass as Paul passes it back tightens. “I’ll give it one more shake and see what it’s really made of.” 

“More than I can ask for.”

“What are we doing today?” Shannon asks. As promised she’s returned, but her face is pinched like she’s holding onto thoughts she’d much rather release. “Usuals, something new?” 

Paul turns to Maelyn first, a habit now to let her order first. There’s a lag, the silence as she blinks up at Shannon, before she actually speaks. “Uh, is the fish sandwich still the dinner special?” Friday’s, Paul has learned, is the liminal day on specials for the week, they usually get switched over by Saturday given the shipments that come in on Thursday and Fridays in preparation for the weekend. 

“Can be for you. Want extra fries on the side with it and the tartar sauce on the side?”

“Yes, please, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Maelyn, you’re never any trouble. And you, Paul?”

“Usual for me. But can I add a pickle spear on the side for her?”

Shannon pops her tongue from the roof of her mouth, lips twisting in contemplation. The seconds drag for a beat, then two, and then a third. “I can do that.” She slides in close, eyes darting over Paul’s face. The skin is tight from the tears that have dried on his cheeks. “Was it by choice or by the cosmos?”

Not everyone’s meant to know, Paul knows that. He’d been ordered by Sam not to tell anyone unless it was an absolute need to know basis. It’s the same order everyone has in the pack. But Paul wonders if Shannon grew up with the legends, if she knows the same way that the rest of the older people on the rez do. In the not-so-quiet open secret way that she tells her grandchildren about the histories. Maybe it’s just a story to them. But to Shannon, to Paul, and to the rest of the pack and counsel, it’s much deeper than that. Shannon’s eyes are piercing--a dark brown they look like the night against her light skin. She doesn’t look a day past fifty though Paul and the rest of the rez knows she’s in her seventies, almost eighties. She holds Paul’s stare for just as long as he stares back at her. 

“Cosmos,” he answers softly. 

The fierce line of her lips soften and she pushes back into the open side of the booth. The seat catches her easily. “Damn,” she whispers. “Damn it all. That’s cruel. And how close to home is it?”

Did it really matter who it was? The fates decided for him. He’d have no say in undoing it. Shannon looks at Paul but Maelyn answers. “Rachel.”

“Jacob’s sister?” she hisses. “Oh, hell. I’m sorry you two. I’ll stop mean mugging you Paul. Well, maybe,” she laughs before pushing back up from the booth. “And missy, I better not see you here tomorrow. You’ll cry into coffee mugs and no one wants salty coffee.”

“Did you cry into coffee mugs?” Maelyn laughs as she asks. But Paul hears it, the way she’s searching for something. The way her voice turns up with hope. 

“No, I didn’t cry into coffee mugs.”

“Oh,” comes the deflated response. 

“I cried into ice cream cones. Which is just as bad.”

Paul watches her leave, her step just as bouncy as it always is. But the words still feel like they’re clattering to the ground after her, I cried into ice cream cones. No one had ever talked about Shannon dating a werewolf. Though maybe the werewolf part wouldn’t be part of the story. Maybe it would only be about the breakup to the outside world. Fingers dig into his thigh, not hard, rather a quick two squeezes. Paul finds comfort in the gesture, knowing it’s Maelyn’s trying to get his attention. 

But then like a child being reprimanded, Maelyn snatches her hand back. “Sorry, I--I need to get out for a second.” Her eyes are a tad wide. He can see now how the skin’s got just a faint flush under the brown, not even noticeable really except at the right angle. “Bathroom,” she whispers. 

Paul takes her hand, placing it back on his lower thigh, but above his knee. Paul would rather she keep touching him. He’d rather hold her hand than not. But he does understand if it’s all too strange, or too much. “You’re okay, Maelyn. I don’t mind you touching me like that.” 

The food arrives before Maelyn does but Paul’s okay waiting. In fact, the more the seconds pass, the more he realizes the longer she takes, the longer this lasts. He just wants this part of their lives to last a little bit longer. So Maelyn can take all the time she needs. Here nothing else matters. Doesn’t matter what’s happened before or what happens after. There is only what’s happening right now in the present. The click of her heels alerts Paul of her arrival and he promises himself to keep his focus on the present as much as he can. It only matters what’s happening right that second. 

“Get off my plate,” Maelyn laughs, smacking at the tips of his fingers. He drags a few fries off successfully, but takes the light tap from Maelyn regardless. 

“You were just on mine,” he counters. 

“You ordered that pickle for me!”

“Still on my plate,” Paul mutters before snapping the fingerful of fries in half with his teeth. 

Maelyn shoves at his shoulder, reaching for the stack of napkins between them. “Only as a technicality. Besides, you have two sandwiches on your plate right now, I only have one.”

Paul stares down at his double chicken sandwiches, no tomatoes with added mustard and red onions swapped in for the usual white diced onions that are usually on the sandwich. He never really goes for fries, knowing Maelyn goes for an extra order and nibbles off those when he can sneak them of course. “This is basically a snack.”

Maelyn’s crunch is audible as she takes a bite of the pickle spear. But she’s gesturing, curling her fingers for Paul to slide his plate over. So he does. Between both sandwiches, she dumps a quarter of the fries onto his plate. “Now it’s a light dinner.”

“Can you pass me the ketchup please? Since apparently now I’m responsible for consuming fries.” The bottle is light but has just enough ketchup for Paul to get a decent size portion out. 

“Embry’s birthday is in two weeks. Do you know what you’re getting him?”

“No, it’s not that soon.” The bite of last corner of his sandwich hangs in the space between his plate and his mouth. There’s no way Embry’s birthday was that soon. “I don’t know what to get him. Maybe we can--”

“There’s an album from a band he likes that comes out next week. The record store up in Port Angeles always manages to stay pretty well stocked.”

“Right,” Paul returns, remembering that they probably wouldn’t do anything besides show up at Embry’s place or at Sam’s and Emily’s separately with separate gifts. Maelyn would absolutely not want to do a joint gift. 

“If you call tomorrow, I’m 80% sure they’d hold a copy to the side for you.”

“But I don’t want to take anything away from me if you already planned to get it.”

Maelyn shakes her head, the last half of her sandwich in her hands but with no movement from her to take an actual bite. “It’s already in your name--the hold I mean for the CD. You just need to pick it up.”

“My-my name?”

There’s little humor in the tuft of laughter she releases. “I called yesterday to see if I could get a copy held for Embry. And I put in your name because I wasn’t sure if I’d be working or not the release day, so I was going to ask you to pick it up and give you the cash for it.”

“Oh,” Paul returns. “I didn’t know.”

“I know you didn’t. Just don’t forget to pick it up next week.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Paul.”

“But what are you going to get him? It still feels wrong.”

Maelyn hums around the bite she’s taken. The tartar sauce runs just a little and without thinking, Paul uses his own napkin to clear the corner of her mouth. She makes quick work of the bite. Paul wonders if the food he’d grabbed had done much of anything to touch her hunger. “I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve. Don’t worry about it.”

Paul’s going to worry about it though. That’s the thing. That’s what they do--they worried about each other. Much like Paul’s going to worry after they’re all done. He’s going to worry about the drive back home. He’s going to worry when he lays down tonight, when it’s just him alone, where all the thoughts can creep up. Every single last one. Paul’s got plenty to be worried about. He’s sitting next to the woman he thought he’d marry, but knows now that he won’t. 

Shannon shoos Paul away when he walks up the register to pay. They never got a check, though Shannon had come by and cleared away their plates and cups. She turns back to the bucket of silverware. “When I look up, you better be gone.”

“Who was it?” Paul asks instead. He can’t get her words out of his head, about how she cried into ice cream cones. How she warned Maelyn that no one would want salty coffee. She knows too much not to have been involved but Leah and Maelyn are the first girls to ever be in the pack, so he knows it’s not that. 

“It’s a good thing I turned out to be Laurie’s great grandmother and not Sam’s.”

“Sam Uley?” There’s no way. Paul would’ve heard about it. Or at least Sam would have and if Sam did, then it would come out eventually. But maybe that’s a part Levi keeps to himself, has buried down so that only he and Shannon take it to the grave. Besides Paul now of course. And maybe Maelyn. 

Shannon looks up, eyes narrowing just a hair before she grins. “Didn’t I tell you to be gone when I looked up. Hard headed, just like your daddy. At least you came by it honest.”

Paul unfurls the bills from his pocket. The Locklear’s paid him forty bucks to help with the leak, so he peels three tens from the stack and drops into the tip jar. “Don’t be too hard on Maelyn if she shows up tomorrow, please.”

“I won’t.”

The night’s wind is sharp. It carries up the ends of Maelyn’s hair as they walk back to the truck, hand in hand now. Paul can smell the freshly cut grass off her skin in the gusts. If he had to be honest, he’s scared, more so now than ever before. There would be no way he could convince her to spend the night with him, to spare him just a little bit longer from the realities that await them both. The sky is relatively clear, in patches, over their hands and Maelyn pauses just a few steps from the truck to look up. 

“Do you think stars know they’re dying or does it just go out for them?” she questions. 

“You’re not dying, Maelyn.” But something is, their relationship definitely is. Paul will talk about dying stars until the sun comes up and then even longer. 

“But do you think the stars know that they’re dying? Do you think they care to know that their light is far reaching after their death?”

Paul looks up again. A thicket of clouds pass overhead and cover up the specks of light in the sky. “Maybe stars don’t need to know they’re dying. I don’t see how it might matter to them. In the end, they have to die, right? In order for us to get the light?”

She shrugs. “I mean nothing truly exists forever. Everything has an end. Natural or by force. Maybe the stars don’t care that they’re giving off light. They are just stars.”

Paul shakes his head, tugging at her arm. Maelyn looks down from the sky at the motion. “I thought I told you you’re always going to be important to me. You’re always going to be the first.”

“And you’ll always matter to me too. But--”

“No, no buts here. The stars don’t know that they’re dying. The stars don’t know what comes next. They just exist. Like they’ve always been created and dropped into the sky to do. They still matter. You still matter.” Because Paul can’t stand the thought of what comes next. 

“You have onion breath. And my breath reeks of fish and pickle.”

Paul’s not sure where this train will head. But his heart roars, feels it beating against his chest as he steps in closer to her. She turns to face him fully. “And the stars don’t give a shit about that, right?” Maelyn whispers. 

“No,” Paul answers, cupping her cheek against his free palm. “The stars don’t give a shit.”

Their lips are brushing, just barely, but not sealed in a true kiss. An exhalation that becomes an inhalation. Maelyn grips onto his elbow and he holds her weight easy. This part is so easy. “Stay with me tonight? Please?” she exhales. 

Paul presses forwards, presses a kiss to Maelyn’s lip, taking her waist now into his hold. The ache is easy to ignore for the time being. As they kiss under the hazy streetlight of the parking lot, Paul can forget that this kiss doesn’t feel like all the others. He can forget about the fact that she won’t feel like she’s always felt. Because he’s clinging to the thing that’s always been there. Maelyn’s been a constant for nearly a year and he’s not sure what to do or where to go without her. Doesn't want to think about that. So he focuses instead on how soft her lips are and how she still feels mostly right against him. 

Maelyn laughs, pulling his head out of her throat. Her thumbs brush along his chin and cheek. “That’s a pathetic excuse for a beard, you know?”

“Someone here’s cruising for a bruising with words like that.”

“Take me home, please. And stay with me.”

“Was my kiss not an obvious enough answer? I’d follow you damn near anywhere.” 

And even then, once Paul helps her back into the truck and he starts out for the road, Paul’s sure that’s a lie. He’d follow Maelyn anywhere. He’d follow her through hell and high water if she’d let him. Paul would follow her through a meat packing plant blindfolded if she asked him too. 

 He’d follow her anywhere she wanted to go. Even if it’s only to her house and only to her bedroom. And even if it’s only them, unzipping and unbuttoning tops, Paul would do that too. Even if it’s only them topless and kicking out of shoes, Paul would follow her to that end as well. It feels right enough that he could make it work. This wouldn’t break him. Because how could Maelyn’s sweet sighs not be enough. How could the heat of her not be enough. How could the taste of her not be enough. How could anything of this, hot flesh and biting groans not be enough. How could it not be enough?

“Oh, ssh, it’s okay,” Maelyn whispers, taking his face into her hands. “No, it’s okay.”

But it doesn’t feel okay, not anymore. He wraps her up into his arms, face pressed into the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Paul inhales her scent, the body wash faded and that sweet smell of freshly cut grass invades his senses. The bed shakes for just a second and Paul knows now he’s crying. A wracking kind of sob that demands to be let free. This is the place he’s called home for almost a year. How could this not be enough when it had been for so long? 

[vivicas-dollhouse]

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Im going absolutely insansies so MORE HELLIAM/WILLRY HCS

Will wants to be with henry SO FUCKING BAD BUT HAS NO IDEA HOW TO BE ROMANTIC. so. He brings brisket. In a Tupperware. Just brisket.

By the way will can cook. Like really well. Autism be damned that boy can work a grill /ref

I dont think will has autism by the way. I think hes just good with robots and thats a mental illness in itself /j

HENRY HOWEVER..... no man comes up with Fazbears diner and isn't autistic. IM JUST SAYING.

Will only had kids with clara for show. He cares about them, not a lot but he does. Hes just a little... a little fucked up.. he doesn't hurt them tho. He may be a murderer but he wouldnt hit his kids. Wife is a different story.

Henry likes twizzlers and will thinks its HORRIFYING how fast this man goes through a bag of twizzlers. Like one day and all those fuckers are gone.

Will cant stand candy and doesn't take his kids trick or treating. Too much effort. If they go at all, clara takes them. He went ONCE when henry went with him and charlie.

Will acts like he doesn't care about most people, but henry... he will lay his coat over a puddle for this man.

Henry is scared of dogs.

Henry is in the iced coffee gang, and that shit is so sweet that you can smell it. Will drinks black coffee, maybe with some sugar if hes feeling adventurous.

Henry and will try to have "sleepovers" sometimes, pretending that they are working. This ended when henry got custody of charlie

William hates kids and calls them "little shits" even in front of kids. Dont let him watch birthday parties, he will simply leave

William kissed first, and it just felt right to henry. They first kissed when they were still in college and have been in a secret relationship since then.

Will HATED the idea of henry having a beard at first, but it grew on him.

Clara DEFINITELY suspects the relationship but to avoid wills abusive treatment she says nothing.

OK THATS ALL I CAN THINK OF BYE

[that-one-weeb-but-it-transformer]

Optimus with an artist human s/o

I must do the drawing is your always mood

But with art block half the time your chucking your shit out the window

He was there to actually pick up Jack, because Arcee was out on a mission with bulkhead you skipped class so you sat there sketching him, bee, and wheeljack

Couldn't get the grill right so you oh so casually went up and rubbed your hand against it

"Oh...so in....that looks right..."

Taking pictures for reference

"Can I help you-" "oh shit-"

It was just jack

"Sorry was taking refrence photos. Is this your truck?" "Uh...yeah..." "Can I get and interior shot?" "Maybe another day?"

Ayo Optimus not noisy but he kinda wanted to see them drawings

Turns out Arcee was out longer than expected and the next day you were there again and so was he because Jack was so nice and let you take some refrence photos of the outside you slipped a drawing through the open window with a thank you note and went about you way.

Hah. Not Knockout and breakdown thinking your an ally to the autobots and basically snatching you like they snatchin someones weave

"Ayo can I draw you-" "Bitch im litterally kidnapping you" "....okay so can I take some ref picks atleast? Please?" "...well shit you said please"

Not you having fun being kidnapped

"Damn I look good. Whats your name human?" "Y/n" "and why is such a fabulous artist with the autobots?" "The who?"

Oh. You- oh...oh shit.....

Not knockout dropping you off at your house and grtting your # ya'll buddies now

You despite being kidnapped for two days just show up again randomly and walk up to Jack.

"Yeah can I see the inside your truck no pictures no anything, just. Real quick?" "Sure?"

Oh shit your sitting in a transformer.

"Okay I know about your talking alien car that transformers into a huge robot"

Bam friends now now you go to the base everyday

Ratchet wasnt very Happy till he realized you were just extremely quiet. And YES he could work in peace

Often you sketch the autobots forms.

"Wow! Thats real detailed!" "Holy shit miko-"

You often let her go through your sketch book.

"This is a lot of-" "Shhhhh"

It was alot of Optimus: you dont know why to be honest it was like he your comfort person to draw

You've probably had every expression of his in your books, sketches of...well everything.

Mhmm those hip sketches somethin else dude

"I made my first art based Tarot card deck!"

Smokescreen realizes there based off them and is obsessed with his tarot card desgin (the sun card because come on its Smokescreen)

Optimus even compliments you on them and ask you about them you happily explain them to him

You tell him you based him in the Justice card and told him it was pretty explaintory

He told you he was honored that you seen him such a light, and there you go getting all flustered and complimenting him back

Arcee wants to know why shes the hanged man but your too busy being flustered

Now often he'll wander up behind you looking over your shoulder why you sketch away.

"What are you drawing today y/n-" "Ah! nothing! Nothing at all! Hah! Ha...."

Not more optimus hip images: they're just too fine not to draw

Despite being well Optimus he's very innocent and would simply see them as anatomy drawings

But they aint....you know that

For that reason: you refused to draw Optimus (or his hips) anymore and now your crying inside but tiding to have will power

HOT ANIME GUY POWER; drawing hot anime guys to leed your mind occupied but you just make Human Prime and your crying and screaming without the s.

Miko, knows because you forgot your bag at her house one time

"Damn man you got it bad." "I know..."

Luckily ratchet sees Vaule in your skills and ask you to draw out invention plans you say yes immediately

With Ratchet asking for help your around the base more often, sketching out plans for him

Which means you and Optimus talk alot more

He finds your conversations relaxing

You often fall asleep at the small table, after finishing plans and starting on your own work, usually homework

So that means he sees your litrle fifth grade crush drawings, you know with lopsided hearts and all luckily you know better to draw Human like alien robots in your notebook so he only sees the O + F/i surronded in hearts

He doesnt know why but now he's gotta talk to you more: its a now or never situation.

"Y/n-" "It wasnt me!-" "would you like to go home to rest?" "Um. Yeah that sounds great"

Optimus now drives you home everyday, and picks you up from school instead of you just riding with Bee and Raff

Litterally a dream come true on your part and on his part

Is it akward silence? Or do you both just think its awkward silence making it more awkward

Asking Ratchet to describe how the iacon archives use to look and sketching it out and giving it to Optimus

"Im not sure I got the file cases right. I had Ratchet describe the your world to me as best I could.

It was perfect to him, and he thanked you for it, it never leaves his glove box

Usually because your an artist your dressed in clothes that have paint stains, perhaps the back of your shirt is hand painted or your old converse.

Yet you had a presentantion you had to get dressed up for, for school, in a knitted pencil like skirt and a knitted sweater with some boots

He couldnt pick you up or drive you to school that day so Wheeljack went with you instead and Smokescreen picked you up

Not wheeljack bragging trying to get Optimus to confess that you look rather hot that day.

Turns out when Optimus returned to base he'd be blown away by your change in outfit.

"How'd it go!"

"All the energon secured. There was no doubt after all!" Wheeljack laughed, "Right Optimus."

You looked at him with such a big smile and eyes he only nodded with a smile

Wheeljack drove you home: saying the boss was tired and just like he had hoped you left your bag in his back seat

Now Miko and Wheeljack both have the power to tease you

Not Optimus seeing where you work and creating a holo form to go and see you

"Hm? Y/n?" The employee asked, "Yeah shes in right now there doing a study. Come on I'll take you there."

When he said study he thought idk maybe like with a book. Not figure studies, you know the ones where your naked

So he was not expecting to walk in with people surrounding you as you sat laid on a couch with a thin sheet covering your lower hips down, top bare and a hand propping your head up.

Poor baby had to stand there for twenty mintues attempting not to stare at you

But time was called and you got up going to dress again.

"Ayo n/n." "Hm?" "This guys here for you."

You only smiled hoping it was an art scout as you apologized for your current state and fixed yourself.

"Hello Im Y/n!" "I...I know..."

Voice sounded oddly familiar

"Do...I know you from....Wait a mintue!"

Pretty easy to figure it out, "stay there!"

He only listened as you rushed to your bag, flipping through the pages of one of your sketch books and lifted it up besides him.

"Its...Op-"

"I believe Orion- would be a better choice sounds more human."

Your weezing; hes evern prettier as a human

"I had no idea...you could..." "its older technology but works well." "Ah... I see..."

Thank god for being 18...primus hes just so pretty

"Um...I have to go pick up my work bag...do you wanna come along?"

Not you guys having a moment in the locker room where you told each other your feelings.

Making out in the locker room super softly? Absolutely.

Making out in his Alt form? Even a bigger yes, especially if hes dropping you off at your house

But its best to keep it a secret

Miko and Wheeljack notices that the teasing doesnt get to Y/n anymore and Miko realizes you stopped drawing Optimus and some human guy now. What a bummer

They realize Optimus does seem to have a much brighter glow to him, and he always lightly smells like something fimilar.

*cough* your perfume *cough*

"Is Y/n okay?" "What would be the problem?" "Shes always in a daze these days."

It true, drawings and plans you offered to help ratchet draw out are completed but sometimes you dont even remember drawing them or the process.

"Hmm? Yeah....I don't really care....whatever you want Miko." "Um Im jack and Im asking for the science text book back." "What!? Oh- sorry!"

"Ah Miko! Isnt the world so bright today!" "Its raining outside Y/n-" "Lets go run in it!" "What-"

You've never been so happy, even around finals your kicking your feet like a schook girl

It causes everyone great fear,

Not Optimus sneaking out of base to help you sneak out of your house so you guys can go have fun in some forest.

Refused to go into your room, its your private space but you convinced him anyways and well...its chaotic organization.

You show him around, pointing out things to him that your super proud of.

Ends in you guys on your bed trying to be quiet as you laugh with each other.

Falling asleep in his arms for the first time is wonderful

Not he leaving a jacket behind for you to wear and you do just around the house it did have the autobot insignia on it after all.

Sleeping prime refrence photos if you wake up before he has to leave

Can dance surprisingly well, and he'll go dancing with you in abanded parking buildings

You couldnt find a more perfect boyfriend

Finds a way to go to every art gallery your in.

You often do peices based on the bots and there stories, like a verbal reference

Some of your paintings worry him: you always reassure him you cant always have a happy peice but your happy to have him

Old people think your both just the sweetest couple

Until your parents pull up and your not a couple anymore, you try and keep it a secret from everyone and ya'll manage

Your parents like him upon introductions that you are both friends

Your dad's actaully a greek philosopher, and gets along very well with Optimus, he did introduce himself as Orion after all.

Life is good for the both of you

[efingart]

Strays, Bruises and Burgers

Ao3 Link

Frank Woods

March 19, 1948, Philadelphia, Penn, USA

Sweat, spit, and blood spray hit the canvas. The big man staggered and fell face-first into it. His shoulders flexed as he tried to push himself up, but he couldn’t muster the strength. He was done. And he flopped back down again.

Frank stood over him, catching his breath, muscles still tensed, hands still up. Then he’s pulled back into reality as the ref grabbed his arm. He nearly jerked his wrist away before he realized that the match was being called.

He looked around in a daze, sweat clouding his eyes. He wiped his face on the back of his glove and left a shiny sweat smear there. The sound of the crowd hit his ears in a rush. They screamed for him. He gave them a lopsided grin, despite the pain in his cheek from his opponent’s final blow, and waved.

Hell of a way to say goodbye to seventeen. Not that anyone needed to know that. They might not have let him fight if they knew that.

“I’m going to miss you, Frank.” His fight manager Ritchie said more to the bills he was counting out than to Frank. If Frank noticed he didn’t care, it was about the money for him, too. Ritchie was an asshole, but he hadn’t asked too many questions when Frank showed up at his gym a few years ago. And he didn’t take as big of a cut as some of the other guys’ managers.

Frank took the cash and grabbed his bag from the locker room. He divided the money up between the pockets in his clothes and his duffle. No reason to advertise his big payday. He walked out into the clear, chilly evening. He probably could have said goodbye to someone besides Ritchie, but what was the point? Who cared at the gym? They were all just passing through each others’ lives like commuters on a city bus.

Maybe Sergei, the old Russian. The grizzled fighter who had somehow decided Frank was worth teaching. Who rarely ever spoke to him in English. Maybe he should have given Sergei a “Das Vadanya” before he left. But that would just be awkward. Neither of them was sentimental. Frank could see it now: the old man’s gray eyes would regard him curiously under his wild white eyebrows, wondering why at this moment Frank had decided to show any manner of affection for him. No, that wasn’t right, better to leave without a goodbye.

But her, he was glad to see, she was waiting for him just outside the door. Frank smiled. It was a genuine smile through the pain. He had wanted to see her before he left.

Her tail wagged as he approached her.

“You’re back. I thought I might not get a chance to say goodbye.”

Frank kneeled and rubbed her ears.

“Come on, you picked a good night. We’re gonna eat like kings.”

He began to walk down the road, and the dog happily trotted beside him.

He pulled the collar of his ancient peacoat up. It was given to him by Sergei when he saw that he had grown out of his old one. Given was a stretch. One day Sergei tossed over his shoulders as Frank stood outside shivering in the cold, pretending it didn’t bother him as he tried to light a cigarette. Neither of them said a word, but Frank was grateful.

It wasn’t new when he got it. It reeked of cigars, half the lining was torn out, and moths had done a number on it, but it was better than nothing.

Now, the buttons were gone, the pocket linings were shredded, and yet he wore it. Why spend precious money on things when his stomach ached for food? When he needed a place to sleep? Buy a new coat or sleep on the street. Anyway, he couldn’t imagine something new. No, this coat worked fine enough. He’d wear it until it disintegrated if he could.

The rich scent of fat frying on the grill hit their noses well before they came upon the small white building that lit up the night.

Burger Town

Frank walked up to the window. A man in a white paper hat jotted down his order: three burgers all plain- because of the dog, fries, milkshake. He looked curiously at the young man and the dog as they took a seat at one of the white wooden picnic tables nearby. Frank sat on the table itself, feet on the bench, and lit a cigarette while waiting for his food. The dog hopped up on the bench and placed her head on one of Frank’s shoes. He gave her a scratch behind her ears, and she happily thumped her tail against the wood.

Frank chain-smoked as the hunger pangs intensified. The anticipation of finally filling his stomach only made them worse.

When Frank went up to get his order, the man in the paper hat opened his mouth as if he would say something. He seemed to quickly change his mind after looking over Frank’s bruised face. He probably didn’t want to deal with whatever trouble this kid might give him. Frank turned and grinned to himself. He was used to getting told off, used to having to defend himself, and so he made sure he appeared bigger, more menacing, not worth the trouble. It usually worked. Sometimes it got him into more trouble. That was ok, too—most of the time. Most of the time, people realized fast that his tough-guy act was more than a facade. For some people, it took a little longer, and they needed a little more encouragement.

He sighed and sat down. Sometimes he wished he could just shed it. Not have to fight for everything all the time. He quickly shut down that line of thinking. It was no use wishing for a life he didn’t have. Those weren’t the cards life dealt him.

The dog was looking at him expectantly. His stomach growled. He unwrapped one of the burgers, tore it up, and placed the pieces back on the wrapper. The dog devoured her share and stared at him.

“Hang on a sec. I gotta eat something too, y’know.” He unwrapped his burger and bit down into it. Holy god, it might have been the most incredible thing he’d ever eaten. The aching in his stomach pleaded with him to tear through all the food, but he chewed slowly, chewed past the point of savoring it. He knew from experience that this was the best way to do it despite his empty stomach. It wouldn’t do him much good to eat fast and then throw it all up a minute later. Then after ages of chewing, he finally swallowed. It felt good to have some food in his stomach. As he ate, he marveled at how much better he felt. He wondered what it was like to walk around and not feel like shit all the time. To have a clear head and not have to try to smoke the pain away. He could always bum a cigarette off someone, but no one ever just gave you food. It was too precious.

And this: burgers, fries, milkshake, this was the ultimate. Frank’d take this over a meal at the fanciest restaurant any day. Not that he knew what that food was like, he couldn’t dream of it. Back when he was a kid, sometimes restaurant owners, not the fancy ones- they’d shoo him out with the rest of the vermin, would pity the skinny kid in shabby clothes. Let him wash a few plates for table scraps. No handouts for him. He would work. He sure as hell wasn’t going to take anything for free.

Now, with the scruff on his face and his height, he looked like a man. And if hardly anyone could bother to care about the scrawny kid Frank, they certainly didn’t care about the six-foot teenager Frank.

He pulled the last burger out of the bag and split it in half. He tore one of the halves into pieces and placed them in front of the dog. The dog once again gobbled up every last crumb. As she was eating, he picked up the other half and took a bite. The dog lifted her head and whined at him, pleading with him with her big brown eyes. Frank sighed and gave her a small smile. He tore up the remaining burger half and set it down in front of her. He checked his watch. Soon enough now, he thought.

Then the lights went out. Burger Town was shutting down. Frank looked over and saw that the man in the paper hat was locking boards over the takeout counter window.

Frank picked up the fries, the milkshake, and the duffle and got up from the table. The dog hopped down from the bench, and they began to walk. He was unsure of where he was going. No place would take him in with the dog, no matter how much money he had. Frank debated breaking into the gym and spending the night there. It wouldn’t be the first time. Sergei usually got in early in the morning, and he wouldn’t rat him out to Ritchie. Anyway, what was Ritchie going to do? Call the cops? He realized that asshole probably would and use the opportunity to pocket the rest of Frank’s winnings from his belongings. Damn, the gym might not be the place, then. He sipped his milkshake as he walked. Frank couldn’t risk everything now.

Well, he’d find somewhere, he decided, he always did.

At least he wouldn’t be alone. He looked down at the dog, who looked up at him, her tongue hung out of her mouth as she panted away. She almost looked like she was smiling.

He couldn’t recall the last time a person smiled at him. Well, genuinely smiled at him.

They reached a park. It would be too cold to sleep there tonight, but he thought he could rest for a moment. At least enjoy the moment before searching for a place to sleep. He finished the fries and milkshake and dumped their containers in the trash, and then he looked around.

The cops would likely be coming through to kick out all the bums. Bums like him. Incredible, you got no place to go, and they won’t even let you sleep in a park that no one’s using because it’s the middle of the night, Frank thought. What were they supposed to do?

He found a nice patch of grass next to a giant tree that would at least partially hide him should some cop come poking around.

He lay down on the grass and put his head on his duffle.

Frank lit a cigarette and put one arm behind his head as he looked up into the night sky.

“Almost time now.”

The dog snuggled next to him on the grass.

He patted her head between her ears.

“I’m going to miss you, but I can’t take you with me.”

Tomorrow, finally, he’d enlist in the marines. He wasn’t sure what it would bring. But what kind of life could he have otherwise? Maybe he’d make a difference in the world? Stop the bad guys? Nah. He was kidding himself if he thought that. But a clean bed? A place to go? Three square meals a day? Damn, if that didn’t sound like heaven. So what if they bossed him around a bit. Sent him off to die in some strange place. Nah, that part, the dying part, that wasn’t happening. He could kid around about being a hero, but there’s no way he was just gonna die in some foxhole. Die in some other man’s war. He’d make it. He’d be the one to survive. He’d survived this long.

He took a drag of his cigarette and turned his wrist to check his watch.

Frank chuckled.

“Hey Dog, guess what?” The dog’s ears perked up. She wagged her tail and crawled over to him. She nuzzled his hand with her nose until he gave her a few pats.

Then he took another drag and said, “It’s my birthday.”

[james-fun-in-the-sunderland]

Erm general questions

Fave food

Fave activities and why

Cuddler?

Scars? From what?

Type?

Favorite people

Type of humor

hi hello my bestie im gonna answer these for vicky bc he was on my mind

Fave food

vicky LOVES a good steak (he likes it cooked medium rare in case anyone asks), his mom would always make steaks on special occasions and so not only did it taste SUPER good to him but he always associated it w good times :) he has never tried to grill up som steak himself bc he knows it wont taste as good so he goes to nicer restaurants on special occasions to get some steak!

Fave activities and why

I feel like i barely ever talk abt it but vicky LOVES to sing and play guitar! its like the second part of his whole thing, he also collects records and in general loves to collect good sound systems to listen to music! hes always loved music ever since he was a kid and looked up alot to like singers and bands and stuff bc he saw that as like ... peak lifestyle, exactly what he wanted to be and do when he grew up... he tried to break out and become some kind of singer songwriter but nothing ever went through and when his daughter was born he basically gave up that dream but he still sings and all of that bc it makes him happy :)

Cuddler?

YES.... INTENSELY. his boyfriend gets his cuddles in FULL FORCE !!! hes very touchy and will sort of passively cuddle his bf when theyre just like . doin nothin. just standing next to each other he'll have his arms around him n stuff (note this does NOT happen in public places bc vicky HATES pda but in their own home and in private moments he is INSUFFERABLE) hes also very cuddly with his daughter! he would OFTEN fall asleep w her on his chest when she was littler c: shes also a cuddler bc of this ofc

Scars? From what?

oh boy does he have scars, i have a whole section on his ref sheet for his scars

(i put it in here twice so that the post doesnt KILL dashboards w how long it is lmao)

i also have alot of like explainations for some of em, the burns on his arm are from when he went to dispose of some evidence for a boss and was a BIT fucked up (drunk) and so he didnt notice there was some lighter fluid that got on him until he already lit the fuckin match (hes a lil dumb <3)

the scar that goes across his stomach and on his arm was when he was doing a hit and thought the person was dead but they WERENT they were tricking him so when he didnt expect it they could slash the fuck outta him and get away (he still ended up killing them in the end but it was a GOOD try <3)

his facial scar, his most noticable one since the rest he tends to cover with clothes, was from when he got fucked up on alot of stuff and went for a drive during the WORST period of his life (he had SEVERE depression man he was NOT doing well) and he ended up hitting a pole at like 100 mph and of course didnt have a seatbelt (this was in like the 60s so .) so he flew out the window and MIRACULOUSLY was not hurt outside of alot of bruises and small cuts along with a shard of glass getting stuck in his face as he skidded scross the pavement like a skipping stone (which is what caused the huge scar) he doesnt like people to ask about it bc he finds that part of his life embarrassing (guy doesnt like having emotions :/)

HI EDITING BC I REALIZED I MISSED THI s his missing pinky got cut off as a punishment from a boss he had <3 not much more developed than that as of rn

Type?

i am GUESSING u mean type in like dating partners... in which case ... i havent really thought abt it! i suppose he likes people that are different from him! smaller, got more meat on their bones, more thinkers rather than impulse type people like he is, also hairy-er people. he doesnt grow body hair and i imagine the first time he kissed his bf (who has a beard) he was like AHHHH OK . I GET IT. I LOVE THIS

mostly i think he also really loves people he can do things for... like people he can care for... hes terminally someone to has to be doing things for people (as long as he agrees w the things bc otherwise he wont!) his bf makes sure to give him stuff to take care of w him (he has chronic pain in one of his legs and used to just rub some pain reliever on himself but now he and vicky have a whole routine in the morning w it :) )

Favorite people

his boyfriend abel and his daughter rosa! they are his EVERYTHING.. like literally if he lost them he would PLUMMET back into the depression he had when his mom died but EVEN WORSE bc he prides himself on taking good care of his daughter, if he worries about her its all he can think about, rn in universe shes being held hostage for him to do a job and hes WORRIED SICK like she is ALL he is thinking abt rn :(

Type of humor

oh he would definitely be called problematic . i wouldnt say he has an offensive sense of humor but its for sure darker than usual, growing up as a bully who took quite a bit of joy in suffering will do that to ya :/

[tarantulas4davey]

Ufc Fighter Albert Dasilva Headcanons

hello, people who still follow me despite the fact i never post cause i’m a mess. how y’all doin? my favorite ufc fighter won the other day so now ✨this is what we’re doing✨. also i originally sent this thought to @we-are-inevitable ‘s ask box so find that post here (hi jac ilysm mwah mwah mwah)

i also wrote a part 2 so find that here !!

also,,,,, this is fairly obvious. but trigger warning for violence/physical fighting, and well as blood and injury. (it’s a rough gig y’all fjdhdb)

i sincerely apologize in advance for what a mess this post is gonna be i just had a monster and i’m hyped up on the win and this is a hyperfixation i don’t get to talk about very often so feel free to ask questions and HERE WE FUCKIN GO

OK SO

albert is just,,,,,, a violent sports guy. always has been, probably always will be.

most forms of recreational fighting, football, hockey, rugby, fuck even soccer if he gets too into it. he’s just a Built Person, and he wicked competitive, and that makes for violent displays of athleticism

I think he was probably a hockey or football guy in high school, but he was also on the wrestling team cause i said so

then after graduation he got really into kickboxing, just to have something to do cause he didn’t have school sports to play and train for all the time

and then one day his coach is like ‘hey. you’re like,,, stupid good at this. you should sign up for competitions, you might make some money.’

he does, in fact, ‘make some money’, cause in straight kickboxing? he’s pretty much unmatched on the regional scene, which is ridiculous cause he didn’t start training his stand up game til he was 18 or 19

then American Top Team (ATT, it’s a really big MMA training camp that had trained a boat load of the top talent in the UFC) approaches him like ‘y’know if you worked on your grappling you could be a really solid mma fighter’

which is HUGE, but obviously albert can’t pick up his entire life and move to florida to train with them, so him and race (this is me, of course race is with al. supportive boyfriend and number one fan alert <3) find gyms willing to work with him based in new york. then he starts signing up for shit.

he sticks with stand up fighting when he can, he likes it more and cause,,,,, well. it’s more entertaining. the higher your entertainment value, the more people watch your fights. the more people watch your fights, the more likely you are to get noticed by big promotions (like the ufc)

he uses his wrestling to keep grapplers on their feet (he’s got like a 90% takedown defense, what an icon) and he picks people apart.

he has a lot of technical skill, but he also is fiery and passionate and scrappy. he gets hit too much for his own good a lot of the time.

he’s super durable. this man can get hit clean over and over and stay on his feet, but that’s not gonna hold up forever. it takes a loss or two in a row to motivate him to change it

and oh boy does he change it

he spends a month in auckland, new zealand at city kickboxing (one of the best kickboxing gyms in the world, and they lean heavily on tactics rather than just charging forward blindly)

he’s straight up a different fighter after that. he’s quick, light on his feet, and avoids punches way easier while also setting up the angles for his own. he gets signed to the ufc 2 fights later.

his first fight is short notice. no training camp, he’s got 5 days to make weight, AND it’s against a top 10 ranked opponent. no big deal, right?

and albert, being albert, is super chill about it. sure, this is the opportunity of a lifetime, could decide his entire future as a fighter, and he’s barely got time to prepare.

but he’s in the gym every single day of the week, he doesn’t super cut on weight like most ex-wrestlers, and most importantly, it’s just fighting. all he has to do is get in the octagon and punch some dude in the face. he can do that all day.

race on the other hand,,,,,,,,

he believes in albert with his whole soul, he really does, but Fuck watching your boyfriend get hit in the head is no fucking fun. especially when you know that the guy throwing the punches has been training for months, and your guy hasn’t even had a week

so he brings jack for moral support. also cause jack is DEFINITELY a ufc fan and was the only one that would understand what was happening.

at some point in the first round albert gets caught clean, opening a cut on his cheek, which makes race Panic Even More

but he gets cleaned up between rounds, and it’s not swelling so he can still see, and it’s over by the middle of the second.

and albert wins, cause (this is fiction and i’m telling a story) of fucking course he does, and he probably wins with some stupid dramatic spinning back kick and gets clipped on twitter cause he’s just Like That

the part that makes me, as the ralbert shipper, super fucking happy is coming up but i need to add a lil real talk first

considering albert is like,,,, openly in a relationship with a man when he gets into the ufc,,,,, that makes him the first publicly gay ufc fighter. like,,,, ever.

this is realized after his hand gets raised after the ref calls the stoppage.

bruce buffer makes the official announcement, al gets his hand raised, he gets interviewed by joe rogan, and then his coaches, jack and race get to come into the cage

at first everyone things it’s a best friend or something, especially after the dap up bro hug things he gives his coaches and jack

but then albert sees race, and you can watch this boy’s face light up on the camera. then race throws his arms around albert’s neck and albert half lifts him off the ground in a hug around his waist and ok, sure, that’s not the most platonic thing you’ve ever seen, but that doesn’t prove anything

and then albert kisses race. like full, actual, on the mouth in front of all the cameras kiss. cause he doesn’t give a shit.

and nobody’s talking about his spinning back kick anymore, cause Holy Shit That Wasn’t Very Straight Of You Dasilva

but he doesn’t address it, cause every other fighter gets to kiss their wife or girlfriend or whatever in the cage after they win and nobody bats an eye, so why should it be any different for him and his boyfriend?

also, because it needs to be said, statistically there are ALREADY lgbtq+ male fighters in the ufc. like currently, in real life. they’re just not out publicly. the ufc has openly supported queer people’s rights in the past, and is partnered with 4 prominent HIV/AIDS awareness organizations. there is multiple openly queer women currently fighting in the ufc, including amanda nunes, who has been repeatedly called the greatest women’s fighter of all time. but as of right now, there is no openly mlm ufc fighters, so that would technically make albert the first. we love a trend setter. now back to what i’m supposed to be talking about djdhdbd

and eventually interviewers and fans on twitter realize that they’re only going to get one answer to vague questions about sexuality, which is “i’m dating a man and i fight people for a living. if that makes me a revolutionary, so be it bro.”

he includes race in a lot of his answers, especially in interviews where they ask more personal questions or grill him on his mental game, cause he loves race and thinks he deserves credit for everything he does to make al a better person and a better fighter

also, purely for my own entertainment, i think after he becomes champion (cause of course he does) he goes on the joe rogan podcast, and joe is pretty much the only one who gets albert to talk about any of it in a genuine way

he doesn’t get sarcasm or a blunt “can we talk about fighting, now?” like everyone else, he gets a real answer, cause that’s what albert came on to do anyway

he talks about getting together in highschool, and how it was race’s idea for him to start kickboxing in the first place, and what a fucking genius race is and how he’s getting his PhD right now, and how he didn’t want to talk about it cause he didn’t want to be the “gay fighter”, and how that’s a trivialization of his relationship with race and he refuses to let it be seen as anything but what it is, which is the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to him

just. Ugh. them <3

THIS POST IS SO LONG HOLY SHIT DHDHDHDH

anyway-

y e a h. albert dasilva would rock anyone’s shit. if i keep having thoughts about this i’ll make one about him becoming champion. thank you for your time ✨

also gonna tag @soaps-posts cause the brainrot is powerful so here you are my dear <3

[dripkingpetey]

give me a chance-j.virtanen

a/n:this took me way longer than it should’ve but I've just had no motivation for writing lol (watch me not post another fic for the longest time-)

1910 words

“Y/n, I bet you’re the only girl that’s ever turned Jake down.” Brock said to you over the loud sounds of people talking in the background of the bar and he wasn’t wrong, any girl who Jake has every approached or even talked to would be falling in love with him right away but not you. You always used the excuses like “I’ve known him for too long, it would be weird.” Or “I just don’t want anything with anyone right now,” But all of that just made Jake want you more.

“He’s not wrong.” The young swede sitting to the left of you chimed in. “I’ve never seen anyone turn Jake down, you must have some anti Jake gene in you or something.” The three of you bursted laughing at Elias’ words before you took a sip of your drink. “I don’t know, I want something serious and I know Jake can’t give me that.” You said quietly but Brock and Elias definitely heard you as they exchanged a look to each other.

Jake came back to the area that all of you were seated and nuzzled his face into your shoulder, clearly very drunk. “Hey,” He grinned while slowly closing his eyes as he couldn’t help but drift off to sleep.

“Are you sure you guys don’t have something going on? Secretly fucking or friends with benefits?” Brock joked quietly, looking at you rubbing Jakes back and comforting him. “Seems like you and petey are the ones that are secretly fucking.” You commented at Brocks words and his face immediately turned red. 

By the next morning you had completely forgotten what you had said last night, the only thing occupying your head was the pounding headache from your hangover. “Hey,” Jake grinned while taking a sip of water in his kitchen and that was when you realized you had fallen asleep on his couch last night. “You’re creepy, were you watching me sleep?” You joked and threw a pillow at him. “For your information, I was not. I actually need to get ready for practice.”

“Do you mind taking care of Bruce and Donny today? I forgot they had to go to the groomers.” Jake asked nicely knowing you would say yes. “Yes, but only if you hangout with me tonight.” You smiled at him as he nodded. “Count me in, okay I really gotta go get ready.” Jake pulled you in for a hug and a light kiss on the head before he rushed to get ready, you waited till Jake left to get ready for the day. You had clothes there from spending time over there so much so you grabbed a pair of leggings and your favourite hoodie of Jakes before you hopped in the shower.

You ran some errands before you had to pick the dogs up from the groomer, you sat them in the backseat before taking a photo of you and the dogs to show Jake you had picked them up.

i got the boys :) 

*image attachment*

Is that my sweater?

maybeee

I’ll be home soon, should I pick up dinner?

nope, i already planned what we’re doing for dinner

You started putting away the groceries and grabbed the ingredients you needed for dinner, you decided to make burgers and salad for dinner since you knew it was Jakes favourite meal and he was dying to try out the new grill he purchased the other day. 

“Hey.” Jake whispered right by your ear which made you jump while preparing the salad. “I already knew you were here,” “Yeah but you still got scared.” Jake chuckled at you and sat on the stool for the kitchen island. “What’s for dinner?” Jake raised an eyebrow at you before you pulled out the hamburger patties. “Burgers, you get to use the grill that you’ve been dying to use.” You smiled as Jakes eyes immediately lit up. “Oh god, you are a literal man-child.” You sighed with a chuckle.

-

Since Jake was gone on a road trip, you went over to his house to take care of his dogs and the house, it was the second game of their road trip when Jake got his injury.

You couldn’t help but sigh as you saw Jake get hit, he was against Dallas when Jamie Oleksiak collided with Jake. But the sigh quickly turned into fear when Jake was struggling to get up. “Oh shit.” You mumbled to yourself as the refs whistled and the trainer went on to help him. Jake slipped a little but got off the ice quickly with the help of Bo and Brock.

You watched the replays of the hit that they were showing on tv before you texted Jake.

i watched the game, call me when you can please.

You were half asleep when Jake called you, you quickly woke up from the call and answered.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Your voice was sleepy and Jake could tell. “Hey, I’m okay. Sorry did I wake you up?” Hearing Jakes voice made you calm down. “No, no its okay.” You mumbled, half asleep which made Jake chuckle. “I’ll be home tomorrow.” Jake quickly realized you weren’t listening when he heard your light little snores. “I love you” He whispered before hanging up to fall asleep as well.

You woke up early next morning and cleaned up around the house and  waited for him to come home. “Oh god I look like a mess.” You mumbled as you saw a glimpse of yourself in the window.  You quickly tried to fix your hair and outfit but quickly gave up and changed into a set of Jakes clothes along with a messy bun.

“Hey.” Jake said cheekily as he flopped himself on top on you, wincing a little from his injury. “Hey,” You mumbled quietly, now realizing you were asleep. “You’re home.” You grinned. “Would be better if it was our home though,” Jake winked as he whispered into your ear. “Jake,” You sighed as he kissed your cheek. “Y/n, just kiddinggg.” Jake said as he dragged on the ‘g’ and sat up on the couch.

“How was your trip? Well other than the injury.” You asked but quickly realized it wasn’t a good question to ask him. “The trip was pretty fun, but did you know the doctor actually said that cuddling will help out my concussion and my injuries?” Jake smirked as you looked up at him. “Oh really?” You teased, moving your body onto Jakes and burying your face in his chest while you traced the tattoos on his arm with your fingers. “Yeah, just like that.” Jake chuckled and rested his face into the top of your head.

-

Jake didn’t want anything super special for his birthday this year, just a little party at his place with close friends, which was surprising since Jake was a party guy.

“Morning, birthday boy.” You grinned over FaceTime to a half asleep Jake. “Hey.” Jake mumbled, pulling his blanket up to his head. “What do you want?”

“Woah, woah. I’m just trying to be nice and wish you a happy birthday,” You defended yourself as Jake laughed. “I’m just kidding, thank you y/n.”

You ended the call shortly after to go get ready for the day since Jake kept on whining about wanting to go back to sleep. 

You snuck into Jakes house with your spare key, setting down the breakfast you had picked up from his favourite cafe. You tippy toed quietly up the stairs to Jakes room, trying not to wake him up yet. Sneaking into Jakes bed and cuddling up behind him. “Hey.” You mumbled against Jakes neck before giving him a kiss there. “Y/n?” Jake mumbled, chuckling a little. “How did you get in?” 

“I have your key dummy.” You laughed, starting to play with Jakes hair and you knew he loved it. “I brought you your favourite breakfast.” You smiled as you saw the smile grow on Jakes face as well. “You did?” “Yep its in the kitchen,” Jake jumped up out go bed and headed downstairs as you sighed and laid in his bed for awhile.

Before you knew it, you had dozed off to sleep. Groaning as you woke up to the loud music playing downstairs combined with the sound of people talking. Making sure you looked presentable and awake before going downstairs.

“Hey, you’re up!” Jake exclaimed as you walked downstairs and greeted everyone, realizing that Jake was already very drunk. “The drinks are in the kitchen if you want one.” Jake grinned with his visible rosy cheeks. “Thank you.” You smiled at Jake and made your way to the kitchen, grabbing a red bull and taking a big sip so you can pour way too much vodka in the can than needed. 

Completely tipsy and almost drunk, you found yourself sitting on top of Jakes lap with your face inches away from his. Jake softly but his hand on your cheek and you leaned in as well, realizing what you were doing and pulled away.

“Why won’t you give me a chance?” Jake whined at you pulling your face away from his. “Jake.” You mumbled quietly. “No, don’t give me that ‘Jake’ bullshit. Give me a reason.” “Its not that I don’t feel the same way about you, I do, but I don’t know what you want out of this and I want something serious, not one of your casual Friday night hookups, I want an actual relationship but I don’t think you want that.” You finally let it all out, the things you’ve been whining about to Brock and Elias, he finally knew. 

It took Jake a moment to process what you said especially under the influence, but he tried to sober up before he could say anything else. “Just give me a chance y/n, I promise I can be the serious relationship you want.” You sighed at his words, knowing you needed another sip of alcohol before you could do anything else. “Tell me that in the morning Jake, when you’re sober.” You stood up and left the living room so you didn’t have to see the disappointed look on Jakes face, finding yourself in his bedroom and changing into Jakes clothes so you could drift off to sleep. 

You woke up to Jake wanting to talk about last night immediately but you somehow successfully persuaded him to let you wake up and have a cup of coffee.“I know I haven’t had the best reputation with long-term relationships but I wanna try, with you. So just please, can we work this out?” Jake said quietly, he’s never had to do stuff like this before and you could tell he was taking it seriously. “You know how this is gonna end if it doesn’t go well right? I need you and I can’t lose you.” You said quietly, afraid to make any eye contact with him because you were tearing up at the thought of losing him.

“Then I won’t let it go bad.” Jake sat closer to you and tucked the loose strands of your hair behind your ear and he noticed the tears. 

“You promise?” You mumbled, looking up at him. “I promise y/n.” Jake said while smiling lightly at you before you pressed your lips onto his and you could’ve sworn the kiss was out of a movie, it was perfect.

[kirby-the-gorb]

reply roundup!

thank you to the patrons! fleurdelis, lukeperiodsun, @heraldinthedark, hadbabits, kellie, natascha, kirbx14, and @technophage!

also kirby’s [pride preparations] seemed to be pretty popular!

it’s a long one this time!

on [road trip]:

@littlemousejelly said: oh the universal Displaced Smol Feeling. doesn't matter how tall you are you look at a menu like this. doesn't matter how old you are being on a roadtrip means you feel like you're nowhere and everywhere and that's OKAY

@thebreakfastgod said: in 8th grade i went on a roadtrip in the week long break for Thanksgiving. on Thursday we were driving home but didnt make it back until Friday, so that Thursday we had Thanksgiving at McDonalds somewhere out in Kansas. we had actual thanksgiving the next day with my brother. this drawing is so cute n it reminded me of this :)

@nikuknight said: so cute!! and yeah this experience is universal I think ^^ relatable

@indigowallbreaker said: this was me last Sunday, what a feeling

@sortofabetaiguess said: this is probably what i’m gonna be like. actually if my queue works this is probably what i /am/ like. #not twilight

oh I didn’t expect to get road trip stories out of this post but it’s wonderful that I did, I’m glad so many of you can relate XD (also I had to keep the “#not twilight” tag because there’s just something delightful about my kirby making it to a twilight blog.)

on [sandwiches]:

@salted15 said: ohmygoodness !!!!! them hamds !!!!! they full !!!!!!! blessed

@orion-flux said: TWO GRILLED CHEEZUMS!?

two of them!!! (also I love that two different people tagged the same friend in this drawing, that’s so cute :’> )

on [mirror]:

@littlemousejelly​ said: OH CUTE, I THINK THEY BOTH LOOK NICE! i'm Love mirror kirmby very much they are as much shaped as a friemd as right side gorb kirby

oh he is definitely equally friend shaped! he’s just not quite as round lol

@macro-microcosm​ said: the duality of man

man vs self

on [game night]:

@lavendarjevil said: girls night

pedicures! talkin about boys! pillow fight!

@poltergeist-draws-probably​ said: me and the besties on a tuesday afternoon

heck yeah dude that is exactly the vibe I was going for

@littlemousejelly​ said: oh this is precious oh my godddd LOOK AT THE LIL KIRBOS WATCHING AS GREENBY DOES THE VIDDY GAME FOCUSING SO HARD AND DOING A REALLY BIG WIN, PINKBY IS JUST HAPPY TO BE THERE! blueby is asleep shhh... GRAYBY DOESN'T KNOW WHAT GREENBY IS DOING BUT THEY'RE IN AWE CUTE CUTE CUTE

using the color names like that is so cute :0 I just love the excitement in these tags it feels so nice ;u;

@toastycharmander​ said: 🥺 imma be honest i wish i could sit with friends and watch them play video games like this, just seems so nice. i’d probably end up as the blue kirby at some point tho

man, same. someday we will all get to sit with our friends again and/or make good friends to sit with.

on [incognito]:

@gingersducksandbubbles​ said: the brows remind me of the cinnamon toast crunch meme. either way, adorable until proven innocent and even then still adorable. yes im aware of what the last tag says. its the law duh

the crime he was wanted for was being adorable! there is no escaping that! (also I don’t think I’d seen that meme before, drawing angry eyebrows on things is just almost always funny huh)

on [hat]:

@dragonsandmollusks​ said: baseball hats or whatever this type of hat is called are way too hard to draw

ugh, they really are. especially in lineless art! (altho the person who said they’re putting this one in the art ref folder is funny XD )

on [small]:

@littlemousejelly​ said: OH TEENY!!!!! HELLO YOU ARE VERY SMALL!! OR VERY FAR AWAY!! OR BOTH!! I LOVE YOU!!!! littol teeny kirby are you cold?? are you rubbing your lil hands together because you have a chill?? WAIT I ZOOMED IN AND YOU ARE POUTING! AHHHHHH CUTIE I KISS YOUR LIL PIMK HEAD AND PATPAT! i hope you feel better soon!!!

a true journey :’>

@gingersducksandbubbles​ said: hi kirbo! why you so far away? did he have a snack? i see that lil cheek curve. he holding his hands or arm nubs so cute like an innocent lil guy so cute. is he innocent tho? not gonna get into tjat discourse cuz the end result is that he's always adorable!! Thank you kirby!

I like this interpretation too! just trying to play innocent after stealing a snack. :>

there was a lot on [pride prep]:

@lammiies said: Kirby supports Gay Pride! ���️‍🌈

@macro-microcosm said: BEST MOST SUPPORTIVE BOI happy pride 🌈

@rainbowmilk1996 said: Kirby is a good lad. That, and he probably likes all the colors

@neurokinetics said: my sweet gay child

you are all correct! kirby is gay, kirby supports gays (and the whole lgbtqia+ community! all of us!), and kirby thinks all the pretty pride flag colors are very neat. :>

@drummajor-isyourbandready said: this is the only pride post I'll reblog probably. look at this fella

ohh a high honor! thank you :> (although of course if you find other stuff also worth sharing that’s a good thing too!)

@kiwi-lynx said: Ok, I’m obsessed with your drawings THEY ARE JUST SO CUTE 🥰🏳️‍🌈

@pizza-equals-poetry said: op this is beautiful

awwh thank you both so much!

also @your-local-neighbourhood-kat tagged me in this [very cursed image] by a deactivated blog which, thanks I hate it XD

[witchy-anna]

Ok, so I have this idea. I want Hawks to react to a horror manga artist/writer (Junji Ito but female) who stares at him from afar (using him as a ref for her protagonist) and when he tries to confront her about it, she either ignores him or runs in the opposite direction and he thinks it’s because she hates him but in actuality she’s too anxious to deal with a confrontation and doesn’t want to have a panic attack. Headcannons or scenario, please and thank you hun!

Hawks x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3k~

Warnings: Mentions of mental health (panic attacks/anxiety), mild cursing, mild gore

Playlist: Haunted by ADONA, Devil’s Playground by The Rigs, I See You by MISSIO

A/N: This ask is so dang interesting, this turned out much longer than I intended it to. I know everyone experiences panic attacks differently but I went with what helps me ground myself. Honestly, I’m not very confident with this one, nonetheless I hope you enjoy! 

~~~

Hawks’ stomach growled audibly. He sat far above the civilians walking and going about their daily lives below his perch. “Just a couple more hours,” he muttered to himself. 

The swollen sun dipped low in the sky, reflecting off glass windows momentarily blinding him. 

He throws his head back letting out a groan, “I’m hungry!” Coming to a decision he pulls his phone out to find recent calls and selects one. The line connects almost immediately, “This is- oh hey Hawks! Let me guess, your usual?” 

“You know me so well,” Hawks laughs loudly. 

“Give me five minutes,” the chipper voice replied.

“Great! I’ll be there,” he says ending the call. Standing, he stretches languidly eliciting a couple pops from his stiffened joints. Hopping off the building he glides easily to his destination. Making it to the empty restaurant in less than two minutes, and strolling inside like he owned the place. At this point he practically did as he was their most frequent customer. 

The young man who answered the phone waved from the counter, “Hey! I said five minutes, I’m still working on your order so take a seat over there.” He gestured to the table by the window which Hawks raised an eyebrow at. “Please? You attract customers and it’s empty in here!” the man wiggled his own eyebrows.

With a dramatic sigh he settled into his seat pulling out his phone out to absentmindedly scroll through social media. 

The young man who was the owner’s son dropped into the seat across from Hawks, “See, you do attract customers.” He slid a food tray containing Hawks’ opulent order of various types of chicken, including fried of course. 

Hawks grinned, “You didn’t have to bring this out, I could have grabbed it.” Turning to eye the growing amount of patrons queuing up at the counter to order. 

“Nah, my old man told me to sit here in case anyone tried to bug you,” he shrugged. “You’re doing us a favor anyway. Plus my sister can handle the orders.”

As Hawks ate, the restaurant gradually filled with more and more patrons. Soft whispers and chatter increased in volume. A loud shutter sound came from across the room followed by a curse. The owner’s son sighed and leveled a hard look at the offender.

“It’s fine,” Hawks said quietly. At this point people snapping photos of him was a common occurrence. 

A little kid sat in a booth openly gawking, he spared a little wave at them and got a wide excited smile in return. He felt more so than saw all of the people staring. 

A movement outside caught his attention, sitting across the street on a set of stone stairs tucked into the side of a building sat a person. 

His eyes narrowed and rapt gaze took in a woman sitting partially obscured by shadows with her head down scribbling something into a notebook. A small penlight stuck between her teeth. Every so often she would look up to stare intensely at him before returning to the scribbing. He shoveled the food into his mouth faster because of the curiosity itching at him. An edge of worry creeping along behind it, what if it was a spy or someone out to harm him. What was she writing? He felt the small feathers at the base of his wings stand on end. 

Just as he finished his meal he watched out of the corner of his eye for her head to duck back down. Shooting to his feet he startled the owner’s son from whatever was so interesting on his phone, “Woah, finished already?”

“Yep, duty calls!” Hawks gave him a cocky grin and moved to hand the food tray to the girl at the counter. He waved before slipping outside into the cool air. 

~~~

As soon as your paycheck came in you hightailed it to the local art supply store. With your eyes sparkling as you drank in the wonderful sights of shelves and cabinets chocked full of goodies. The faint scent of graphite tickled your nose and the more overpowering scent of paints.

Your phone chimes, breaking you out of your happy daze, from a Twitter page you were ashamed to follow when you first discovered it. The photo with the attached location is luckily a short walk away. 

You sigh, What an artist will do for inspiration. Rushing to ring up your purchases, you not so subtly run outside to get to the location before he leaves.

Why, why, why did your brain insist on Hawks of all heroes to use as inspiration for your protagonist. To late at this point. 

Arriving at the restaurant you internally groan, it was busy. Very busy. Excitement constricted your throat at the sight of brilliant vermillion wings showcased in the bright window he sat in. The lights from the restaurant washing over the outside street and people impatiently queuing in the growing line. 

You puff your cheeks out, What should I do now? Luckily you spot a secluded staircase across the street with a perfect view of the window. A little far but it would have to do. Unfortunately for you it’s out of the light provided from the street lamps and business windows. You make yourself as comfortable as possible on the steps and pull out a sketchpad and your favorite pencil to sketch. 

In person sketching was substantially better than using random photos from online. Taking a photo of him without permission feels a little too invasive of his privacy. 

The soft sounds of the pencil scratching over the rough paper fills your senses. His wings in person are so much more magnificent, folded behind him. Much different than the photos are red-tailed hawks you tried to use. 

“Whatcha doin’ there?” a cheerful voice chirps. 

A strangled squeak escapes your throat, Oh no. Someone caught me. 

Ignore it (Y/n), he’ll go away. You jolt when inquisitive eyes come into your view and you visibly flinch away from Hawks himself. Well shit.

“Anyone home?” you watch frozen as his hand moves towards you. 

“No!” you shout and scramble away, it echoes down the street. Pedestrians pause and turn towards the commotion. 

Hawks’ eyes widen at your reaction and his voice drops to a gentle tone, “Hey, I’m not going to hurt you.” He slowly withdraws his hand, eyes rapty watching your reactions. Maybe she wasn’t looking at me, he thinks to himself. 

Hurrying to fold up your supplies and go to move around his giant wings. “Excuse me,” your voice comes out sharper than intended. 

“I-, what?” his eyes follow your quickly departing form, completely dumbfounded. “That’s a first.” A soft tap of something falling from your grip diverts his attention. He bends and picks up a pencil, starting at it curiously. 

The panic sets in, breathing sawing faster and faster from your mouth. The quick intake of breath bringing dizziness along with it, hand in hand with nausea. You slip into a nearby secluded alley and press your back against the stone. 

“Okay,” you take a shaky breath, in through the nose and out through the mouth. After a few moments your breathing slows and to stop sounding quite as much like sandpaper is stuck in your throat. “Breath (Y/n). Okay, I see: my shoes, a cigarette, a flyer for a restaurant, a person with an umbrella, and a leaf. I feel: the scratchy wall, the hole in my sock, the breeze, and my sketchbook. I hear: someone laughing, a bicycle chain, and a bell. I smell: something grilling, and is that trash?” You wrinkle your nose, “Lastly I taste the (flavor) candy I ate earlier.” 

Just as you are about to step out from your resting place, a small red feather drifts down the alleyway. Carried by its own invisible breeze. It stops for a moment before turning to move to you, causing your breath to hitch and panic sets back in. 

Before it can reach you, you take off sprinting into the crowd of people making their way to the train station. 

~~~

On the train home, you dig through your bag before upending it into your lap. “No no no, where is it!” 

Great, if that pencil wasn’t like an extension of your own hand it wouldn’t make much of a difference. 

Running graphite stained fingers through your hair you groan at the situation. Do you accept its gone? Or return to the scene of your “crime” and risk Hawks still being there? 

You check your watch resigning to suck it up and go back there; cursing at your clumsiness. Trains were still running so you manage to catch one back, twisting your fingers together the entire time. 

Back at the scene of your “crime” you shine your pen light searching the area. Of course, you hadn’t lost the cheap little light but too late at this point. 

“Hey you,” the familiar voice says cheerfully. 

Nope, you pivot on your heels shoving the still lit pen light into your pocket. Please go away. 

“Wait!” Hawks voice calls from behind you. “I’m just trying to return this to you!” 

Nope, nope, nope, you chant internally. 

“Gotta be quicker than that!” Hawks’ laughing voice is suddenly in front of you. 

Your yelp is muffled as you smack face first into a warm coat. His hands reach up to settle on your arms and steady you but also blocking any attempt at escape. 

Unable to look him in the eyes you instead settle on the collar of his jacket. “Please don’t,“ you say weakly. “Please let go.” This entire situation has already spent your reserves of energy. 

There’s a pause before he lets go and steps back, “You won’t run again?" 

No promises, you think but shake your head anyway. 

A long drawn out sigh comes from Hawks and you glance up at him with widening eyes. Your breath leaves you, creeping across the street was nice but standing this close is a whole different level. His eyes narrow slightly, "What were you doing earlier?" 

"Wait! You saw me?!” you exclaim, then clap a hand over your mouth. 

Hawks’ eyes study your face, seeming to settle on a decision and expression softens. “Here,” he reaches inside his coat to pull out the pencil. 

“Oh, thank you,” you say genuinely. Some pent up tension in your shoulders lessens. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” he presses.

“I was-,” heaving a sigh out you pull the sketchpad out that was tucked under your arm. “I was sketching you. I’m an aspiring mangaka.” 

“Honestly I thought you were suspicious,” he laughs wryly. “But I definitely did not expect this.”

Hawks crouches slightly coming into your line of site, another squeak escapes your mouth and you quickly raise the sketchpad to cover your face. He chuckles and raps his knuckles against it, asking, “Can I see?”

“It’s Hawks!!” someone shouts. 

Hawks turns to grin and wave in the general direction of the shout but says to you quietly, “Can I take you somewhere? I’d like to continue this conversation without interruption." 

At your look of apprehension he offers, "I’ll let you draw me in person!”

“Really?!” you exclaim and again clap a hand over your mouth. 

Hawks nods happily and moves to pick you up but stops when you flinch away. “Hmm, alright I won’t push,” he beckons you to follow. “This way.” Not waiting for an answer he turns on his heels and quickly leaves you behind. 

“Wait,” you call weakly and struggle to catch up. 

His pace slows and he spares a glance over his shoulder to check you’re following. Abruptly he takes a turn into a side alley between two stores.

“A-are you going to mug me?” you joke but your voice wavers.

Hawks spins causing you to crash into him again, which he laughs at loudly. Stepping backward he holds up his hands in a finger gun motion, “Gimme all your money!”

“Very funny,” your smile betrays you.

He gives you a dumbfounded look when you smile that morphs into a satisfied smirk. “Got you to smile, didn’t I?” he spins back around to resume the journey, weaving an impossibly strange route through alleys and streets.

“Here we go,” he says with his gaze traveling up a tall building. “Sorry, we need to fly for this bit.” 

Before you can answer he scoops you up and strong wings propel the both of you straight up into the air. A choked scream is cut off and a moment later he set you down on your feet. With shaky hands you clutch at his coat and gasp out, “You could have warned me!”

“That’s no fun!” his laugh is close enough to ruffle your hair. 

To close, you step away and try to distract yourself with the place he had taken you. 

“Oh, this is..” you pause. Cut off from the gentle but still chilly breeze is a small oasis at a penthouse suite. A small greenhouse sits beside the glass walls leading inside the house. You frown, wondering if this is his place or someone else’s. 

“No one lives here,” he laughs at your expression. “At least not at this time of the year.”

“Anyway, how do you want me?” he questions with a shit eating grin.

“Whatever is comfortable for you,” you roll your eyes.

“Oh! So like this?” he says and proceeds to strike ridiculous flexing poses.

Rolling your eyes again you settle down onto a grassy patch of the ground. Vaguely wondering how people afforded places like this, Must be a hero. Hawks follows you and plops down across from you crossing his legs with wings relaxed behind him. 

You clear your throat, “Why are you letting me do this?” 

He shrugs, “Boredom I guess. Plus you interest me.” 

“I-,” you start but shake your head dismissing his teasing. You move to take out the sketchpad and supplies and settle them onto your drawn up knees. The familiar and comforting sounds of the pencil scratching against paper fills the quiet atmosphere. 

“Why did you run?” he asks quietly, staring off at something in the distance.

You groan and he cocks an eyebrow at you, “I’m no good with confrontation.” 

“So I scared you,” his easy-going expression drops for one of worry. 

Shaking your head you say quickly, “No. No, that’s not it! I was already embarrassed to be sketching you without permission. I felt like I was caught with my hands in the cookie jar.” You smile sheepishly but it falls and you look down at your lap, “I got overwhelmed is all.”

“I can understand that,” he says with another unreadable expression. At his silence you return to your sketchpad, this time with a stick of charcoal. After some more time passes he says, "I find it difficult to believe you happened upon me by chance. How did you know I was there?" 

You duck your head down to avoid his prying eyes and admit, “There’s a twitter account people post sightings of you.” 

He hummed, “I would be lying if I said that wasn’t bizarre but I’ve seen worse.” His brow furrowed remembering something, “Much worse.”

“I’m sorry,” you say softly. 

“No more apologizing, it’s not your fault,” he said with an easy smile. “I’m used to it,” he shrugs nonchalantly. “Comes with the job. Why do you want to draw me? You still haven’t told me.”

A bright smile on your face leaves him with a dumbfounded expression again, “Oh! I’m working on a horror type Manga and wings are just so much fun to draw.” You gush and point at his wings, “Your emotions show through your wings! I want to convey that in my drawings." 

"Can I see?” he asks again. “I mean, I am letting you use my body." 

Puffing out your cheeks you sigh and reluctantly hand the pad to him, "Please don’t laugh." 

"No such thing,” he tuts and greedily grabs at the pad. It starts off as simple lose sketches of red-tailed hawks, next focusing on the wings before evolving entirely to various positions of Hawks himself. He flips a page to reveal the first full body fleshed out design of your protagonist. The character stands with a cocky grin, wearing a victorian style suit and top hat balanced on his fluffy hair. Only his wings are left with a light outline and where his hands should be, are left blank. 

The last and most detailed drawing eliciting from him a soft, “Woah.” The one you were most proud of, the dark-haired version of Hawks stood grinning maniacally and pulling the coat wide open. The abdominal cavity gaping wide open, empty of organs except for the heart hanging suspended. He hums, “You did say it was a horror.” He suddenly sits forward into your space, “You have to show me when this is finished! Please!”

Taken aback at his excitement you mumble a soft, “Okay.” Hawks bounces slightly in his excitement and hands you back the notepad. Adorable, you muse. He has an almost calming personality, even for as pushy as he is. 

Focusing your attention on his face you touch up the corners of the character’s eyes. Muttering out loud to yourself, “Is it eyeliner or not?” 

“They’re natural Little Mouse,” he smiles as bright as the sun. “Why didn’t you draw my hands?" 

“Little Mouse?” you squeak. 

"You squeak a lot. It’s cute,” he winks causing you to sputter. “Again, you didn’t answer my question." 

Is he flirting? Haha funny (y/n), as if that would happen. Shaking your head you explain, "I want to draw your, I mean his fingers with talons. You sure ask a lot of questions." 

An unreadable expression settles on his face, "Talons?” His brow furrows and after a moment asks, “Promise you won’t tell anyone?" 

"Tell anyone wha-? Oh,” you watch as Hawks slips a glove off to reveal his fingers sporting sharp black nails, much like his namesake. Abandoning your art you reach out to grab him hand, running your fingers over his nails and up over his knuckles. 

“Full of surprises aren’t ya?” he quips. 

“I’m sorry!” you cry tearing your hands away from him. 

“It’s okay I don’t mind,” he hums and gestures at your hands to retake his. 

Your mouth betrays you and you blurt, “You keep making me flustered!” 

Mischief glinted in his eyes as he leaned into your personal space. His voice dropped an octave, “Afterall, my Little Mouse I am a bird of prey.”

[stonerbughead]

Maria watches friday night lights (#9)

I really really loved 3x10! Like one of my favorite episodes so far, for sure. so here’s another post about just one episode, “The Giving Tree.”

@lockitin I saw your comment saying I’d like this episode like an hour after I watched! You were very right!

-Aw I love Julie and Tyra’s friendship. Julie trying to help Tyra strategize on how to catch up in school after her ill-advised trip with the cowboy — that’s what we love to see!

-this flirtatious girl (later, we learn, MADISON) insisting on pouring milk into a wine glass for JD is up there as one of the strangest things I’ve ever seen happen in a teen drama party scene

“Do you need silence to watch naked women? Is that what you’re saying to me?” The things that come out of Buddy Garrity’s mouth are truly wild.

-oh boy and then Buddy got into a getting-arrested level fight! Wish I could say I was surprised, but...

ANYWAY MATT AND JULIE DO IT NOW yet they’re still so fucking cute it’s wild

-I am truly HERE for Matt and Julie post coital and naked, just laying in his bed after school saying “I love you” while listening to the radio and HOLDING HANDS?? This is so beautiful.

-so of course, here comes Coach Taylor to walk in on them. Honestly this scenario kind of like NEEDED to happen? Inevitably? I mean, “quarterback sleeping with the coach’s daughter,” as Riggins said. (And now it’s finally actually true.) The comedy of Eric just walking right back out the house, stone-faced. Oh I am living.

-Hahahaha Landry’s bandmates exchanging looks while Tyra comes to ask Landry for help with the SATs. This show does such a good job of actually conveying teens being teens in little moments like this.

-oh yes to the Lyla/Julie tooth brushing scene where she confides what happened with her dad walking in on her and Matt!! then transitioning right into Tami brushing her teeth while Eric sits on the side of the bed, pained and disturbed by his teenage daughter’s burgeoning sexuality. Cinematic.

-what I love about this episode is how well crafted the plot is — Eric only catchs Matt and Julie because he had to pick Julie up so Tami could tell Lyla about Buddy’s night in jail. and Eric clearly showed up earlier than Tami would have. After all, they thought they had time for one more song. It’s just...such good writing. Ugh! Yes.

-I love how this development actually left Tami speechless too, when usually she’d be running into Julie’s room with exactly the right words to say

-I really do love how this plot lines up so that Lyla is in the Taylor house to comfort Julie.

“Your punishment is you have to have a conversation with me about it.” Fair, Tami, fair. Bc there should not be a punishment at all for a teenage girl having consensual sex with a boy she loves!

-Did Buddy really just plead not guilty??? Sir you did all of the things they just charged you with!!!!

-Tyra’s mom immediately wanting Landry to change the pilot light when she sees him in the house helping Tyra is....too real. Also reminds me of Lorelai joking about how she liked how Dean would change the water bottle in Gilmore girls

-fuck you buddy!!!! Why would you gamble your daughters college money??? Related: I love how betty cooper had a similar plotline to Lyla garrity here but in the Riverdale version her mom gave the $$ to a cult

“Please tell me the lesson we’ve learned.” “Always lock the door.” “...when having sex with the coach’s daughter.” HAHAHAHA omg this show is so good, having Eric glance at Saracen in the locker room to see his eyes downcast. That’s that shit we like.

-I’m proud of Landry in this episode standing up for himself bc Tyra was totallyyy taking advantage of him. Like she expects him to ditch his bandmates bc she wants to take a break and lengthen their study session which he’s doing as a favor to her??

-oh yes and the Giving Tree metaphor! Amazing. Art.

“That’s exactly what I feel like, just a stump.” Damn. I felt that.

“What about birth control?” “I don’t want to talk about that!” “Hon, that IS the conversation.” Damn right it is! Tami is a good mom.

“Chasin skirts,” Mr. McCoy? You’re gross. Ew and now he’s literally trying to control his son’s love life. Disgusting.

-Julie’s long pause after Tyra asks if Landry is right about how she’s the little boy in the Giving Tree. I cackled.

MATT SARACEN IS TERRIFIED IM DEAD

-I CACKLED at the fear in his eyes when Tami suggest he wait in the back with Coach Taylor

-Lol at coach aggressively cleaning his grill while lecturing Saracen, who is literally one of the most mild mannered and sweet boys you could ever want your daughter to lose her virginity to tbh. Especially if it’s gonna be a football player.

-ugh Lyla I’m sorry your dad is so trash. Riggins is sweet and hot though. “What do you want me to do?” he says when Buddy bangs at the door. He respects her wishes. We stan.

“I was the idiot who stuck with you! Don’t call me spoiled. We’ve been saving that money since I was a baby. You said if I made the grades, it was mine.” GO OFF LYLA this is cathartic to watch. Also LOL I have mad student loans now bc my dad the cheater similarly lied about our financial situation for most of my life so that hit HARD for me. 😭😬🥺 I sent Lyla’s rant to my mom and she said lol did you write those words

-omg Tim at the door being like “you need to go” to Buddy?!?! Oops I’m aroused.

-oh god poor JD is actually listening to his dad and breaking things off with Madison?? Fuck man. That is so not cool. But wait there’s more! Riggins called him on it right away, we love him. “How do you expect all these boys to battle for you if you can’t make a decision like that on your own?” YES Riggins! Now that’s some good team captain mentoring shit! With the ear buds in one ear. Ugh yes.

-I’m surprised we haven’t gotten angry Coach Taylor chasing a ref sooner. “HOW CAN YOU NOT SEE THAT”

-I love how Coach Taylor said “we’re gonna not lose our temper out there” about the refs to the players earlier in the week then ended up getting ejected from the game himself. Classic.

-omg and he’s calling the other coaches on the field on a flip phone, that’s. Mmhmm. Yep. Early 2000s gold.

-but oop now Wade Aikmen is gonna be getting all the attention. Oh boy. This show keeps ya on your toes!!

-JD’s mom wants her 15 year old son to date wayyyy too much and JD’s dad wants to control his love life wayyyy too much. Maybe they should both just chill???

-omg Katie McCoy totally would’ve kept JD’s date with Madison a secret if the dad hasn’t seen it. This is a *sings* deeply unhealthy family dynamic~

-Saracen is so cute being nervous that Landry’s gonna bomb. Friendshipppp

-okay Landry’s band got a decent turnout! Anyway I hope a girl throws her bra at Devin.

-wait really? Landry in a metal band now suddenly has Tyra feeling him? Again I DO NOT UNDERSTAND TYRA AND LANDRY.

-wow Buddy said Lyla was right AND apologized? I’m actually surprised. Can he call MY dad and teach him how to apologize? Kthxbye.

Yeah seriously I think that was my favorite episode so far!

[punmasterkentparson]

Are You Flipping My Pancakes, Parson?

based on this post because you know kent parson would do this. YOU KNOW.

on ao3 ‘cause it’s long-ish

Swoops seriously needs Kent to stop.

It’s been two weeks since that fateful night at the bar, when the Aces were celebrating that they’d won that night’s game and also didn’t have to get on a plane until the day after next. Several beers in, someone--and Swoops wishes to God he remembered whom, because he wants to strangle them--made a joke that has haunted the team ever since.

Some asshole had asked, hypothetically, what it would be like if people used food-related expressions instead of literally any other idiom.

The joke died that night, for everyone except Kent.

“Swoops, man,” Kent calls across the ice, and Swoops braces himself before Kent continues, “that shot just now? Totally poached my eggs.”

Everyone else laughs. Swoops yells back, “What the hell does that even mean, Parse?”

When Kent just shouts, “It means you’re really steaming up the broccoli today,” Swoops thinks he deserved it.

--

It’s three weeks into Kent’s food idiom obsession and the rest of the guys are picking it up.

“Toady!” Finch yells over the bus seats. “Did you borrow my headphones?”

“Not since you lent ‘em to me last week,” Toady calls back.

Finch slides back down in his seat and digs through the pockets of his bag again. “Well then where the grilled cheese are they?” he grumbles. Swoops buries his face in a book and turns up his own music so he doesn’t have to hear.

--

After four weeks, talk on the ice and on the bench gets weird.

They’re playing the Blackhawks and losing 4-1. Sunny gets off a shift and falls into a seat next to Swoops. “They’re really baking our biscuits,” he grumbles.

Swoops stares at him in sad horror until Sunny realizes what he said. But instead of looking equally horrified, he just shrugs. “Well, they are. We’re making shit passes and giving ‘em too many openings for turnovers. It’s a fucking potluck out there.”

Swoops thinks he sees the start of a smug smile on Sunny’s face. He’s ridiculously relieved when his shift heads onto the ice.

After the game--which goes to the Blackhawks, 5-2, it’s embarrassing--everyone lines up for handshakes. Swoops is a few guys behind Kent, but he’s close enough to hear his team captain look the ‘Hawks captain in the face and say, “Good game, man. Nice cracking walnuts with you.”

Swoops hears the ‘Hawks captain exclaim, “...What?”

Kent moves down the line without providing an explanation. Worse, all three Aces after Kent repeat the sentiment.

When it’s his turn, Swoops just goes with it. “Good walnut cracking,” he says, and yeah, it’s kinda funny to see the befuddlement on the guy’s face.

--

Five weeks in, Swoops fucks up.

Red-faced and still panting after the second period in a game against the Leafs, he stops in the hall to do a routine intermission interview. The guy from NBC Sports asks run-of-the-mill questions. It’s nothing Swoops can’t and hasn’t done a million times.

Which is his only explanation for what happens: his brain is totally off.

“Just getting out there and making shots,” Swoops says, in response to a question about strategy for the final period. “We’re setting up great passes and getting a lot of takeaways, but if we’re not making the shots, then it’s just whisking eggs, you know?”

The reporter blinks at him, then does a half-chuckle as if he just got the joke. “Yeah, right. You guys going to add some flour and milk, make pancakes?”

The words are unusual enough in this context to jolt Swoops out of his half-aware funk. He replays his own words in his head and comes to a single conclusion: fuck. Outwardly, he forces the fakest laugh of his career. “We’ll see if we can flip it around.” Just kill him now.

The real embarrassment comes a day later, when articles about the interview flood the feeds and the Aces get wind of it. Swoops had thought the situation was bad before. He has single-handedly made it catastrophic. The chirping is not only incessant, it’s laden with food-related puns and made-up idioms.

Rock-bottom comes when they’re in a tense, tight game against Pittsburgh. Malkin gets into it with Finch and Sunny goes to break it up, which makes it worse. Nobody is surprise when Malkin gets a penalty, but when Finch and Sunny are both sent to the box and Sunny is handed double minor penalties, to be served consecutively, the Aces coach waves over the ref.

The argument is heated and audible, but professional. Right up until Swoops hears, “...can’t justify it when you’ve got Malkin out there shucking corn with my guys.”

Just because the din of the arena is deafening doesn’t mean he can’t hear the whole bench go quiet.

The ref hesitates. “...Sorry, Malkin is what?”

Coach, visibly going pink, waves it off and quickly concludes the conversation. None of the penalties change.

Nobody mentions the incident, even though they’re all grinning around their mouth-guards.

--

Six weeks in, Kent abruptly stops.

When Swoops asks why, Kent shrugs. “Got bored,” he says, and that’s all the explanation he gives.

A lot of the other guys follow suit. It had become something of a team joke, but it’s a fact that any punchline stops being fun once the captain isn’t laughing anymore.

What’s stupid is that Swoops misses it. When the food joke was a thing, his whole schtick was that he hated it and groaned every time anyone replaced a normal idiom with a food phrase. But now that it’s gone, he keeps finding himself wanting to use food idioms all the time and getting annoyed that he can’t. If no one else on the team is doing it, he’ll sound dumb trying to keep it up by himself. It was different when it was just Kent. The whole point of Kent making dumb jokes is to amuse himself. Kent is like that: he skates like a badass and plays like a wet dream and acts suave and cool for the cameras and fans, but on the bus or the plane or in hotel rooms, he’s the biggest dork.

Swoops misses the food joke. It was asinine and childish, but it made Kent laugh. Swoops never joined in when it was ongoing, but now that it’s gone he feels like he missed his shot.

What’s more, he thinks it’s not his imagination that Kent looks down about it.

He gets a seat next to Kent the next time they’re on a plane. Once they’re in the air, he says, “Wanna watch Netflix?”

Kent does, so they get out Swoops’ laptop and share Kent’s earbuds. Swoops cleans his earbud furiously with a napkin before putting it in.

“Don’t want your fucking earwax, man,” Swoops says when Kent rolls his eyes.

They sit shoulder-to-shoulder for a short while, watching in silence. Kent has chosen a TV series that they’ve both seen before.

At one point, Swoops interjects, “I can’t believe they kill her next season.”

Kent huffs. “Right? Wasted her fucking character with a season of half-assed buildup, then just.” He mimes an exploding head.

“Yeah, it mashes my damn potatoes,” Swoops agrees. He feels rather than sees Kent turn to look at him.

“Bro, you know what you just said, right?”

“Yeah, I know.”

Kent huffs a laugh. “Can’t believe you’re still infected with that mind virus. It’s been, like, a month.”

“Nah, just a couple of weeks. And the joke wasn’t that bad.”

Kent pauses the episode. “Wasn’t that bad? It drove you crazy.”

Swoops shrugs. “Yeah, but like. It was kinda funny.”

Kent is staring at him like Swoops is speaking gibberish. “You said, and I quote, ‘I swear to God, Parse, if I could go back in time to that bar, I’d find the dumbass who made that joke in front of you and started us on this path to hell, and I’d kill him myself.’ You said that.”

Swoops winces. “You can’t take me seriously after any game we lose. Especially to the Bruins.”

“Bro,” Kent says. “I stopped doing it because of you.”

“...Oh.” Swoops shifts in his seat. “I wasn’t the only guy who complained.”

“You were the fuckin’ loudest, though.”

“Oh,” Swoops repeats. Then he grins. “You mean you stopped buttering toast just for me?”

Kent shoves him. “Christ.”

“Well, crack some eggs and fry me some rice, Parse,” Swoops teases. “You do care!”

“I’ll crack your fucking egg,” Kent says, and puts him in a headlock until Swoops begs for mercy. (But not before he tells Kent to stop putting away his groceries.)

[kellysbookblog]

“Heartwarming, swoony moments, sizzling chemistry, and just enough intrigue to keep me completely invested--this book had me hooked from page one!”-- Willow Aster, USA Today bestselling author

 Wrecked Palace, an all-new emotional slow-burn standalone romance in the Wrecked Series by author Catherine Cowles is available now!

My Amazon Review: https://www.amazon.com/review/RO4I1K5XB3W9P/ref=pe_1098610_137716200_cm_rv_eml_rv0_rv

My GR Review: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/3171228395?book_show_action=false

  One night was all it took for everything to change.

From college student to guardian in a single breath.

My siblings became my world.

No time for date nights or romantic dreams.

I traded quiet weekends for sleepless nights.

Giving my all to make sure they were cared for.

But Griffin had a brokenness that called to me—one that mirrored my own.

Gruff and just a little bit reckless.

He was the last thing I needed. But everything I wanted.

Only someone isn’t happy about this new life I’m building.

Deciding to set fire to everything I hold close.

And when the smoke clears, there might be only ashes left behind…

  Download your copy today!

Amazon: https://amzn.to/30ZUZy3

Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/WreckedPalace

Apple Books: https://apple.co/3445J0j

Kobo: https://bit.ly/3kS6kbq

Nook: https://bit.ly/2PXeLEf

  Add Wrecked Palace to your Goodreads: https://bit.ly/3appCAa

 Excerpt

 I climbed out of my truck in the parking lot of The General Store. Why was it that I always ended up here? There was just something about the brown-haired beauty who worked at the kitchen inside. Normally, people who shined with that life-is-beautiful kind of positivity made me want to punch something. But with Caelyn, I was fascinated.

I started towards the store when a man called my name. I stiffened and turned, expecting to see a stranger, maybe one of the reporters still holding out hope that I’d share my story with the world. The set of my shoulders eased a bit when I saw that it was Ford Hardy, owner of The Catch Bar & Grill. I said nothing but waited for the man to make his approach. He wasn’t a stranger exactly, but I had no desire for idle chitchat.

“I’ve been hoping to run into you,” he greeted.

I stayed silent.

Ford chuckled. “Not too talkative, are you?”

“Not much to say, I guess.”

Ford’s expression grew serious. “I just wanted to thank you for your help a few months back.”

“I didn’t do anything anyone else wouldn’t do.” Ford had been attacked by someone sick in the head. He’d been jumped from behind and knocked unconscious. I’d just come along at the right time.

“Either way, thank you.” He held out a hand, and I took it for a shake. “Come into the bar sometime. I’ll treat you to a beer and a meal. It’s the least I can do.”

I fought the wince that wanted to surface. The last thing I wanted was to sit around at the island watering hole. People whispered, thinking they were being discreet when they were anything but. Even worse, they sometimes thought it was completely acceptable to approach and ask me a million intrusive questions. “I’ll try and come by.”

Ford grinned. “I’m taking that as a fat chance in hell.”

My lips twitched. “You’re not a stupid man.”

“Thank God for that. Well, if I can ever do anything to repay you, just let me know. My brother’s a contractor. We could give you a couple of days on that house of yours if you’d like.”

My jaw tightened. “I’m good. But thanks for the offer.”

Ford nodded and gave me a wave before heading back towards The Catch. “There’s no expiration date on that.”

I wouldn’t take Ford up on his offer of help unless I got desperate. I needed to do this on my own. I started towards the store. Pulling the creaking screen door open, I walked inside. It was still a bit early, but when 4:00 a.m. was your usual wakeup call, 4:30 p.m. was just about perfect for dinner. Plus, I could avoid the after-work crowd.

I made my way towards the kitchen at the far end of the grocery but stopped in my tracks when I heard Caelyn’s voice.

“Is there any way you could give me more hours? Or more of the bookkeeping to do?”

Mr. Walters, the owner of the store, chuckled. “You’re doing it all already, deary. I barely show up here anymore.”

“Well, do you know of anyone else who might be looking for some help for things I could do from home?” she pressed.

“Are the two jobs you have not enough? You’re gonna work yourself to the bone. And you need to be home for those kids.”

“I know.” Caelyn’s voice seemed to deflate on the words. “But Mia got accepted into this gymnastics program, and it costs an arm and a leg.”

Walters’ voice gentled. “I’d be happy to loan you the fees—”

“No,” Caelyn cut Mr. Walters off. “You’ve done more than enough for us.”

A foreign feeling invaded my chest. A twisting sensation that burned. I’d heard the talk around the island that Caelyn had taken in her three younger siblings after their parents had been involved in some sort of drug bust. I couldn’t imagine taking all that on when she must’ve been barely more than a child herself.

I cleared my throat, stepping around the end of the aisle. Caelyn looked up, the frown marring her gorgeous face quickly turning into a bright smile. “Griffin. It’s good to see you. Have you finally given in to trying one of my salads?”

I gave my head a shake. “I think I’ll stick with the sandwich.”

Walters grinned. “I don’t know, Caelyn can make kale pretty tasty.”

I didn’t try to fight the twisting of my face. “No, thank you.”

Walters chuckled. “Maybe another day. All right, I’m off.” He turned to Caelyn. “You let me know if you change your mind.”

Caelyn reached up on her tiptoes, pressing her lips to the old man’s cheek. “Thank you.”

Walters headed out of the store, and just Caelyn and I were left. I slid onto a stool at the counter. It was rare that I waited here for my food, but I couldn’t seem to resist the temptation today. I had this undeniable urge to make sure she was okay.

“So, what’ll it be? Some version of meat and cheese?”

I almost chuckled. Almost. “Sounds good to me. But I know you’ll sneak some vegetables on there somehow.”

“Gotta keep you from getting scurvy.”

I almost choked. “I thought that was from not enough vitamin C. I drink my orange juice.”

Caelyn shook her head and started pulling things out of a fridge below the counter. “There’s vitamin C in vegetables, too. And lots of other nutritious things you need.”

“Good thing I come in here a few times a week then.”

“Good thing.”

An idea was forming in the back of my mind. One that just might be the answer to helping Caelyn out of her predicament and giving me some nice benefits, as well.

The screen door banged open. “Cae Cae!” a young girl’s voice called out. Soon, there was a flash of movement past me.

Caelyn stepped around the counter and lifted the little girl into her arms as she hurled herself at Caelyn. “How was your day?”

“So good. I taught cartwheels at recess, and you left me my favorite cookie in my lunch.”

Caelyn laughed. “Sounds like a good day to me. Where are the rest of the tiny terrors?”

The little girl beamed up at Caelyn. “They’re coming, but they were being too slow, so I ran when I got to the parking lot.” Her gaze caught on me. “Whoa. Are you a giant?”

I wanted to laugh but seeing the easy affection between the girl and Caelyn stole my ability to speak.

“Mia, this is Mr. Griffin. Griffin, this is my little sister, Mia.”

The girl looked so much like Beth had at that age, I struggled to find words. “It’s nice to meet you, Mia.” My voice came out rougher than before, and I tried to force my lips into a smile, but the action felt foreign.

“Hey, sis,” a male voice called.

I turned to see a boy who looked to be about sixteen or seventeen. As soon as he caught sight of me, wariness filled his features. He quickly crossed to his sisters, tugging another girl behind him. “Who’s this?”

Caelyn pressed her lips together as if holding back a laugh. “This is Mr. Griffin. Griffin, this is Will and Ava, my other two siblings. I hope you don’t mind, but they usually hang with me for thirty minutes before Molly takes over. Kids, you can go hang out in the office while I get Mr. Griffin’s sandwich ready.”

“I wanna stay with you and help,” Mia whined.

“I’ll go into the office,” Ava offered. She had taken a step behind her brother as if hiding from me.

“They can stay.” The words were out before I could stop them. Awkward and a little gruff, but Mia beamed.

“See, Mr. Griffin wants me to help make his sandwich.”

Caelyn shook her head. “Well, if that’s the case, we better wash our hands.”

Ava headed for the back office while Will took a seat next to me at the counter, eyeing me carefully. Caelyn helped Mia up onto a little stool by the sink, and they washed their hands, Mia singing some sort of song that counted off the seconds.

“All clean,” she called. “No germies can last to thirty.”

I couldn’t hold in my chuckle this time. “I guess they can’t.”

“I never thought I’d see the day,” Caelyn started, putting a hand over her heart. “I do believe you laughed, Griffin Lockwood. Who knew all it took was a seven-year-old singing about germs?”

   About Catherine

Writer of words. Drinker of Diet Cokes. Lover of all things cute and furry, especially her dog. Catherine has had her nose in a book since the time she could read and finally decided to write down some of her own stories. When she's not writing she can be found exploring her home state of Oregon, listening to true crime podcasts, or searching for her next book boyfriend.

  Connect with Catherine

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[strawberrycola]

portal portal au EH?

im. so angery. i had paragraphs typed out. PARAGRAPHS. oh well. at least i have my thoughts straightened out a little bit. okaY so. henlo. im RLLY into this portal portal au. like. if you have been following me for a while youd know i have a big ol special interest in portal itself, considering my 184 hours in 2. so @portalportalau pls take my thoughts i beg u. THIS GOT REAL LONG SO IM PUTTING THIS UNDER A READ MORE.

okay so this is MAINLY about nikki and neil. but ill go into my own timeline for this au for the sake of clarity, and to straighten things out. SO HERE WE GO.

so portal 1. the story with nikki and neil begins when DaVID tries to cheer max up with friends. so out pops neil and nikki from a dispenser ingrained in the ceiling. level 8. i just spent like 15 min doodling refs for this so those'll be at the Bottom. the act of them dropping causes them to activate. the level goes as normal. they hang out in one of rattmans hidey holes. they talk. max grows attached because fuck man this is one of the first truly positive and genuine near-human experiences hes had since this shit started. however once they get to the end of the level (ive opted that david wouldnt make max burn his friends alive) theyve realised a flaw in design. they cant go through the grill. theyll die. with tearful eyes max promises to find them. turns out it's the opposite way around, fortunately for max, after escaping from david whose personality got set to Murderey, perhaps at the fault of someone? hm. after the events of level 19, max stumbles upon nikki and neil while navigating the guts of Campbell Science. they get through it together, but they must part ways once more due to the grill at the doorway of davids lair (muahahahaha) fight occurs as normal, with cheering on behalf of his friends.

cue the events just before portal 2. neil and nikki are trying to find their friend max, after buzz goes through the facility of the most stubborn test subject being hidden somewhere. they find a personality core whose supposed to be watching the humans. they ask about him. "he's gonna escape! he never EVER gives up!"

the core's eye widens.

and short circuits them. that'll give daniel some time to use this knowledge to his advantage. at the point near the beginning of portal 2, i refuse to believe the test subjects dont show some aging. they age VERY slowly, but they still age. so at this point id peg max around 19, (no particular reason for the number, the repetition of 9 in the beginning gave me the idea). so he gets woken up by daniel, and the game runs par the course. this time, come level....10? i think it's 10 ingame, it's only neil. they go through the level, and neil promises to find nikki. in this sense, theyre like wheatley, sans the face heel turn, major ulterior motives, as well as complete unhelpfulness.

AHEM. once again, game runs par the course. yadda yadda yadda. however during the underbelly scenes of Old Aperture, max learns a bit of backstory. at this point, im feeding into the fan idea that not just glados was originally a human, that all a.i.s were once human employees. so max finds some paperwork, written by a certain science GEEK. turns out neil was once a young scientist, thrilled to witness major science breakthroughs. he was assigned to a particularly tricky test subject. one that just KEPT GOING. wild curly green hair kept back in an unruly ponytail. nikki is basically this universes chell. both thrilled to be working in the growing business of Portals. (one of nikki's particular favourite things, neil noted, was the blue and orange gel tests. she go FAST)

with this knowledge in the back of his mind, max carries potato david through the old buildings, deadset on giving daniel a piece of his MIND. (sidenote that this segment of the game was and will always be my FAVOURITE part. i love the design of old aperture sm.) so we have blah blah blah wheatley science fight wheatley been there done that. as max lays passed out on the floor of the chamber after getting exploded many times and almost sucked into the cold depths of SPACEEEE, a bot comes in, dragging a robot behind him. he gasps at the sight of his friend passed out, and inquired whether he'll be alright. he tells david that he and nikki are friends w max, and to Please Reactivate Nikki she is Very Heavy. david does so quickly, any friend of his son is a friend of his. after max wakes up, they have a long talk.

max wants to find their bodies.

and this leads me to a modified version of portal 2 co-op. with max on the sidelines cheering them on. nikki absolutely trolls the hell out of neil. blah blah YAY THEY HAVE THEIR BODIES BACK WOO HOO MAX HAS HUMAN FRIENDS HIS AGE HELL YEAH. and thus they live in Campbell Science, since the earth is kinda decimated (fkign black mesa) and neil works on science and nikki gets to test, which makes david happy. max enjoys making concerts with the turrets. hes happy. this got FAR TOO LONG. here are the sketchie sketchies. and thus, i nap. ta daaaa. please feel free to talk to me about this or add on i obviously could write for HOURS.

lil robaps.

a nikki, being RECKLESS.

and a neil, who is constantly Terrorised by this green haired DEMON.

[pwincissly-blog]

Ed Sheeran-Imagine

squat, swing.

I brought my fist to the navy blue punching bag in front of me, punching it as if it had harmed me in a way I’d never recover from. Training with all my sweat and tears, risking my reputation all over this match. I’d met her before, usually I only fight women I have issues with but this particular one I happened to somewhat know. She was pretty nice, when she isn’t in the ring that is. I knew she had a thing for Ed, and I was having none of that bullshit so being the jealous person I can be I wanted a fight.

Squat, swing.

I take my career seriously, maybe too seriously. Every swing I take, every move I make in the ring, every scream and yell I let out all means something. It relaxes me, takes me into a new world I love despite its terrors and dangers it comes with. I was only 14 when I started fighting, I started fighting at school- every asshole I wanted to get revenge on I got revenge on. That led to me dropping out but hey, nearly 11 years later and I’m doing it as a profession.

I was about to pull my arm back and I started, but felt a pair of strong arms wrap around my waist just as I started my squat. “Ed, not now.”, I warned, already knowing who it was. “Y/N, it’s been hours, eat something at least.”, I heard him say with a sigh. I spun around, and took a box out of his hands- peeking inside the styrofoam thing I saw some fluffy type macaroni and cheese and a grilled cheese as well. “I’m not eating that, I have a fight tonight, babe.”, I sighed handing it back to him by stacking it on top of what was probably his box. “Please, it’s killing me watching you eat salads all the time! You don’t even like lettuce!”, he whined. It’s true, I fucking despise lettuce and all health nut food at that. “I need to stay healthy, I can’t be throwing up junk, Ed.”, I explained going to throw another cut to the punching bag but Ed grabbed my arm and tucked it behind my back.

Did I mention Ed trained me? No, well yeah. He’s over boxing now, but a few years ago he was my trainer and that’s how we got to hitting things off. Moving in with each other and planning our lives out, we agreed we wouldn’t flaunt it about on the media for our own privacy reasons. Ed knows my every move, he’s taught me my every move, he knows how hard I swing and how dangerous I am when I’m angry yet he stays with me. “Ed, ouch stop!”, I groaned as he drug me over to the dirty bench beside the staircase and shoved the box of my food to my chest. “Eat it, please.”, he pleaded. I took the plastic fork out of the wrapper and used the napkin to wipe sweat from my forehead and cheek areas.

I look at him and put a bite of macaroni into my mouth, “Happy?”, I scoffed still chewing. He laughed and stuck a french fry in his mouth, “Very.” “Ed, you know this fight means everything to me. It’s the most smack I’ve talked about a fight in a long time- my final fight for the remainder of the year.”, I sighed, sure that meant in 2 months I’d be fighting again but hey it’s something. “I want people to remember me for my victory- not loss by unhealthy habits. Even if I love these unhealthy habits so much.” I took another bite as he began to speak. “You’ll do fine, I’ll be cheering you on.”, he winked. I giggled, “Oh I know you will be. Help me practice?”, I asked, batting my eyelashes like a child hoping he would say yes. “Y/N.”, he groaned not wanting to. “Fine.”

I let Ed finish eating, and relax for a moment, before pulling him off the bench and swinging a warning punch to him. “Easy. I’ve never lost a play fight.”, he smirked, obviously referring to the bedroom just linked in his tone of voice followed by a sharp and quick wink. I punched his arm rather harshly and he swung back but I dodged him. “Feisty.”, Ed continued.

—

I took deep breathes mentally preparing myself while swinging punches at nothing but air. Practicing my dodges with a person I imagined was standing in front of me even though nobody was there. I kept telling myself ‘she’s after Ed’ even if technically that wasn’t true, she just has an obvious attraction to him. My left eye was twitching and finally I heard my name being announce, I climbed under the ropes and bounced on the jumpy flooring. I drew my attention to the women on the opposite corner from me, her bright purple sports bra and lose matching shorts. Her hair was short but half thrown into a ponytail to her best efforts.

“3...2...”, I kept the referees counts in my brain, each number my heart raced more and my anger built up and took over my small body. I did everything I could not to turn and look at my flamed hair boyfriend or my heart would melt- getting those butterflies he always gives me. My brain told me to do otherwise, I looked over at where he could be- scanning the crowd of cheering assbags until I found my specific assbag.

His wide eyes were on me, giving me a thumbs up and smiling this stupid smile at me. “1!”, was the last thing I heard before I turned and within seconds a instant throbbing pain was felt in my cheek. The round had started and I was off guard. Of course, way to start off the round Y/N. I ducked under her next punch easily with the height difference and reached my arm out to give her a good knocking in her stomach. I’m surprised she didn’t puke all over me. While I was still crouched down I swung some more hits, only getting her gloves with her blocking getting better as she grew used to me. Too bad I didn’t keep my regular moves, eh?

In a matter of the ref blowing the whistle for me to stand up I took a punch to my shoulder and one to the side of my head. I spat through my guard and wiped it with the back of my glove, blocking her next swing. I took my elbow to hers and swung a clean hit to her head, getting her back for what she inflicted on me. I tripped her with my foot and sadly for me she was better at balancing then I had thought. Then again, I had done little research on her moves while I was so focused on training. She seemed to have nearly each move I made memorized, impressive yet creepy.

I switched it up, throwing myself backwards 1- to avoid a hit she was bringing and 2- to make her have to come down to my height. The moment she tried to do so I took my heel and kicked her where it was still allowed then sat upright and took my glove to her under chin area. She took a few steps back in pain.

This cycle continued, me switching it up and her being defense and hit when inconvenient for me- and her half the time. The final whistle blew after I had her half passed out and I was deemed victorious. The first thing I did was run to Ed, holding my hand out for a high five after my gloves were off. He ignored my high five attempt and brought my sweaty and bloody body against his, kissing my neck in a proud embracful peck. “I’m all sweaty, Ed!”, I giggled. “Wouldn’t be the first time I was hugging you when you’re all sweaty.”, he said keeping his train of dirty remarks going.

“Shut up!”, I yelled, blushing and grabbing his hand. I hadn’t won anything, we don’t win anything but pride in these fights, so after I changed into my everyday clothes we left up the stairs and through the building. Taking our time wandering down the streets. “Hey Ed, wanna know a secret?”, I asked looking up at the man I treasured dearly. “I know all your secrets.”, he winked, I hit him again. “Stop that! Now you will never know what it was!”, I said crossing my arms.

“No pleaseeee.”, he whined. “You gotta shhhh.”, I smiled, he leaned down and I held in soft giggles. “I love you!”, I suddenly yelled into his ear that was so close to me. Out of defense he shoved me backwards, causing me to burst out laughing. “Not fair, not one bit nice either.”, he said rubbing his ear. “I’m not here to be nice.”, I said with a toothy grin. He looked at me and just smiled, “Jokes on you because I love you more.”