#This one is mostly better. Unsurprising. But on the painting the hair actually looks better. So that's a win.

[nosferatufaggot]

[itsukkie]

On My Mind

Characters: Tsukishima Kei x Reader

Words: 3.1k

Genre: fluff :)

Summary: How long is it going to take for Tsukkishima to get over himself and finally confess to you? Five times Tsukki wanted to kiss you + the first time he did.

Edited?: nope

a/n: I’m new to tumblr! I’ve never written my own fic before. I mostly wrote this to cope with my own yearning... If you have any suggestions for how to improve my writing or formatting please let me know.

1) 

You never liked chemistry, but that’s why Tsukishima was there. You were fully capable of understanding the material by yourself but Tsukki didn’t have a great deal of faith in your patience.

You groaned slumping back into the kitchen chair and stared at the sheet in front of you. What were you doing wrong? Tsukishima could tell you were getting frustrated by the way your cheeks were flushed and the way your hands were tangled in your own hair as you racked your brain for the right answer. Tsukki briefly glanced at you, studying the way you furrowed your brows and pursed your lips while thinking before silently returning to his own work. Although his eyes were focused on his own work in front of him, he wondered why you hadn’t caved already and asked for his help. 

“Tsukki-,” you looked over at him.

“Do it yourself,” he replied, not even glancing up from his English homework. You let out a small huff. Why did he do that? He wanted to help you. He wanted to lean over your shoulder and feel the warmth of your back pressing against his chest and smell the honey tones of your shampoo. He wanted to see if he could make you flustered by whispering in your ear. But more than anything he wanted to see up close the look in your eyes when he told you that you were correct. So why did he do that? 

Maybe he could just walk to your side and lean over the table, using his hand to guide your face to look at his. How would you react if he leaned down and pressed his lips to your forehead, pulling you into his chest? Would your body relax under his if he whispered sweet affirmations, letting you know just how smart and amazing he thought you were?

But before Tsukki could act on any of his daydreams the front door thrashed open. You looked up to see Hinata and Kageyama panting, kneeling at your front door catching their breath. 

“I touched the door first,” Kageyama uttered in between shaky breaths. 

“I was first inside though!” Hinata yelled, getting up from the floor and walking toward the kitchen where you and Tsukki sat. “Y/N! Thank you once again for tutoring us on a weekend,” he said through a toothy smile.

Tsukishima sighed as he watched you close your chemistry textbook and greet his two annoying teammates. Pulling his headphones from around his shoulder and onto his ears, he tapped his foot to the sound of soft lofi music. But no matter how loud he set the volume, he couldn’t drown out the sound of your intoxicating voice. 

2) 

Tsukishima will deny the fact that he was eagerly awaiting your call when he heard a new art exhibition opened up in town. Of course he’d never have the guts to ask you himself, he just always counted on you to make the first move. 

That’s why both of you stood in front of a canvas encased in an elegant gold frame. Your eyes were fixed on the painting, and given the fact the tickets were 2000 yen Tsukki should’ve also been relishing in the beauty of the exhibit. But he just couldn’t take his eyes off you. The headphones that were wrapped around his head were silent, the calming voice of the tour guide on pause, preferring to hear you talk about how you read about this painting in an art history book. 

He loved the way your wide eyes sparkled, even in the dim lighting of the exhibit. When you walk forward, hoping to get a better view of the detail work, a gold ray of light, reflected off the statue standing behind you, makes its way onto your face, and Tsukishima swears you are the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. With all the people crowded in the exhibit he wonders why no one has yet to stop in front of you to admire you the way he does. And when your mouth slowly curls up into a smile he basks in your magnetism. 

He’s thankful you’re wearing headphones, listening to the virtual tour guide, because he forces himself to take a deep breath to stop himself from wrapping his hand around your waist and pulling you into him. He wants to tell you just how grateful he is that you always ask him to come with you to visit new showcases, even though he rarely pays attention to the actual exhibit. He thinks to himself that this is probably the most romantic place to kiss you right now. But he holds back, turning on his heels and walking to the next painting. 

3) 

You were a smug little brat. Look at you smiling at him from across the classroom, your shoulders rolled back and your chest puffed up with confidence. Debate was Tsukki’s least favourite class activity given his natural aversion to public speaking. But in the moment Tsukishima barely realized that all eyes were on him as he stood at the podium, because how could he focus when you were right there, standing across from him, refuting his arguments one by one?

Tsukishima kept his usual cool outer appearance but he just wished he could let everyone know how proud he was whenever you delivered an especially cruel line. Look at them, that’s the one I love, and they’re smarter than any of you.  Of course it was just as fun watching you get flustered, stumbling over your own words trying to formulate your response to his remarks. 

Something about watching you argue ignited a fire under Tsukishima. You were throwing facts and evidence at him, smirking as the class banged their fists against their desks in support after every point you made. But Tsukki long forgot about his classmates, not even addressing them in his speech, he was only talking to you. 

You kept looking toward your peers, staring them in the eyes as you spoke with charisma. Look at me, Tsukki thought. He wanted you to look him in the eyes while you demolished his arguments. Watching your self-satisfied smile, he wanted to shut your mouth the one way he knew would make you stop talking. What would happen if he snuck his hand into your hair, pulled you to his chest and forced you to look up at him? Would you still have all the confidence you do now?

Tsukishima let a small smile form on his lips. You were too smart for your own good.

4) 

Tsukishima doesn’t understand why you prefer studying at a library when home is so much more comfortable. Plus, if you guys had just stayed home he wouldn’t have needed to walk in the freezing cold winter air with you to get home. But he agreed to coming with you anyway because for some reason it’s just too hard to say no to you.

At least his hands were warmed by the coffee cups he held in his hands. You were beaming about how you heard this place sells the best hot chocolate when you guys passed it. Now you were putting your wallet back in your bag as Tsukki held both of the cups for you. He remarks to himself that one day he’ll pay for both of you. When you grab your cup you shoot him a smile as you keep walking down the sidewalk. You take a large sip and yelp at the scorching temperature of the drink, your tongue now feeling numb.

“Idiot,” Tsukki utters, watching you fan your tongue. 

“Okay I probably should’ve let it cool down a bit, but it was so worth it, try it.” 

Tsukki glances down at your eager eyes and reluctantly lifts the cup to his mouth. Closing his eyes he slowly takes a small sip, careful not to burn himself and that’s when he hears your roaring laughter. When he looks down he sees what you’re giggling over. His vision was impaired, his glasses completely fogged up from the steam of his hot chocolate. Of course he couldn’t see you but he was sure you were relishing in how stupid he looked in that moment, but hearing your laugh he thought to himself that it might just be worth it. 

Still giggling you stand on your tippy toes and pull his glasses from off his face. Tsukishima is startled, although he doesn’t show it. He watches your blurry figure clean his glasses on your jacket before watching you slowly come into focus as you gently lay them atop his ears again. He realizes just how close your face is to him, he realizes how precariously you’re standing. If you were to lose balance you’d fall right into his chest, or maybe your lips might even collide with his. 

“What’re you thinking?” You ask, stepping back to look up at him. What is he thinking? He was thinking of how stunning you looked with snowflakes lightly decorating your hair and your nose and cheeks dusted red from the cold air. He was thinking about pulling you back up to where you were, holding onto your cheek and your waist and leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. 

“It’s mediocre at best,” he scoffs and continues walking. You feign a hurt face and quickly catch up to him. He thinks that tasting the hot chocolate from your lips would make it infinitely better.

5) 

Tsukki wanted to kill whoever was knocking on his cabin door at 1am. He was already exhausted from all the hiking, climbing, and biking he had done the day before. Tomorrow morning his year would make their way back to school and Tsukishima hated sleeping on the bus. 

He groaned as he stood up from his bed, walking past a groggy Yamaguchi who also heard the soft knocks at the door. He opened it, looking through squinted eyes, and was unsurprised when he was met with the wide awake eyes of Hinata and Yachi, and a yawning Kageyama who lazily propped himself against the cabin wall. But he was shocked to see you with them, standing in your plaid pajama bottoms and an oversized hoodie. 

“Do you wanna go stargazing?” You asked, jumping up and down to keep yourself warm

Was that even a question? He hates to admit to himself how many times he has imagined a moment like this with you. 

“It’s way past curfew, we’re gonna get in trouble.” Tsukishima heard himself reply in a raspy voice. Yamaguchi poked his head out from behind Tsukki, seeing what all the commotion was about.

“We checked the teachers’ cabin and they’re all asleep, and we’ll be quiet.” Hinata was beaming with excitement. He wanted to try playing on the beach volleyball court. 

“Is it even possible for you to be quiet?” Tsukki glared, leaving Yamaguchi lightly chuckling. 

“Please,” you pleaded, making the saddest puppy eyes you could. How could he not say yes to your wide and playful smile? Before he knew it, he had thrown on a sweater and was quietly running along the dirt path. The six of you giggled and hushed each other as you made your way to the open field.

Tsukishima felt his heart stop completely when you took his hand, making him run alongside you after you noticed him lagging behind. Your laugh was the most contagious thing he’s ever heard. 

You two laid on the grass looking up at the clear night sky. You explained astrology to him while he rolled his eyes, and he explained the physics behind star formation. You had read about constellations and the Greek mythology behind them, and as you passionately ranted to him about the fresh-water serpent Hydra while pointing to the sky, he never lifted his eyes from your face. He noticed a few of your moles and freckles that dotted your side-profile, and in his head he created his own myth behind the creation of your constellation. 

You felt his gaze on your side-profile and when you turned your head to face him, his heart dropped and his hands twitched as they longed to reach out and brush through your hair. 

“What?” You smiled at him. Tsukishima wanted to tell you that you looked beautiful and that, despite all his best efforts, he had hopelessly fallen in love with you. Just look at you. You were so beautiful in the moonlight. He wished he could stare at you all night long, he wished the sun would never come out and he could lay there by your side forever. 

“You have dirt on your face,” he coldly let out, wiping at your chin and pretending to wipe the dirt of his finger before turning away from you to look back up. You muttered an embarrassed ‘thanks’ not even noticing the way his fingertips lingered on your cheek before looking back up as well. 

You both had turned silent, and Tsukishima was angry at himself for ruining the moment. He wished he was braver and bolder, he wanted the confidence to tell you how actually felt. But before he could think about it more, Hinata came running over, pulling you up from the ground and leading you to where Yamaguchi and Yachi found a frog. 

As Hinata tugged you away, running at lightning speed, you barely had the chance to look back at Tsukishima, who had sat up, watching you talk to his teammates. He dug the heels of his hand into his eyes, sighing before looking up at the moon. 

“The moon is beautiful isn’t it?” He whispered to himself.

6)

Tsukishima wasn’t himself today. How was he supposed to be when you weren’t there? He stared out the window all day instead of teasingly kicking the back of your chair, throwing playful notes onto your desk when the teacher wasn’t looking. How was he supposed to focus on the lecture when you weren’t there to motivate him? Lunchtime was quieter than usual. He listened to Yamaguchi rant about this new anime he had started and stared silently at his shortcake. He missed the way you’d interject with your own (usually idiotic) opinions and whine on his shoulder, asking for a piece of strawberry. Sometimes you would make him feed it to you, and although he’d never admit it, he loved it when you did. The last straw was at practice where Kageyama just wouldn’t stop bugging him about his lazy decoy work. Tsukishima was supposed to be the sharp one, the one with the best game sense, so how come he kept missing spike after spike, serve after serve, block after block. 

Coach Ukai let him leave early, today obviously wasn’t his day, and Tsukishima complained that if he was in the same room with Kageyama for another minute someone was going to get hurt. It was all your fault, he thought to himself as he stopped in front of your house. You were such a fucking dumbass. You just had to get sick today.

Your mother let him in, smiling at the familiar face and let him climb the stairs to your bedroom. He softly opened the door expecting you to be sleeping but you were sitting up straight in bed, sipping on a steaming cup of tea. He loved the way your hair was tousled and how you looked at him with tired eyes. 

“You should be sleeping,” he said plainly, dropping his bag onto the floor by your desk.

“Did you miss me that much,” you remarked in a raspy voice. He wished he had bought cough drops for you. 

“I just came to drop off the work you missed.” Tsukishima turned away to rifle through his backpack, hoping that with his back turned you wouldn’t hear how shaky his breathing was. Plopping the papers on the desk, Tsukki turned back around to see you with your arms stretched out.

“Can I have a hug?” 

“No, you’re gonna get me sick.” Tsukki hated himself for saying that. Why couldn’t he just get over himself and his stupid pride. All he’s ever wanted was to lay in bed with you, tuck you into his chest, and feel your shoulders rise with every breath you took. He’s imagined the way it would tickle to feel your steady breaths against the skin of his neck more times than he’d care to admit. “Go back to sleep.” He said plainly before slinging his bag back around his shoulders and leaving you to rest. 

Just as Tsukishima was about to leave through the front door, your mother bumped into him with a bowl of soup, asking him if he’d be so kind as to bring it to your room.

When he opens your door again he laughs to himself seeing you had already fallen fast asleep, in just a matter of seconds. He gently placed the bowl on your bedside table, gently nudging you to wake up. But you were out cold; even when Tsukishima said your name your body had no response. The soup probably needed time to cool down anyway, what’s more important is that you get enough rest. 

Tsukishima took this opportunity to admire you. How your parted lips enticed him, how the skin of your cheeks flushed from your fever, the way your hair stuck to your forehead from all the beads of sweat that ran down. Tsukki decided to head to your bathroom, running a hand-towel under some cold water. He knelt down in front of you and gently dabbed the sweat off your face, careful not to wake you up. You looked so peaceful. 

Tsukishima thought about the way you lived in his mind. You were everywhere now. Looking at your parted lips he thought about how your fingers brushed up against his cheek that one time drinking hot chocolate, how he remembers that moment every time he reaches to put his glasses on in the morning; about how he could never look at the stars without hearing your faint, siren-like voice echoing in the back of his head. You had slithered your way into every aspect of his life. He thought that maybe if he indulged a bit, you would stop showing up in every single one of his dreams at night. This was his chance to do so.

He thought of himself as a coward, he could never bring himself to tell you how he felt while you were awake. This was greedy self-indulgence.

He called your name again, and when you didn’t budge he whispered a faint “I love you”, pressing a long kiss to your forehead. Standing back up, he placed the towel by your bedside before picking up his bag and leaving.

A weak smile made its way across your lips, your eyes barely fluttering open when you heard the front door close.

You whispered in a raspy voice, “I love you too.”

[floral-on-main]

Back To My Roots

Lydia's blonde roots begin to show and of course Beetlejuice, the Ghost With The Most, jumps to conclusions. It's not his fault he actually kind of cares for this little asshole now. (Not ship!)

Also on ao3

Words:1621

Lydia being naturally blonde was a basic and unsurprising fact of life. Her dying her hair was also unsurprising. What better way for a girl in emotional turmoil to show just how shitty she was feeling than pitch black hair? Not to mention it fit her goth aesthetic much more than platinum blonde hair. This train of though was spurned on by her reflection starring back at her from the vanity mirror.

The golden roots seemed to mock Lydia with how they stood out against the black. With everything that had been happening she had no chance to touch up her roots. There wasn't a single box of dye in the house, not after Dad and Delia decided to go gray together. Yuck. With a little pleading, she might be able to get Delia to grab her a box of black dye.

With a heavy sigh Lydia flopped onto her bed and draped her left arm over her eyes. Even if no one was there she was going to stay true to her dramatic self.

Beetlejuice floated down the halls of the Deetz-Maitland household, semi-moist canvas clutched tightly to his chest. Delia had been trying to get him to 'paint his feelings'. Yuck. He mostly just used it as time to be a nuisance of hang out with the Maitlands, those nerds knew a lot about painting. It was hobby 69-something for Adam and 420-or-whatever for Barbra. For once he had actually sat down and painted a sandworm, which looked a lot more like a stripped sock than a sandworm.

Without knocking he phased through to door to Lydia's bedroom. He held back a snort as he saw Lydia being her normal dramatic self. They were best friends for a reason. A reason that didn't have to do with demon summoning and abandonment issues.

“How's it going, gremlin? Did Debra sit you down for a 'girls' talk' again?” He proudly held his painting out in front of him, ready for when Lydia turned to look. She was going to be blown away and super impressed.

With a groan Lydia sat up and let her arm fall lip at her side. “Nah, just teenage stuff and angst. You know how it is.” Her eyes locked onto the smudged painting of what looked like a pinstripe eel cracking open an egg with its mouth. Looks like Beej was getting in abstract art like Delia wanted. “What's that?”

Just as he was about to launch into his totally impromptu speech he noticed something pale in Lydia's sea of dark hair. He floated closer to get a better look. Beetlejuice was getting better about personal space, but it still wasn't one of his strong suits.

It was when he was hovering directly over her that he noticed a golden split in the hair right in the middle of her head. He may not understand breathers completely, but this couldn't have been normal. But it was nothing to worry about. It was probably normal and she was fine.

Who was he kidding? Something must of happened during her trip to the Netherworld and now her head was gonna spilt in half! Breather's hair didn't just change colors like that. Did she catch some supernatural malady?  If she died of broken head or half mind or whatever he would be there for her. Now, how was he going to break the news to her? Just the though of loosing his best buddy for eternity had blue bleed into his hair from the roots to the tips.

“Earth to Beetlejuice. You still in there, dummy?” Lydia waved her hand in front of his face. It wasn't uncommon for him to disappear into his own mental world, but this was concerning her. Somewhere in his train of thought the painting slipped from his fingers and fell to the shaggy carpet below. She had learned loosely what each color of Beej's hair meant and knew blue was bad news— or more accurately, sad news. As a last resort she tapped his shoulder. Physical contact usually brought him back to the world of the living.

“I'm so sorry, Lyds! I promise I'll be the best Guide ever when you bite it. And when we get to the Netherworld I'll rip apart whoever or whatever did this to you!” As he rambled his hair turned fully blue and tears threatened to fall.

“What the fu-” Her sentence was cut off by the near crushing hug the demon was giving her. Several tears made tracks through the light layer of dirt on his face. She thumped his side roughly with a closed fist. Once he loosed up a bit she took in a large, theatrical breath.

“What the hell are you talking about? I'm just dying at the normal rate.”

Beetlejuice pulled away briefly to blow his nose on his tie. He leaned back in to tighten the hug, but Lydia screamed bloody murder and managed to push him off. “If you even think about touching me with that petri dish of a tie I'll stab you again.”

“You can stab me as much as you want if it'll make you feel better.” He seemed completely unphased by her protests and just floated at the edge of her bed. Something clearly had Beej pretty worked up, and Lydia was going to get to the bottom of it. At some point the painting had been kicked under the bed, where it then lay forgotten and uncared for— never to be heard of or referenced again.

“Just take a deep breath and tell me what's wrong. Why do you think I'm gonna die now?”

He did as he was told and did his best to appear composed. This composure did nothing for the deep blue staining his hair.  “ I don't know how you haven't noticed, but there's a giant fucking split in your head. Isn't that painful? You were cursing up a storm after you stubbed your toe, but your fine with this? Wait, you need to cough. We need to see if your lungs have started to corrode yet.” Beetlejuice's voice raised a couple octaves as worry once again gripped his unbeating heart.

“Split in my head?” Lydia said the words slowly, as if they were some foreign demonic language. Then the answer hit her like a tombstone to the head. “Beej, look at me and listen carefully.”

With watery eyes he watched her as if this was the last time he would see her alive.

Lydia cleared her throat. “Listen, I'm dying, but at the rate most breathers do. Probably.” That dark thought was quickly pushed from her mind. “My hair isn't naturally black, it's blonde. I dye my hair this color and now the color is fading. It's totally normal and doesn't hurt. Just ask Dad if you don't believe me.”

A painfully silent moment passed between the two. In that moment, the blue faded to be replaced by the normal healthy green hue. The first to break the silence was the flustered demon.

“Pssh, I knew that. Did you really think I would get that worked up over you? It was just a prank and you fell for it hook, line, and sinker!” Beetlejuice was a master at lying, but even that sounded hollow to his ears. He nonchalantly waved his hand as if to dispel any doubts.

Lydia rolled her eyes and smirked. In her most sarcastic voice she said, “You got me, BJ. For a minute I totally believed your heart had grown to sizes and you cared for me.”

“Shut up, you gremlin. Are you doing to 'dye your hair' again?” The air quotes were unnecessary, but totally Beej.

“Of course. If I show up blonde Claire would tear into me without remorse. Probably claim I was trying to steal her styles. She needs to wake up and realize that not everything is about her.” Beetlejuice nodded sympathetically as if he knew the intricacies of teenage girl drama.

“Yeah, you really gotta dye it. I can't have you stealing my style. Color changing hair is practically my trademark. And let me tell you, Netherworld lawyers are ruthless.”

“Get me some dye and then we'll talk about me 'stealing your style', Beej.”

Beetlejuice was already mentally planning how to steal enough dye to keep Lydia sated, but not enough to get caught by either Charles or the Maitlands. He already had to sleep on the couch once this week and he wasn't looking for a repeat. If he was sneaky enough he might be able to even get some for himself. Would it even stick? Eh, he would just find out later.

“Now that we got that crisis out of the way, want to go collect spiders out back? Pretty sure I saw a brown recluse the other day.”

“There is nothing more I would rather do except the Maitlands.”

Lydia grimaced before responding. “I know.”

Lydia grabbed an old mason jar from her dresser and her polaroid from where it was hanging on the vanity. She was all ready to go. She looked over to Beej, who spat in his hands and used it to ineffectively slick back his hair. He caught her looking and gave a thumbs up. “Ready to go when you are.”

The two buddies then raced down the stairs— to Delia's surprise— to get to the backyard. They heard the sound of something heavy falling to the ground, but managed to miss Delia yelling at them to slow down. Turns out there wasn't a brown recluse in the garden, but Beetlejuice managed to conjure up a terrifying replacement. Once Charles got home they were both going to be on web clean up duty though.

[kashimos-hajime]

boy next door

Summary: Katara moves into the same apartment building as Sokka and Zuko happens to be her next door neighbour. Or, Zuko and Katara know each other better than they think they do.

A/N: For @zutaraexchange​ and @cobraonthecob​ who deserved this way earlier but I was so busy this week! My prompts were Painted Lady and Blue Spirit, Modern, Superhero AU, Element Swap/Different Elements. I decided to challenge myself with a modern AU. 

I write and I do have a taglist so send an ask if ya want ;)

WARNINGS: MENTIONS OF DRUG ABUSE, VERY, VERY BRIEF. also, bro there’s like some swearing i think.

Wordcount: 5.1k Pairing: Zuko and Katara (Zutara)

Zuko mostly kept to himself. It wasn’t that he hated people — no, he was alright with Sokka in the apartment across the hall in 1C despite how loud he could be, and the guy who owned a grocery store upstairs in 2D wasn’t so bad. He mostly tended to the gardens and when the harvest was good, they’d hold a barbecue. Yue and Suki, two girls who lived diagonally across from him in 1A didn’t do much more than make polite conversation when they bumped into each other in the hallways and that guy Aang could hold his own in a game of Super Smash. He and some old guy, Bumi, lived upstairs in 2A along with Aang’s huge dog, Appa. In 2B was another set of girls, Mai and Ty Lee, both Zuko had known since childhood, but they were never close.

That left two more apartments. The one next to Zuko, and the one left upstairs.

No one talked about upstairs ever since the last tenant had been evicted for illegal activity, not that Zuko ever paid any mind to that, not that he cared, not that it was Azula who was forced to move out and away. Not that Zuko drove her to the hospital himself after he found her OD’ed on the floor. Not that anyone knew.

All anyone ever saw was his scar. He saw it in people’s eyes, the way they tried to focus on anything else on his face. His eyes, maybe. His mother used to say he had lovely eyes. But she was the only one. Everyone saw the scar.

So Zuko kept to himself, sue him.

He went out for his job, which was a fun time as the CEO of his dad’s company which  he managed to build back up after a scandal way back when, which meant he didn’t have spare time to go to barbecues, even if he wanted to. He knew they judged him, probably talked shit behind his back. But he couldn’t help it.

“Oh, crap.”

Zuko looked next to him as he was locking the door that morning. Fridays were the only days he got half-off and he intended to get as much work done as possible before relaxing. But, it appeared that wasn’t gonna happen today when he caught sight of one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen in his thirty-years of being alive. Standing there, surrounded by boxes and a rambling Sokka, was a woman with chestnut hair pulled into a messy bun, frustrated, blushing cheeks, and narrowed blue eyes.

“Sokka, if you touch anything else, I’ll literally kill you.”

“Sorry, Kat! That time, it really was an accident.”

‘Kat’ didn’t say anymore. She picked up a box and stormed into the apartment, revealing a tumbled box at Sokka’s feet. The man looked up and noticed Zuko standing there, immediately traversing the boxy hallway and saying his hellos.

“Who’s she?” Zuko asked, trying to sound as disinterested as possible as he slipped the key into his pocket.

“My sister. She’s moving in for her neuro fellowship at the hospital nearby.”

“Oh, cool.” Smart. Check. Pretty. Check. Zukos’ boxes were all getting ticked off as the woman re-emerged, thoroughly disappointed but unsurprised by what her brother was doing.

“Isn’t that right, Katara?”

“What.”

“My little sister’s all grown up and moved across country all by herself.”

“Sokka!” Kat sighed in annoyance and Sokka quickly picked up a box with a wide smile, disappearing through the door as she finally noticed Zuko. “Hey, sorry about that.”

“No problem.” Their eyes met and she blinked once, then again. Zuko knew what she was looking at but her eyes stayed rather determinedly on his. Eyebrows elevating, he looked at all the boxes. “You need help moving in?”

“Oh, no, it’s fine.” She blinked again, and turned to look at the boxes. “Sokka’s supposed to be helping me and he’ll do fine once he focuses.” Stepping over the boxes, she extended a hand and offered a smile. “I’m Katara. I guess I’m your neighbour now.”

“Katara,” he repeated, knowing he’ll have no problem remembering it. “Zuko.”

“Nice to meet you, Zuko.” She was even prettier up close. Zuko swallowed hard, finding his mouth dry as he struggled to say more.

“Yeah, you too.” What a lame way to end the conversation. Katara smiled again and turned back to her boxes, and Zuko swore he didn’t look at her an extra second before he remembered he had work. Opening his mouth, he tried to say goodbye, but then shut it. She won’t notice, he thought as he turned and walked down the hall. She’d never notice someone like me.

.

Katara frowned, wondering if this was too much. Her first weekend at her new place had gone without a hitch and all the tenants had attended the BBQ the landlord hosted.

All except one.

She knew who he was — what reputation he had, and what he’d done to prevent his father’s company from going belly up. Still, she was determined to get him to notice her or at least be on amicable terms no matter how high up he held himself.

Katara had brought a specialty of hers — lychee ice cream — and stood outside her neighbour’s door. She knew he was at home due to the fact he’d slammed the door closed earlier that afternoon and that she could now hear him yell at Sokka.

Her brother had never mentioned the guy next door with the huge scar on his face. He was kinda good looking, in an unconventional kinda way. But Katara didn’t focus on that. Instead, she focused on his CEO status, how he lived in a second-rate apartment despite how loaded he must be, how she knocked on the door, and how she was gonna get through this.

So she knocked.

And the door opened.

Ask and you shall receive.

And what Katara received was a wonderfully puffy-haired neighbour, scratching his head and glaring at her though half his face was twisted in an eternal scowl. A far cry from the prim and proper, suited up man three days ago.

“Hi, Katara.’

“Hey, Zuko. I made lychee ice cream for you,” she said although words were running dry as Sokka popped out of nowhere and reached to grab it. “Not for you! It’s for Zuko.” Her brother pouted, complained about something, but Katara didn’t hear him. Zuko didn’t seem to hear him either.

The man looked at her for a moment, then took the carton with a soft ‘thanks’ and Katara found her cheeks warming under his stare. He was wearing nothing but a white tee and grey sweats but he still looked so good. Better than a suit and tie, that was for sure. His warm amber eyes scanned her up and down, and Katara noted the heavy eyebags and how pale he looked. That didn’t detract from how hot he was, though. Not that Katara really looked.

“You didn’t come to the barbecue,” Katara said, sidelining her concern for now, and Zuko nodded. “Why?”

“I don’t like crowds.”

“It wasn’t that crowded.”

“I don’t like people.”

“Oh.”

Color spread magnificently over Zuko’s cheeks as Katara looked to the ground. His voice rasped and scratched and sounded like music to her ears. Not that she noticed.

“I was at work,” he added. Katara noted he was a pitiful liar. Fridays were his half-off days, according to her brother. Not that she cared. “Along with the not-liking people.”

“You like Sokka, though,” she pointed out and Zuko suppressed a scowl as they heard Sokka yell there was no more orange juice. Forgetting herself, Katara withdrew from the doorway. “Anyway, I should head back. You’re probably busy doing… whatever it is you’re doing.”

“We’re playing Assassin’s Creed, if you want to join,” Zuko offered and Katara shook her head. Not that she’d basically grown up with those games. Not that she played with Sokka before he moved away.

Not that she wanted to.

“Which one?” She found the question slipping past her lips before she could reel it back in.

“Origins. Just got around to playing it.”

The offer was enticing, but Katara wasn’t in the mood. “I thought you didn’t like people,” she said, because inviting strangers didn’t sound anti-friendly.

“I can make an exception.” He crossed his arms and Katara ignored the way his muscles bunched and how his shirt seemed too small for his frame. It was tight across his shoulders and when Katara caught his gaze, she shook her head.

“You should go put that in the freezer before it melts ‘cause it’s hot out.” Katara nodded to the carton of ice cream and excused herself quickly after that, going down the hall as quick as she could and entering her apartment.

Slamming the door behind her, she pressed her back against it and sighed. That was a such stupid thing to say before she left, and she couldn’t take it back now. What happened to a good-old fashioned ‘goodbye’? A regular old ‘see you later’?

Apparently, no longer options for Katara when she spoke to Zuko.

.

“Dude, stop checking your phone.”

“Just hurry up. I want to actually play for once,” Zuko growled back as Sokka saved his game on the PS4. Zuko already had Witcher 3 with Sokka’s game savefiles in the right folder and the two had planned to switch thirty minutes ago before Sokka decided to screw around and get two more viewpoints than said thirty minutes ago.

BlueSpirit94: would you believe it if i said my best friend is a complete waste of time

PaintedLadyXO: yes

BlueSpirit94: this is why we keep in touch

The chat bubble popped up again and disappeared, causing Zuko to turn off the screen and yell at Sokka again to hurry up. Then, a ding.

PaintedLadyXO: please

PaintedLadyXO: you need me more than i need you

Smirking at the reply, he couldn’t resist typing out one of his own. Ever since meeting on Discord with their apparent mutual online friends nearly three years ago, Zuko had hit it off with this other gamer despite having never heard their voice. What with Painted Lady’s crazy hours doing whatever they did and Zuko’s extreme reluctance to gather up courage to even talk to anyone outside of his friends, they still remained on close terms.

And they were right, as they often were. Zuko probably did need them more than they needed him.

Bluespirit94: that’s rude

Bluespirit94: but true

PaintedLadyXO: i didn’t mean it

Bluespirit94: whatever

Bluespirit94: how was your move btw? Read 2:49 PM

“Alright, get off. Time to cut off some heads.” Sokka shoved Zuko off the chair and the messy-haired man sat down on the couch instead, waiting for the reply. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard.  “Who are you even talking to?”

“It’s none of your business!”

Sokka’s grabby fingers scrambled to grab his phone but Zuko threw it underneath his legs to sit on, grabbing the controller and glaring at Sokka.

“Fuck off,” he hissed. “Some dick at work is slacking ‘cause he’s probably too busy being high.” Zuko grimaced, and slid the analog stick until Assassin’s Creed Origins was selected. “Not my problem.”

“You’re the CEO.”

“Hey, I came back from work and I’m looking forward to this afternoon off. If he wants to keep his job, he’ll show up tomorrow.” Zuko watched the screen blankly. Everything he said wasn’t a total lie. That dude, Jet, had come in earlier, asking if he could take a medical leave while stinking of weed. Zuko had given him the foulest glare he could muster, declined his request, and left it with a threat of ‘See you tomorrow morning.’

Sokka didn’t say anything much after that. They’d known each other long enough that when Zuko needed his silence, Sokka knew better than to argue with it. Sometimes, he could cure it with jokes. It was more often than not that he couldn’t, so he slapped on Zuko’s expensive headphones and loaded up his save file.

Zuko’s phone pinged. Amber eyes darted from the screen to Sokka, who was beautifully immersed in Witcher 3, and he deemed it safe enough to check.

PaintedLadyXO: great! the tenants are friendly and the guy next door is kinda hot ;)

Zuko’s eyebrows rose. His thumbs paused.

BlueSpirit94: didn’t know you swung that way

PaintedLadyXO: and.

PaintedLadyXO: jk who said i was a man lmao

BlueSpirit94: i can now add that to things I know about you

There was no response for a few more minutes, so he decided that maybe they — she — decided to continue the move-in. Zuko shook it from his mind. So what if Painted Lady was a girl? They were always close friends. This didn’t change that.

PaintedLadyXO: and what do you know about me mister

BlueSpirit94: probably more than you'd like to admit Read 2:59 PM.

.

Katara’s first few months at the hospital went by with ease, especially since fellowships were a breeze compared to residency. With two more aneurysms clipped, a few more brainbleeds fixed, and one more neuroblastoma diagnosed than the night before, Katara reached her apartment as the sun began to set. She fiddled with her keys, almost too tired to see straight. Finally slotting the right one in, she twisted with an irritated huff and threw all her crap down on the couch. Despite having moved in three months ago, there were still a few boxes left to open. She plugged her phone to charge.

Heading to the bathroom, she began a shower and shed all her clothes from the day before. She needed this break before her pager would inevitably go off and she’d be back in the hospital.

Luckily, she managed to snag her shower and came out ten minutes later, feeling more awake than she had before as her phone pinged. Suki, the girl in 1A who’d been the subject of her brother’s affections and vice versa, was one of the first who welcomed her. They’d become quick friends at the barbecue and Katara wasn’t surprised to see texts from her. She was more often than not the one Katara turned to with her problems.

Suki: hey!!

Suki: was just wondering if you're interested in having dinner or anything

Suki: we NEED to catch up on gossip

Katara: yeah sure

Katara: technically off shift but you know how it goes

The response was instantaneous.

Suki: totally. i’ll be there in a bit w sushi

Satisfied that she had dinner plans, she turned to texting her other favourite. BlueSpirit94 had been silent for the past few days but Katara had a feeling it wouldn’t be long before their next conversation.

PaintedLadyXO: how come i never hear anything about your lovelife? Delivered

It was a bold thing to ask but Katara felt comfortable with texting anything to her faceless friend, considering that they’d been friends for well over three years now. It was funny. She barely went on Discord anymore (that was back in the day with Sokka) but she kept the app around on her phone, both of them too cowardly to move. This little bubble they lived in was comfortable. Katara didn’t want to pop it.

BlueSpirit94: because i don't have one

PaintedLadyXO: complete bs

BlueSpirit94: no really. hbu? hows the guy next door situation?

Katara thought on that.

How was the situation?

Well, it wasn’t like Zuko and her often had time to chat. She spent most of her time in the hospital, and on the off-chance she was here, he was either at work or out. She never wanted to bother him to talk, and it wasn’t like he was inclined to talk to her either. She hoped he liked her ice cream and got some sleep. The man looked one night away from passing out.

PaintedLadyXO: gone radio silent

PaintedLadyXO: our times don't match so i don't see him that much

BlueSpirt94: that sucks

BlueSpirit94: hey do you ever think it's crazy were literally in the same city now

PaintedLadyXO: on my mind all the time. we could literally pass each other and never know

Katara’s fingers paused. The next question on her mind was one she had never proposed before, but she had imagined a hundred different faces and a hundred different lives behind BlueSpirt94 that she couldn’t help it.

Knock, knock, knock.

Katara looked at the little arrow that meant send and then to the door.

She threw her phone onto the opposite end of the couch and went to the door.

Later that night, when Katara was in her own bed for the first time in five days, she looked at the unsent text. Exhaustion weighed at her eyelids and she sent it before she could feel the wave of regret waiting to drown her.

.

Zuko stared at the notification. For a Monday night turned Tuesday morning, he felt relatively good. It was nearing 1 AM and he was working on the newest wave on hopeful employees and interns after a day at work. But he was still getting a bit tired. Hiring season always meant overtime for him.

PaintedLadyXO: so why don’t we meet up?? it’s rly been three years

He stalled. The thought had his heart hammering in his throat as he picked up his phone. Could he say yes? Then again, she was the only one who he ever told about his sister. He trusted her with a lot, but she could just be some faceless troll.

Something about that notion struck him false. She’d never do that to him.

BlueSpirit94: uh ok i guess Delivered

A wave of nausea rolled over him. It wasn’t a gut feeling per se, or regret, but he suddenly felt like he was placed outside his comfort zone. He trusted Painted Lady, but to finally put a face to the name…

What a crazy idea.

For so long, she was what he came to from work as they talked and pieced together parts of each other’s lives. They were each other’s confidant, their safe of secrets. Where would they even go? What would they say?

Zuko shook his head. The text had rattled him so far as to say he couldn’t exactly focus on the resumés. So he picked up his phone again, and texted all that nervous energy out.

BlueSpirit94: how about coffee? Delivered

Just as the text sent, he heard a high-pitched beeping and a thump on the other side of his wall. Looking up, he debated getting up to check the sound out as the beeping stopped.

Next thing he knew, there was the sound of the next-door neighbour opening their door. Katara. He hadn’t seen her much since she moved in, so Zuko got up against his better judgement and crossed the living room floor, hand stalling on the knob. Squinting through one eye, he peeked through the hole and spotted a brown head of hair dash by his door.

Zuko blinked. He opened the door and saw her running around the corner in slip on shoes and her still trying to poke her arm through a hoodie. Words failed. Her hair was flying everywhere and it was like a whole different person from that composed woman three months ago. No doubt she’d return in a few days, as was her custom. He’d probably be still awake by then, so he made a game plan to finish through the rest of the resumés, finish his coffee, and get ready for work because the giant pile on his desk did not scream sleep.

He closed his door and returned to his desk. He took another sip of coffee.

He sat down.

PaintedLadyXO: that sounds good

BlueSpirit94: friday work for you?

PaintedLadyXO: depends on work but friday seems perfect

.

Katara was brimming with energy. Ever since making plans with BlueSpirit94 Tuesday morning, she had been full of some nervous squirming feeling in her stomach that added a bounce to her step. Thursday morning meant the end of her week and she walked the halls of the hospital, wanting to head to the cafe for lunch.

Instead, there was a beep of her pager.

Checking it, she clicked it to turn off that piercing noise and blinked. E.R. She was just there. Katara spun around, pulling her hair up into a ponytail as she walked into the pit, shrugging off her lab coat and heading to the nurse’s station where the screen behind it was constantly getting updated with the new intake of patients.

“I was paged?” she asked the nurse who helpfully pointed her in the direction of bed three. Nodding, she turned to it and picked up the chart, reading it over quickly. The symptoms — dehydration, overexhaustion, swollen ankle after collapsing down the stairs. Waiting for a CT to rule out any brain damage and internal damage. Cool. They just needed her to do a neural exam.

Pulling the curtain around, she slapped on a pair of gloves.

“Alright,” she announced with a smile. “Let’s look at that—”

“Hi, Katara.”

“Zuko?” Gawking, she raked her eyes up and down his body. He was in his suit, so he must’ve been at work, and his eyebags had gotten worse, if that was possible. There was blood dripping down the side of his head but he looked wide awake otherwise. Oh, man. Rolling up his pant sleeve, she saw that his sprained ankle was already treated and thanked god. All they were waiting for was her sign off.  “Hey! How’d this happen?”

“Was late for a meeting,” Zuko hissed as she flashed a lightbulb in his eyes. Pupils responsive. Good. “Took the stairs, didn’t make it. Everything got dizzy.”

“When’s the last time you slept?” she asked, rotating his head gently. “Any pain here?”

“Two nights ago, maybe? It was my one meeting for the day. I swear I was going to go home after.” Feeling around his head as he talked, Katara felt her fingers brush against something. “Ow!”

“Yeah, and you ended up in the hospital instead.” Katara arched an eyebrow at him, unimpressed and Zuko shrugged. “If you don’t like people, you must hate it here,” she continued, eager to keep the conversation going. “Hold still. You’ve got a minor cut here where you must’ve hit your head.”

“Place isn’t so bad with the present company,” Zuko mumbled. Heat immediately rushed to her cheeks and Katara kept her eyes on the suture needle as she tilted his head to the light. It wasn’t too deep, and she wiped away the excess blood, putting pressure on the wound.

“How do you feel? It says you fell down the stairs.”

“Just a bit battered,” he admitted and Katara’s lips pulled into a smile against her wishes. When blood stopped flowing freely, she began to stitch. “Any idea when I’ll get to go home?”

“As soon as your CT comes back clear. Are you sure you’ll be able to get back home by yourself?” she asked, frowning. “You can’t drive in your condition.”

“I can call a taxi,” Zuko said with a shrug and Katara paused.

“Don’t move, please.” And she dug the needle in again. “Don’t be silly. I was supposed to be off shift after lunch anyway. I can drive you back.”

“Wait, really?”

Katara’s eyebrows rose at his surprised tone. When she looked at him again, he had a pleased blush across his cheeks and a boyish smile upon his lips. He looked quite cute in that light. Finding one of her own smiles, Katara nodded and added butterfly strips to keep the cut closed.

“Of course. As soon as your CT comes back clear, I’ll get you discharged.”

“Thanks, Katara.”

“Yeah, ‘course.” She tore off her gloves, signing that she was the last one to check on him and patted his shoulder with a final ‘see you later’ grin. He was incredibly warm under his suit, and her hand burned at his touch.

She’d not taken two steps, when: “Katara?”

“Mhm?”

Zuko’s eyes lit up. “The ice cream was really good.”

.

PaintedLadyXO: u kno what's crazy??

BlueSpirit94: what

PaintedLadyXO: boy next door is where i'm working

BlueSpirit94: what? did you talk to him?

PaintedLadyXO: yep and he’s really nice

PaintedLadyXO: we still on for tmr? Starbucks on 49th, right?

BlueSpirit94: about that…

PaintedLadyXO: what?

BlueSpirit94: i might be in the hospital.

PaintedLadyXO: WHAT?

PaintedLadyXO: are you okay???

BlueSpirit94: i’m fine

BlueSpirit94: just minor injuries

PaintedLadyXO: are you sure???

BlueSpirit94: yeah

BlueSpirit94: sorry about tomorrow guess we’ll have to cancel

PaintedLadyXO: np!! Especially if you’re hurt

.

Holding up the CT to the light, Katara squinted in front of Zuko for extra effect. The man was getting a bit antsy with how long she was staring at the thing and Zuko didn’t know what else to say other than: “I’m fine, aren’t I?”

It was like a shift immediately. Katara put down the CT and painted on a smile. “Yep! Now I can sign off and we can go home!”

Home. Zuko tried to ignore the implications that they lived together and nodded, accepting her aid into the wheelchair.

Katara’s car was a nice minivan that was full of boxes that needed to be recycled, but Zuko didn’t mind that the busy woman next to him was still mid-move despite three months living in town. It smelt like warm chicken and food, and he spotted a salad with butter chicken in the front chair that Katara hastily shoved under the chair.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had someone other than me in this car,” Katara muttered, helping him into shotgun and buckling in.

“Thanks, Kat, but I’ve got it,” Zuko said with a gentle smile. The woman was so keen on making sure he was comfortable, she didn’t quite remember her own tasks. The nickname caught her attention though, and ocean blue met volcanic amber. They both cleared their throats when they realized their faces were almost touching.

“Right, right. Sorry.” She waved her hand everywhere and closed the door, making sure none of his bags were in the car door before running around and driving. “Do you mind if I play music?” she asked once she revved up the car and Zuko shook his head.

“How long have you been at work?”

“Since Tuesday morning,” Katara responded, adjusting her rearview mirror. “Patient had a rebleed and I had a shift on Wednesday so I ended up staying overnight.”

“Oh. You’re busy, then.” Pulling out his phone, he checked for any missed emails or calls. Nothing of import. Perfect. 

“Yeah, but I love doing it. Busy is good.” Hozier’s newest album came on and Zuko adjusted his chair, leaning back and looking at his phone as they began to pull out of the hospital. Opening his chat with Painted Lady, he felt a flicker of guilt.

She had sounded so excited, and now that their plans were cancelled…

Zuko should make it up to her. After all, he had been gaining nerves akin to what one would get on a date, and he’d even thought about his outfit. A nice dark red sweater, khakis... 

He had been excited. Looking out the window, he watched glumly as the trees passed by.

“Do you need anything to eat? It’ll be hard to get around with your ankle,” Katara piped up and Zuko glanced to her. She was worrying her bottom lip but her eyes were earnest.

“Thanks, but it’s fine.”

“Okay, but remember I’m next door. I’ll give you my number when we get back.”

She was very kind, a lot like how Painted Lady was. Not that Zuko would know. This was the most he’d ever talked to Katara ever.

Keeping his screen on, he looked down at her last text.

BlueSpirit94: we can reschedule if you’re down??

It took a moment, and then it delivered.

The music paused to allow a ear-deafening ring to bounce off the car walls. Zuko looked to the phone on reflex, then to Katara. She ignored the notification, keeping her eyes on the road and a clammy feeling snuck into Zuko’s palms as she crossed an intersection and turned right onto the road their apartment building was on. Her phone screen had lit up momentarily but Zuko couldn’t manage the sneak he wanted to get besides the Discord icon.

It could be coincedence, he told himself with closed eyes. Stomach in knots, he forced himself to look at the woman beside him. Then to her phone, and then to his own phone.

Only one way to find out.

BlueSpirit94: hi katara

Another resounding ding.

Zuko felt like he was going to be sick. A cold sweat settled over him as he stared at the gorgeous woman beside him. She was exhausted, with messy hair and two day-old clothes but still—

Katara swerved into the parking lot, parking into her usual spot (the space next to his car which was still at the office) and picked up her phone, turning off the ignition. Taking out her keys, she got out of the car and took out the wheelchair from the trunk. Unfolding it for him, she was about to help him into his seat when she remembered her phone in hand. The screen lit up as she rotated it towards her to briefly check who had messaged her and their notification previews.

Zuko watched her every movement.

Which meant he caught when she read the message and when she froze. Her eyes, wide as saucers, went from him, to the phone he still held and Zuko’s own gaze only stared at her, waiting. If he moved, he was afraid he was going to actually hurl. Whether from the pain of his ankle was starting to get to him or the fact that Painted Lady, one of his best friends, was his other best friend’s beautiful sister.

And his neighbour. And his absolute-certain crush (do adults even still get those?). And Sokka’s sister. Crap.

“Hi, Katara,” he whispered because it didn’t matter. This was his best friend right in front of him, with Katara’s smile and eyes, and the Painted Lady’s humour and wit. A myriad of emotions flickered across her face, and then she let out a relieved laugh and half a smile. He extended a hand because being half-in and half-out a car was extremely tiring, especially with a sprained ankle, and her smile grew to fit her whole face. A sun on the face of a woman just as radiant, Katara saw past his scar just as she did the first time they met.

“Hey, Zuko,” she whispered as she took his hand.

[thatweirdmod]

Beriphitar’s Pillage 1

A cigarette leaks smoke from the corner of my frown as I work, hacking the neglected path clear again with my machete. My garden bed should be back here. I grow all kinds of things.

There's magenta irilis which gives my "snacks" and snacks their unique, fresh, lovely flavor. It also adds a nice touch of color, I think. Then there's the weight pullers: tall, weedy drogul plants, harsh smelling buds of grengis, and the innocent looking but deceptively potent white composite flowers, yequin.

Don't wanna remember all that? Don't worry; all you need to know is that they're drugs and drug enhancers, and people want what I harvest out here. It's a mixed bag, this business. It gets me into all sorts of mess with people, but I wouldn't do it, you know, unless it payed the bills.

And it does that, really well in fact. I huff I sigh into the humid air, grateful that at least it's relatively cool, and I'm finally through. I look over the state of my garden, and observe, unsurprised, that the rest of the evening must be spent weeding.

The middle class in my town is probably what's called riffraff elsewhere, and whether we're farmers, craftsmen, or prostitutes, we spend much of our time bent over.

I stretch occasionally when my back aches. I wonder if it's normal for a guy my age to have back and shoulder pain at rest, though. I grit my teeth and shrug it off when it happens, because it's not like it's a surprise, for how long I've been working the land.

Despite all the violence, dishonesty and threats I have to contend with in my line of work, I love this time after I've finished doing something. I feel small yet accomplished as I look up at the starry night sky, unpolluted and uncontested by city lights. On the ground, darkness, dirt, leaves and chirping surround me. I'm alone in the most perfect sense, but then I have to go back home into the residential district of town.

I trudge out of the woods, tired and hungry by now, and looking forward to getting home. I hop on my scooter. I'd call it something like "Trusty Rusty", but even though it's old, I take care of my things, so it's not rusty at all. I buzz down town, taking the back roads so I don't really run into anyone. My house is modest, but comfortable. Some dust can't be helped out here, but I've put my foot down against mildew, stains, and muck.

I strip out of my rough, dirt-crusted pants and torn shirt, enjoy a hot shower, and put on some fresh clothes. As I'm enjoying my warm meal, a knock sounds on my door.

I open up in my boxers and shabby grey t-shirt, with my usual lazy-eyed, irreverent expression.

"What do you want?", I ask the guy standing there.

We're friends, I guess, but only because I lack a better word. Reyfon scratches his messy brown hair and laughs lightly.

"I came to talk to you about that thing."

His thick glasses and somewhat shy demeanor would kind of suggest and innocent young man, but many of his actions paint a corrupted picture.

Truth is, I totally forgot about whatever event we have planned, but I just say, "Okay", like I was planning on him showing up at my doorstep in the middle of my beans and rice.

He steps in on his nervously light feet. I watch as he does a brief, sweeping glance over my home. I never say anything, but man, do I hate it when people evaluate and scrutinize me or my stuff like that. Reyfon smiles. "Looks like you're still your usual neat self."

"It hasn't been that long", I reply.

"Yeah, I guess so", he says. "Maybe a couple of weeks?"

"I bet you've had your hands even fuller than mine", I say.

"Yeah. It feels pretty hectic adjusting to the influx of tourists, no matter how many summers I spend at the brewery."

Reyfon comes from a family of artisans- brewers. While I haven't particularly missed him, I have missed the free beer. I look down and sure enough, I see one of the reasons why I always graciously pardon his intrusions into my home. "Oh", he says, lifting up the paper bag once he notices my eyes have locked on it. "Here."

I immediately take it, put it on the table, and unpack the assortment of pricey drinks, darks, lights, ales, ambers, et cetera. Needless to say, I'm very pleased. "Thanks", I say, then pause. "I suppose you want me to thank you some other way as well."

Reyfon smirks and nods. I'll have to help him again. "You know my father's health has been declining", he begins.

"Yeah."

"More and more of the responsibilities for the business have come down to me, my older brother, and kid sister." Then he scoffs, "Well, mostly me and Veralia. Yet, according to the tradition of favoring the eldest, the one to inherit the brewery will be Theorion. You know my brother, arrogant and lazy, and worse, incompetent and irresponsible. It wouldn't 100% be up to him even if he were the owner, but with enough poor decisions and investments, he could end up making a mess of generations of our family's hard work. So please, help rid us of this pest."

I grow tense, and hold up my hand. "Hold on. This sounds pretty serious. Knocking off some poor scrubs from the west side of hick town is simple, something nobody cares too much about. But now you're asking me to help kill the heir of a wealthy business. Everyone knows you guys around here, and whatever happens to him, it will thoroughly investigated."

"I know it's too much to ask as a friend, so on my word, you will be compensated generously", Reyfon says.

So far, I'm not too keen on this, but that word, "generously" hangs in the air tantalizingly.

"Do you even have a plan yet?", I ask.

"I was hoping you could take care of everything on that front. Of course, though, I'll provide whatever inside info you might need."

"I'm taking a huge risk here, hitting such a prominent target, but how much would you be willing to give me for this?"

"How does 10,000 buckaroos sound?"

"Nice try. This could break my life, so I need enough money to make it if this goes well. 20,000 buckaroos."

Reyfon cringes a little, but says, "Okay. I'll pay you after it's done."

I frown. "You think you're the one of us who trusts the other less? Who's at the other's mercy? You'll pay me before, or there's no way I'm doing shit."

"Hey, it doesn't have to be like that", he says. "How about a compromise? I pay 10,000 upfront, and the other half after it's done."

"15,000 up front."

"Fine. So you'll do it, then?"

I pause for a moment. "Yeah."

"Great", Reyfon says with a small smile, sighing in relief, as if assassinating his brother were an innocent request like any other. "I should be going then. Enjoy the brews. This could earn you a lifetime supply, Beriphitar."

With that, he left, leaving me standing, trying to keep myself from slowly being overwhelmed by what the fuck I'd just agreed to do. Nothing was set it writing. I could still back out, but I feel that that would be unacceptable for me. But then I get another idea. If I'm going to do something like this, if I'm going to take this kind of risk, might as well go all out. It seems like Reyfon can pay me, easily, whenever this gets done. That makes me suspect that the Greyhorns have a lot of cash sitting around.

The next day, Reyfon meets me at my house again. He answers all my questions not only without hesitation, but with enthusiasm. As far as he is concerned, we're in the process of turning his scheme into reality. At the end, I know the schedules of the inhabitants of the house, their maids, and Reyfon even gives me a detailed map of the layout of the house when I ask where his brother's bedroom is.

For better or worse, Reyfon decides that he should be out during the assassination. Actually, it's for the better.

The next night, I lie on my stomach in the dark, rich carpet soft against my chin. Reyfon graciously left the back door unlocked after he left this evening. I came in, went up two flights of stairs to Theorion's room, or chambers if you will, because it's like a whole pad in here- a big personal bathroom, dining and sitting area, and bedroom. I've been camped under his bed for like two hours, waiting for him to come back, hopefully alone.

I snap into tenseness when I hear whoozy female giggling and a good mooded, but douchey male voice approaching. Figures a fuckboy would be bringing a girl back with him. No matter. I prepared for the possibility of having to dispatch multiple targets quickly and silently, but maybe I should've hidden in the closet. Getting out is going to be awkward.

The door opens. "I wanna see that awesome shower you were telling me about!" The girl says. Theorion replies, "Yeah, well how about I give you a tour?" Their flirty tone and words are obviously telling of plans for a shower fuck, a way to bang that's highly overrated in the movies, but pretty good for me now.

Once they've rather stupidly sexy walked into the bathroom while swaying and groping, I start slipping out from under the bed. The bathroom is further down the wall, to my left. They left the door open, but cannot see me as I siddle along the wall towards it. Before they get in, or even have a chance to scream, I've swung out into the doorway, and fired a shot from my silenced pistol.

The pop goes off, and a bullet zips through the air, hitting its marks with beautiful precision. You see, I caught the love birds in a smooch, the guy's back to me. The bullet punches through the back of his head, and then tears through the front of hers. The blood and matter of two brains splatter, making a rather jarring contrast against the clean white and beige rugs, marble floor, and counter. I doubt very much that those were the kind of fluids they were planning on exchanging tonight.

I look up from their toppled bodies, and damn, that shower is pretty awesome. It's massive for one, and.. ah fuck it; this is not what I'm here for. I walk over to them. They'd make a pretty cute couple, just, not exactly like this. I shuffle through the guy's pockets and pull out his wallet. Very nice. The girl doesn't have anything worthwhile in her skirt pockets, but she's got something in the skirt.

According to Reyfon's info, I should have plenty of time. His sister's out having drinks with friends. His dad is emaciating in the hospital, and his mom is dead. So, I decide to help myself to what Theorion was about to have anyway. I brush the girl's wavy brown hair out of her face. It's sticky with the blood that's pouring out of the hole in her head and dripping down her face. Her hazel eyes are closed, her face didn't have time to contort into horror or surprise, so it's stranglely peaceful despite her undue and random end. She was pretty, well is, for all intents and purposes at the moment.

Ugh, it's like stripping a hundred pound sack of meat. Actually, it's exactly that. The human body is really a pain to move when it's dead weight. Getting my own clothes off only takes like 10 seconds. I stand buck naked in the bathroom with two dead bodies. I was mocking it earlier, but I drag the girl into the walk in shower anyway. I turn it on and warm water sprays from a marble seal's mouth. I flop the chick over the marble shower seat, kneel, and start pumping her from behind. It's only been minutes since she died, so her vag is still very warm.

Once I finish enjoying myself, I turn the shower off, dry myself with a towel, and get dressed again. I check my watch. It's only been 15 minutes since I killed Reyfon's older brother and his squeeze. My head is wonky. I can't remember whether I was supposed to leave the bodies or dispose of them.

I rush back over to the bed, and pull out the three bags that I brought with me. I pillage the house, rummaging through drawers, closets, and cabinets favoring speed only slightly more than precision. My last stop ends up being Reyfon's chambers. My 3rd bag is still empty.

After swiping a couple of snazzy watches and 200 buckaroos from around his room, I check under his bed. Sure enough, there are a couple of chests. They're locked, but I prepared for this. After being pried open with my crowbar, the chests reveal their treasure.

In one of them are various trinkets, an old scarf, a few journals, letters, papers- it seems to be a bunch of sentimentals mixed with important documents. The other contains cash, likely a lot of the money Reyfon was planning on paying to me. Upon looking through the bills appreciatively, something beneath the neatly bundled stacks catches my eye- five gold bars curtained beneath. Oh, I love this boy.

I pack the remaining bag, and just for the heck of it, I throw one of Reyfon's personal journals in. I never considered myself the gossipy sort, but who doesn't find it at least a little entertaining to stumble across the juicy secrets of someone they know? I sling my booty over my shoulders, make sure my mask is in place, and head on out of the house. Trusty Rusty is parked a block away.

I mount the scooter and buzz away into the temperate night. First thing I'll do later is buy a new bike, and a car too. This thing has been reliable, and I know how to fix it up, but I could have to make some serious distance, and I can already feel it slowing beneath me under the weight of my goods.

Reyfon plans to head back into his house, find the horrific scene and call the police. He plans to give an account, enjoy the sympathies, gifts and attention he will get as the victim of such a horrific tragedy, and prosper from here on out as the head of the brewery.

I park my bike at the dirt strip around the back of my little house called the backyard. I dip inside to drop off the bags, clean up, and change clothes. Taking my crowbar with me. Reyfon is hanging around a bar in town. I'm supposed to make an appearance there, so he knows that it has been done, but we're not to interact.

When I enter, he notices me immediately. He's probably been watching the door, scanning every patron that comes in. He turns back to his beer as soon as he sees who it is. Reyfon's eyes are clear; he's likely just been nursing that one drink this whole time. If he was gonna come to the bar as an alibi, then he should've at least made an effort to appear more casual about it, and maybe have brought a friend, and had a good time.

Thankfully, this bar also serves food. So while Reyfon is paying, I order a cheese sandwich and have them put it in paper lunch bag for me. I can leave shortly after he does, without looking too weird for not staying and drinking. I tail behind him as he walks down the street. I can tell he's nervous by the way his glasses constantly seem to need readjusting, and the paranoid glances back that I have to keep dodging.

He veers off eventually, into the shortcut through a patch woods that leads to the backyard of his family's mansion. It's here that I pounce. I remove the crowbar from my toolbelt rush forward. I hear him gasp at the sudden sound of feet rushing towards him. The crowbar hits just as his head finishes swiveling around, and his eyes see his attacker. After the big, dull thud he crumples to the ground, twitching a bit, but barely conscious.

As I bash his skull in, a few thoughts will pass through his brain before it mashes, asking why I've betrayed him. The answer? We are living in a material world, and I am a material boy. Hey, you wanna hear another quote? "People work together when it suits 'em. They're loyal when it suits 'em, love each other when it suits 'em, and they kill each other when it suits 'em." I get it, he didn't. And that's why he couldn't hold onto his life.

Reyfon's blood splatters onto my tattered beige work pants. After I finish and catch my breath, I observe. The face of the only person I ever really hung out with has been crushed into a bloody pulp of flesh that looks like fresh ground beef and bone chips. Frgaments of glass and pieces of the black frame from the young man's familiar glasses are mushed into the mess.

Something must be wrong with me to have such a compulsion, but my dick was out, hard, and being rubbed by my hand before I processed what was happening. My hand.. it's slippery with his blood, and it feels so good like this. I pleasure myself, looking down blankly at the battered corpse, lying on its stomach. I probably wouldn't even be able to tell that it was him if I found him like this.

My white, hot cum bursts forth onto the ground between his legs. I sigh and put my penis away, slightly dizzy from all the exertion of today. Brown leather peeks out from the back pocket of his blue jeans. Like an idiot, he kept his wallet there. I slip it out, take his cash, then throw the wallet onto his body.

I walk back home, mostly through the woods so as to be seen as little as possible. I pack one small bag with a few clothes and hygienics. Four bags carried by one guy on a scooter is pushing it, but I want to leave town right now. Then I realize while packing how suspicious all of this looks. Three members of a rich family in a small town are gruesomely murdered, and the house is robbed.

And me, I suddenly skip town, abandoning my drug business, my house, and my land. Where did I get the money to up and leave all of the sudden, and why would I do that on the night of the murders? I should stay, hide the stolen stuff, and wait out the investigation for a couple weeks to a month. Before leaving, I should tell a few people,

"This town is just getting worse by the year. We've had scuffles in the trailerpark and occasional killings among druggies, but for something like this to happen to the Greyhorns... Even I worry. And Reyfon and I, you know, we went back a few years."

Yeah, something like that should be good. It doesn't come across as too on the nose, and it foreshadows my leaving. Others will leave too after this, I'm sure, because the kind of violence that occurred tonight isn't often heard of here. It'll shake folks, myself included, heh.

So if some gumshoe finds their way around to asking about me, like, "That dealer Beriphitar was a friend of the youngest son's wasn't he? He left soon after, didn't he?" the downtown scrubs will answer, "Looks like even he got worried. He was racking up a little that might'a been worth stealin' himself ya know. Not so tough, just a boy trying to carve out a living in a town that turned out to be rougher than he was ready for."

With that, I put my clothes back. I put the bags of stolen money and valuables into plastic trash bags, then take then out to my garden- on foot mind you, because the noise of the scooter at this hour would an overly obvious deviation from my usual routine.

There would be nothing strange about overturned soil in a garden, especially not with fresh crops on top. When I'm done, the bags are safely hidden under about a foot of dirt. Just so you know, the lawmen won't want to tear this place up anyway because of the drugs. What I'm doing is perfectly legal here.

By the time I get back home, it's the middle of the night. That girl seems even hotter now that I'm remembering her in my tiny shower. My tired brain spins a fantasy of her, Reyfon, and Theorion. Reyfon is sandwiched in the middle, Theorion plowing his dirty asshole from behind while he penetrates the girl's dripping pussy. The three move harder and faster, until the illusion comes to its climax, and my jizz sprays the shower wall.

"Sandwiched" though, that word reminds me that I have a perfect good cheese sandwich just left on the counter. I eat it on the way to bed, and then sleep sweetly. With the day that I had, I'm not sure if I'd be able to tell dream from memory.

I wake up to birds chirping, a sour mouth, and the pleasant brightness that comes from having one's home so close to nature. Then I smile little, when I think of the chaos that must be unfolding uptown. Lawmen like buzzards circling my crime scene, Veralia, distraught, shocked, and hungover, and Reyfon's father- I wonder if the news has made it to his hospital bed? At this point, they might as well spare the old man and let him die in peace if possible.

I climb out of bed, have one of the craft beers that Reyfon gave me for breakfast, and then brush my teeth. Over the next two weeks, I follow my plans. I attend the Greyhorn funerals, tell a few people that I'm thinking about leaving town, and sell my land and house.

The lawmen took me aside once to ask me questions. "Did you see anyone strange around town?" et cetera. My answer was simply, "No Sir."

On the day that I was packing my bags again to get on Trusty Rusty and leave town, a beautiful gift delivered herself right to my door. It was Veralia, Reyfon's suffering brunette sister who'd been becoming increasingly irresistable to me the more I saw of her.

Her entire immediate family was either dead, murdered, or dying. It had become unthinkable for her to even stay in her own house; the emptiness and the memories of what had happened, of what she'd seen there, were too much. I heard she currently lived with an aunt in the next town over, so imagine my surprise to see her at my hovel.

Her eyes were sunken, though puffy from what could have been her hundreth bout of tears, and filled with pain. She looked lost, like so many others who'd come to me, and I so then I knew why she was here. She had to find something good in her overwhelming plight.

"I know", she began quietly and not meeting my eyes, "That my brother used to buy leaves and stuff from you." She dug into her pockets and pulled out some crumpled bills. Veralia stretched the money out to me. "Yes", I said softly and with an air of consideration. "I was closing down shop, but please, come in and you can select what you want from what I still have."

There's hardly any stock remaining, since I lowered prices and had been doing a lot of peddling to get it off my hands,but I'm glad I left some. Turns out, Veralia doesn't know a cow from a cat when it comes to drugs, so when I show her my stuff she just says, "I don't know. Just give me something to... stop it." Her face twitches like she's going to collapse into tears, but she holds back.

Her ignorance doesn't matter anyway, because I was partially lying about the effects and the types of drugs anyway. I dope her up as she asks. The drugs take her mind to another world, while I take her body. She moans and pushes me away weakly, but she barely knows what's going on, and she sure won't remember any of this. I strip off her clothes and pound her. I finger her, stick my dick in her slit and her mouth, and rub it against her thighs, pussy and then her asshole before fucking that too. I roughly grope her breasts, then use her vag to finish, shoving my dick in harder and harder, faster and faster, until she wimpers a little even in her drugged state.

Once I get off, she just lays on my living room carpet by the coffee table, almost completely out of it. I think I'll relax for a while before redressing her, but upon having another look at her perky pair of tits and tight pussy soaked with my semen, I decide I'll have a second helping.

I turn her over and splay her legs before me again, completely exposing her genitals to my salacious gaze. I rub her privates, and roughly violate her asshole with two and then three of my fingers. I push my penis inside her body again. She moans sleepily and her hands reach up to swat around above her as I continue raping her- sometimes anally, sometimes vaginally. Her vision is blurry, I know, so she can hardly see me. Veralia's confused, and I feel her thighs pressing up against my hands as she makes makes feeble attempts to close her legs. I come all over her genitalia and asshole.

I wipe her up and put her clothes back on. I finish packing as I was before she came, hop on my scooter, and leave town. Buzzing down the roads to the north, cool wind blowing at my hair and jacket, cargo over my shoulders- I must say I've never felt this free in my life. I've done just as I've pleased, and now I have thousands of buckaroos in cash, gold, and valuables, and a new life of ahead. Life has finally gone my way.

I'm living my own dream as my own man.

[ashwritesstuffies]

Soul Meets Body Joshua Graham x Arcade Gannon

Got this idea at the ripe hour of 5:50am while talking to my artistically brilliant friend Angel @gangnome. This is loosely based on the ending of New Vegas where Arcade went exploring. I like to think he found himself fascinated with finding new reading materials. Naturally he finds himself following this bandaged hunk who at  Happy reading you precious bastards!)

I want to live where soul meets body and let the sun wrap its arms around me,

And bathe my skin in waters cool and cleansing and feel, and feel what it’s like to be new.

The reddening ex-follower had been walking for hours on end. He’d left town when his Enclave identity was revealed, only seldom did he look back. Usually he cursed the sun and the sky and the highly irradiated desertscape he found himself trapped in. His idea was simple, when put on paper. Explore and study, find a place where he can thrive on his naturally high intellect. He’d told only Six where exactly his first trip would be, definitely not because he wanted backup.

He was headed to what was left of New Canaan. As he said to Six, his trip was to sift through the wreckage for what might even resemble a book he hadn’t yet read. Through the mountain spotted areas leading into Utah he went, until an ambush of White Legs remnants proved nearly life-threatening. At the near sound of someone attacking, he was caught off guard. Losing his footing found him sliding down the hillside into a body of cold, clean water.

The sounds of a .45 pistol firing kept his attention away from the horrendous fall. Against all better judgement he sat up in the water to watch what must’ve been fourteen men get blown to pieces by one man.

“Weird flex, but okay,” sarcasm flowed naturally from the blonde man’s mouth.

“They would’ve killed you, but okay,” the burned man’s wit was just as sharp it seemed.

He helped the man up and got him to the camp. He even stayed by his side while the smock-clad man self-administered first aid. After his wounds had been cared for, the leader asked him to stay a while. They spent many hours in deep conversation. From that he learned why his ex-companion had been wary to come back. It was, honestly, unsurprising to find out his old pal Six had helped overthrow nearly the entirety of their rival gang. That was always up their alley. He adjusted his glasses before making his own proposal to the ex-legionnaire. He couldn’t talk, he’d been in the enclave since he was a child. He helped the sick in his own way, mostly by teaching others how to fix their most common issues for themselves. All-the-while affections grew between he and his newfound friend.

At first it was a common admiration. then like a miracle Arcade had found a certain, less irradiated plant that had some numbing properties. Man might think it insane but the scientist found himself the first test subject. In an era without sunblock, sunburns were seldom helped out and certain cancers enjoyed taking lives to those without some form of protection. Applying the bark along with some ash seemed to cool off those pesky burns though. Proud he found himself looking to his heavily burned friend.

“So, um,” he had no idea how to say what he needed to say. “You’re in…. Constant pain, Joshua?”

“I can handle it, why,” he didn’t even look up from his holy book.

“I discovered something that might possibly help,” how in the hell did he get nervous offering this hunk help? The world may never know.

“Absolutely not,” he shut his book, stood from his perch and walked away.

This baffled the would-be medic. “Wait, what the actual hell?”

The New Canaanite stopped, “I said no, this is my cross to bear.”

Naturally the blonde haired gent had to go follow his friend. There was no way in hell, or on Earth he would let another person suffer if he could help it. There was an old saying, you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it drink.

Cause in my head there’s a greyhound station where I send my thoughts to far off destinations where they may find a chance of finding a place where they’re far more suited than here.

The crusade went on for two weeks until the older man caved. He couldn’t help cracking a smile  at the idea that anyone would gladly want to help the likes of him. On a particularly painful day he sought out the medic he’d somewhat employed. The binding bandages on his wrists towards his fingertips were the first to go as Arcade prepared his solution. If it could stop the places where rope burned into skin from stinging like death maybe he’d ask for more help.

“You ready to be subject number two in my notes,” a strange, unretractable statement the man lightly tanning man regretted instantly. “ That was… Um, Here.”

He gently took the hand of his acquainted and applied a small, rectangular-ish splotch of the sticky mixture. After it’d been painted on the reaction was nearly instantaneous. A hushed oh followed by a genuine smile inevitably met the top list. Breaking the silence himself, the bandaged man admitted.

“I expected nothing,” it was a small, pseudo-complement. “It actually stopped some of the pain.”

“You’re kidding, right,” he half expected everything he worked for to end in vain.

“For once, no, you actually helped,” yet again with the wit. It was accompanied by a grin that was nearly visible between bandages.

“Wow, finally, I can die happy tomorrow,” they shared a laugh as he realized he’d not yet let go of the charred hand he held.

That night the two sat a bit closer to eat dinner. Joshua told stories and things were oddly calming. No attacks neither animal nor tribal. The stars spotted the sky like bright freckles the moon was but a silver thumbnail up above. In the flickering firelight beneath the blanket of the endless sky the two’s conversations lasted well past the morning’s sunrise. On bedrolls, adjacent practically, they theorized everything. Each of the two men drifted off to slumber courtesy of the other’s voice.

The next day woke the acting leader after a few good hours of rest. He glanced over to the person who’d kept him company. It was unfamiliar, to feel this way about someone else after all he’d done. He had to, in his thoughts, find a way to figure out what exactly the feeling was. Like some sort of trial. He’d not the foggiest of ideas about the possibilities. When the blonde awoke there was cooked food and silent bible reading. Obviously he thanked the blue eyed food-bringer who’d been wearing onto his heart. In response the man’d been quick to pass the love onto someone else, claiming one of the Dead Horses had cooked. Protest threatened to fall from his lips at the blatant deflection of affection.

I cannot guess what we’ll discover when we turn the dirt with our palms cupped like shovels,

But I know our filthy hands can wash one another and not one speck will remain.

An unexpected guest came and went. Turned out several of the friends he’d left back in the Mojave were a bit worried about him. An expedition lead by Six to see if the Arcade Gannon they knew was still alive and well. Luckily for him, things were more than swimmingly. Six months had come and left bringing to his feet the very man of his dreams. He, of course, hadn’t said anything about it to the person of his affection. Six pulled their friend aside, seemingly knowing everything.

“It’s Joshua isn’t it,” their years of wingmanning had given them natural insight. “You’ve got the hots for him.”

“Who the hell do you--” he began to argue then stopped himself. “Yeah, honestly I’m taken.”

“By Josh,” they’d played only to get chastised lovingly by their friend.

When they’d left taking with them the rest of their gang, he had ample time to confess his affections. Six had pretty well insisted that if he thought this was it to jump. The last part was, in the semi-professional opinion of the ex-follower, was inconceivably hard to actually do. Little did he know, the one he had fallen for, too, was in deep in the emotional department. The blue eyed, swat-vested male sat beside his childhood friend. Intensely conversing over heaven, hell, and choices the men made.

“Daniel, have you ever thought of taking a lover,” it sounded hundreds of times better in his head.

“I have, why do you ask,” it was unlike the friend he knew to talk openly of feelings. However, that’s exactly what they did.

An hour or so brought forth the kind of confidence in the ex-legate he had long since forgotten. His loving friend hand fed him a pep-talk and together they assembled a bouquet of flowers. They were to be brought by the burned man to his crush. His gifts were met with gifts of sweets from the rosy cheeked blonde. Chocolate Frosted Fancy Lads, the kind of confirmation he so clearly sought. Words couldn’t capture the beauty of the entire moment. A well needed hug, however, was an offer neither could refuse.

“You got me flowers,” first to break the silence was the handsome scientist with lacking social skills. “I don’t know what’s worse, my chocolate offerings or-” Their lips met once, then twice, breaking the sentence before it could be complete.

I do believe it’s true that there are roads left in both of our shoes,

But if the silence gets you then I hope it takes me, too.

A month found the two happy in love. Given the upcoming holiday Arcade longed to see his friends. Every year he’d spent with the courier and their friends Raul would play his guitar and sing once popular christmas songs. Lily loved to decorate the home, it was all lovely. He couldn’t wait to share these traditions with his man. The one he once dreamed would swoop him up. They’d be proud and it made him so soggy with sentiment.

He talked about them a lot to his man, as did the fiery leader about his friends and the tribals. First they’d spent three days searching nearby cities for gifts. Useful or not the forest eyed man only ever became sappy during the holidays. It was like, a hidden feature of himself only few could see. Once he’d spent well over a few thousand caps on a crapload of repairs needed in the Old Mormon Fort. The look on Julie’s face when she saw actual huts being built to replace some of the tents. From then it kind of snowballed.

“So, you’re sarcastically devoted to your friends,” asked the one he’d been info-dumping history to well into their walk home.

“Pretty much, I hate them, but they’re the greatest,” he didn’t mind clarifying as his lightly calloused hand brushed the bandaged fingers of his boyfriend’s hand.

They’d commandeered a shopping cart from the side of the cracked road to carry back supplies and gifts. Among a bit of the salvage were a few sweaters untouched for the most part save some fallout and dirt. When they arrived back to camp, the green eyed man jokingly suggested Joshua try on the sweater proclaiming ‘Merry Christmas Ya Filthy Animal!’ To humor his love, he actually slid it over his shoulders and head. When he turned to ask how he looked, he was met with laughter and cheers. After such a display it was only natural that the blonde man bore his sweater with a one headed radstag.

“I look ridiculous,” he couldn’t help but laugh at himself and his decisions.

“We both look ridiculous,” who was the natural leader to not laugh with his love. “It’s an everyday thing, the sweater just emboldens it.”

“You ready to head to the Mojave,” there was excitement and adventure-lust deeply lacing his tone. “Your friends are going to love this, dear.”

The road back to the strip was actually rather lax, the only things daring to step up were Viper gang members who just wanted everyone to ‘stay as far as possible the fuck away from our post’. The burned man himself saw to it that no one occupied the post anymore, all it took was one shot whizzing past Arcade’s head. The shock on that blonde man’s face when the bullet grazed by was enough rage-fuel to set the building aflame but that he did not do. For miles afterwards the usual chatter was replaced with a calm, collected silence between would be married men.

Across the state line a ways into Nevada the green eyed blonde actually spoke up, “so you know you didn’t have to kill them, right?”

“I didn’t,” he admitted in response. “Until they shot at you, then all bets, my love, were so far off.”

“Okay, but next time we could always tactically evade getting attacked,” he knew in his heart that some people just could not be reasoned with.

That being a cold hard fact never stopped the small twinge of regret he would seldom get for the fallen. There wasn’t another word until they reached New Vegas proper. It was a bit of a surprise to find that the ex-legate had never seen the strip. The best friend of Mr. couldn’t make medicines from desert plants met them near the entrance to Crimson Caravan. Upon first sight of their old doctor companion returning was like seeing the first snow of a nuclear winter, except less death and more excitement.

Hugs were passed around like a peace pipe, then they were off again to the strip. It never occured to Six that they were the sole reason some of their friends actually made it onto the strip. Next stop was the Lucky 38’s presidential suite. Inside the old casino, many decorations were being strewn about with purpose. Ed-E had the wasteland equivalent of mistletoe and was flying around with great purpose. Stopping once in a while to get his friends to smooch. For a piece of AI tech, he sure had a way of putting people together.

The day for gift exchanging was upon them, Christmas some called it. Six just called it ‘give me what you wanna and I have some stuff for you’ day. After Joshua gave his first holiday sermon to his newfound friends, the building seemed live. In the cafeteria the salvaged securitrons had a line up of actual decent food. There was enough booze to tranquilize a young deathclaw. Then, after eating well over everyone’s weight in festive goodies they finally traded presents.

From Arcade to Six was an ample amount of stimpaks and some festive combat armor. In return he received an old textbook that talked about native plantlife in the areas. Joshua had given them all bibles, jokingly. His boyfriend’s hand in his he delivered the “you’re all sinners let’s party” speech.

“Hemhem,” spoke up an old brotherhood scribe. “Where’s mine?”

The smile that spread the width of green eye’s face was gorgeous. A true treasure for those who saw it, “hold on junk junkie I’ve got what you need.” He tossed a blue and white dress her way. “Did you think I’d let my gays go without?”

“You’re a  dork, Gannon,” Veronica hugged her wouldbe wingman. “How did you know I liked the color blue?”

“Trust me, you wouldn’t want to walk around in gourd colors,” they shared more than their fair share of laughter. “Unless you’re like, into that sort of thing.”

Their sentimental shitchat was cut off halfway when the Courier brought in a runt gecko. They introduced the seemingly harmless pet, Squishy. That night was spent with great happiness. When it was time to hit the sack, it wasn’t surprising to find Joshua and Arcade comfortably snuggled up in one of the few rooms. They’d be sure to make this tradition a yearly thing. Finding the crappiest gifts possible and getting the same in return was more than anyone could ask for in the company of both boyfriend and best friends.  

So brown eyes I’ll hold you near ‘cause you’re the only song I want to hear,

A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere.

A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere..

[les7saisons]

7Seeds Gaiden - part 1

Let’s do a recap of Gaiden! A very long, long recap.

It starts with a mysterious scene at night, of Ryo wanting to take the ship and Ango stopping him.

Next, we see our characters waking up in the morning. Hana, Fujiko and Natsu have a talk about making a waterclock to keep a better track of time and to easily know when to do their daily activities and meetings.

Hana has been going on secret night dates with Arashi at the top of a tree and Natsu thinks this sounds super nice! (meanwhile, Semimaru is agonizing about what Natsu likes/what makes her happy) 

Under Gengoro’s suggestion, they have been making new “teams” to explore the island, gather necessary things for living and make their new home. The choice of the teams is interwined with later scenes of the characters working.

-The sea team is in charge of exploring the sea relief around the island and  gathering sea food. Akane is the leader, with Arashi and Ryuusei who voluuntered, to the surprise of others but as he says, he’s good at all types of sporty things (mostly, he wants to work hard for Kurumi!)

-The sky team observes the island from above to make a map of it: with leader Koruri and Chimaki drawing the map

There’s a sweet little difference in experience there because when Akane asks Hana if she can borrow Arashi, Hana gives her a little thumb-up with confidence but when Koruri choose Chimaki to help her, Haru is totally shocked, wondering when did they become close... and Koruri casually answering that she likes people with curly hair doesn’t help his insecurity!

-the on-the-ground exploration team is lead by Hana, who takes Sakuya with her for his great spatial memorisation skills, they also help with details of the map

After that comes the animals team (leader Gengoro) and plants team (leader Ayu) and Gengoro isn’t playing around, picking Aramaki under Ayu’s nose, THEN also taking away Tsunomata for his archery skills when she says she’s picking him in retaliation. Sneaky Gengoro, taking all her potential boyfriends/mates away! 

When she asks who she’s supposed to have with her then, he suggests Haru for his good ears, who will be able to hear things in the forest (it’s useful but... not specially for plants?). Ayu looks at him like he’s useless and Hana+Fujiko+Chisa are unsurprised to see yet another Ayu/team Spring clash. Then Arashi recommends Natsu, saying she’s been keeping notes of useful plants all along and it’s adorable but also mortifying for Natsu because she’s super scared of Ayu! Of the new people she met, Ayu’s one of those that seems the scariest! (and Haru doesn’t look easy to approach either because he’s super grumpy to be in this team) Semimaru tries to get enrolled too but is shot down because he’s supposed to be the chef. He can only wish Natsu good luck and to hang on because he also find Ayu scary.

We see team animals and plants doing a bit of a team-up after that which do good things for Ayu and Haru’s mood (seeing Aramaki and Tsunomata) but Natsu is still really anxious about not being able to be useful.

-team water&house is in charge of finding where to build their house and pipes stystem. Gengorou names Nijiko and Ran without announcing any leader and of course the first thing they ask is who’s the leader. He evades the question by telling them to decides it between themselves.

Matsuri and Botan are team farming, Ban and Fujiko team medical and Akio, who is put in charge of daily management, asks Chisa to help him since he believes her uncle taught her many things. Karita is on guard duty, watching the livestock but also staying ready to help in case some accident happens. The kids want to do something too (well, Hibari not so much) so Hotaru is tasked with checking the waterclock and ringing a metal bell to tell everyone what hour it is, while Momota and Hibari are tasked with collecting salt.

Because Matsuri feels down thinking about Ryo, Natsu offers to go visit him and Ango. Upon hearing about Natsu being in Ayu’s team, Ango gathers some plants they have (what was supposed to be part of their dinner actually, Ryou is pissed off but quickly gives up and goes “well guess we’ll only eat meat tonight”) and gives them to Natsu, telling her to say she founds them because Ayu is hard on people she judges incompetent. Natsu says she can’t do that so he adds that as long as she doesn’t say those were found by him, she can say anything. 

Ango also asks if he can see Botan and makes the request to take the boat to go out of the country “because nobody wants to see their faces and that’s mutual”. Botan says that’s not a good enough reason and they may need the boat themselves if there’s something dangerous on the island and they need to escape. Ryo goes “told you, we should have took it without asking” and sorry but his idea of storming in the night to steal a fucking boat when he had no idea if anyone was on it feels like the dumbest thing ever? (at least Kurumi and her baby are still on the ship, so at night there’s certainly Ryuusei too, Ban and/or Fujiko as well) Sorry Ryo but I’d say you lost any right to call Ango an idiot after that! Matsuri scolds him but still keeps hugging him.

A mysterious person has been gathering firewood every morning and Koruri is hiding something from Haru. Mysteries~ 

While working on completing the map, Hana tells Chimaki she wants to thank him for the painting she found on the island, with the names of team Summer B. That it saved her life. Chimaki is shocked by it, not used to think about what his art makes people feel, as he mainly draws because he likes it. He then has a nice little conversation with Haru about art and tells him not to worry about Koruri.

Nijiko and Ran seem to have found a decent place to build their home but Ayu looks at a fruit tree and tells them it may become flooded very soon. Ran is surprised because there’s no trace on the ground that this may be the case but Nijiko says Ayu should be trusted. So they choose another spot, which is on a slope. Ango and Ryou are watching them from afar and Ango wants to construct some bridges around the place to save them some work... Because Ango was the little fairy in the forest giving gifts of firewood to the people (actually my first image that popped-up was Frankenstein’s monster but that’s a bit mean lol). Except as soon as the reveal is made, Karita and Momota see himaround camp and Momota runs away from him. Later, Natsu suggests to Ango he should have a talk with everyone, saying they’ll explain how him and Ryou saved them a lot of times.

Hana has found what may be oil but as evening falls and the bell has rung for everyone to come back... she encounters Ryou on her way...

[wokeuptired]

night 5 of natasha’s 8 nights of chanukah | read the other nights here

left coast

celeste robbins is all about compartmentalizing. there’s life in los angeles, and there’s life in portland. there’s good music, and there’s bad music. there’s the past, and there’s the future.  

and then there’s harry styles.

a story about the five stages of grief, getting lost upstate, and becoming brave.  

1. denial

“Are you ready?” Sylvia asks, her hand light on my shoulder. I’m not ready, but I nod anyway. She takes my hand, and together we turn away from Grams’ grave. I’ve already read the inscription so many times that I’m sure I’ll never forget it.  

Lucinda Evelyn Robbins

May 21 1937 - May 24 2016

Beloved Mother, Grandmother, Friend

She does not go gentle.

“At least it’s not raining today,” Sylvia says, squeezing my hand. I nod, but I wish it were raining. I wish it were raining buckets on top of our heads, drenching us and making our clothes stick to our bodies. I wish it were rainwater dripping down my cheeks, not tears. I wish we weren’t leaving here to go home to a house full of tupperware containers and covered mirrors and sad people. But mostly, I wish Grams weren’t dead.

I hate people competing in their sadness. I’m sadder than you; she taught me piano when I was 12. I’m sadder than you; I’ve been her neighbor for 30 years. But none of them can say, I’m the saddest of all. She raised me. She taught me right from wrong, up from down, now from then. She taught me how to be.

Sylvia drives, and I sit in the passenger’s seat, folding my hands in my lap and trying not to pick at my nails. A month ago, Grams and I got manicures together. I hated it, having strangers touch my hands, but Grams smiled widely and complimented all the women on their hairstyles and their skill at painting tiny flowers on our nails. My flowers are chipping away, and I know I should wipe them off with acetone, but the loss of them will sting more than the smell.

“Paul Cohen was there,” Sylvia says as she guides the car out of the cemetery and back toward the highway. I hate how close the cemetery is to the freeway, which is a graveyard in and of itself, but this is where Grams wanted to be. This is where our parents are, so this is where she wanted to be, too. “Did you see him?”

“Yeah,” I say, though I’m not sure who Paul Cohen is. The guy who fixed Grams’ car once for cheap when it broke? The old man from synagogue that always had a crush on her?  

“Hmm,” Sylvia says. We come to a stop in the left line, the only noise in the car the click click of the turn signal. I reach for the button to turn on the radio, but Sylvia puts her hand out to stop me. “We need to talk about what’s going to happen next.”

“Yeah, sure,” I say. What’s going to happen next: We’re going to go home and sit on the floor for a week. At least, according to Grams’ book, no one will be able to talk to me unless I talk to them first.

Grams ordered us the book on Amazon a few weeks ago, when things started to get really bad: The Jewish Way in Death and Mourning. I didn’t read it, but Sylvia did. She’s the one who called the Rabbi and the head of the synagogue Sisterhood and dealt with all the funeral arrangements.

“We’re going to have to sell the house,” Sylvia says, staring straight ahead, “since neither of us live here. And most of Grams’ stuff, too. We’ll meet with the lawyers next week to go over Grams’ will, and they’ll give us a list of everything we need to find so that it can be distributed. Then we can sell everything else, or you can hire somebody to do it, it doesn’t really matter.”

“You want to sell everything?” It takes me a second to process what Sylvia is saying, and when I do, it scares me. Grams’ house is the only home I’ve ever known.

Sylvia sighs. “I don’t want to, but we have to. We can’t afford it if we’re not living here, and I don’t want to move here. I’ve got a life in Seattle, Cel, and you’ve got a life at school. We have to sell it.”

The light changes and we turn left, onto the freeway. I stare out the window as cars speed past us for a minute, and then traffic grinds to a halt. Sylvia curses under her breath and tightens her grip on the steering wheel.

“I hate this damn city,” she groans. “So fucking crowded.”

I want to scream at her. I love this city, even with its traffic and superficiality and insane number of designer dogs. This is the city that raised me, the city that took my parents and my grandma from me, and this, I know, is the city where I’ll die someday.

“Anyhow,” Sylvia continues, “I have to get back to Seattle next week, but I’ll make all the arrangements before I go, and I’ll make a list of everything for you so you know what you have to do. I might be able to come down for some weekends, but you’ll have to do most of the cleaning and stuff yourself. Can you handle that?”

“Of course,” I scoff. “I’m not a child anymore, Sylvie.”

“Sure had me fooled,” she says.

We don’t say anything for the rest of the ride. When we pull up at Grams’ house, it’s clear we’re not the first ones there. I unbuckle my seatbelt and take a deep breath before I get out of the car. Inside, two dozen people are waiting for us, to hug us and look at us like we’re broken dolls, and all I’ll be able to do is stand there and take it.

“Please try to be nice,” Sylvia hisses at me as we go up the front walk.

The door opens before us, and thus begins the loneliest summer of my life.   

Spin Cycle isn’t crowded, which is unsurprising for a Monday morning in August, so I go right up to the counter and tap my nails on the glass top. Beneath it, I see all of the special edition records propped up on stands. Every week, somebody opens up the case and dusts them, but they never sell, because they’re too expensive to be played. And who wants a record they can’t play?

“Yes?” Kali looks up at me, momentarily annoyed, until she sees that it’s me, and then she breaks out into a smile. “Celeste,” she says, tucking a strand of pink hair behind her ear, revealing half a dozen piercings. “What’re you doing here?”

I try to grin back, though I know my smile’s not as true as it could be. “Do you have the new Ghost of Hamlet’s Father record on vinyl?” I ask her. ��I haven’t been able to find it anywhere.”

“Of course,” Kali says, and then she hops over the counter like only a girl who’s nearly 6 feet tall can, and she hugs me.

Kali is my best friend in Los Angeles, not because we’ve known each other forever, but mostly because we haven’t. People who’ve known me forever know too much about me. They know about me before, before my parents died and Grams took us in, and they pity me. I hate being pitied.

“How’s Grams?” Kali asks, taking me by the shoulders and looking at me. “Is she doing any better?”

“Oh, um.” I bite my lip. “She passed last week.”

“Oh.” Kali’s face falls. “I’m so sorry, Celeste. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t…” I don’t know how to tell her that I didn’t want her to pity me. I didn’t want her to look at me the way she’s looking at me right now, like I’m a piece of glass she needs to handle with care. “You’re busy, so…”

“You know I’m always here for you, Cel,” Kali says. She squeezes my shoulders and lets me go. “Lemme find that record for you.”

“Thanks, Kali,” I say. I follow her across the store, towards the “recently released” vinyls.  Kali knows full well that I could find the record myself; I did work here for a year, after all. But I don’t feel guilty about distracting her for a few minutes, since the store is empty. “How’s business these days?”

Kali laughs. “Oh, it’s going. It’s mostly retirees and hipsters keeping my doors open and a roof over my head. Which is not to say that all my customers smell, or anything.”

“Tell me about it,” I say. “I live in Portland, remember?”

“How could I forget? Lost my best employee to that city.” She laughs again and begins digging through a bin of records. After a minute, she straightens up, one in her hand. “Ah! Here it is. You need anything else while you’re here, Cel?”

“Nope, that’ll do.” I follow her back up front and fork over my credit card to pay for it. She hands it back to me and pushes the record across the counter, but before she can wish me a good day, I tell her why I’m really here. “Actually, I do need something else.”

“Oh yeah?”  Kali pulls a box of CDs from under the counter and begins sorting them into piles. “I had a feeling. What can I help you with, my dear?”

I turn to the pile of tapes next to the register, the two for a dollar bin, and pick through them. I’m not looking for anything in particular, but I need something to distract me from feeling uncomfortable while I talk. “I got Grams’ car. She left it to me in her will, so I’m going to take it up to Portland with me. And I need somebody to drive with me. Because I don’t want to go alone. It’s a long drive, and I don’t want to deal with that many hours alone in the car.”  

“Oh, Cel,” Kali says, and I can hear the pity in her voice. “I’m flattered that you thought of me, but I really can’t leave the store--”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant!” I say quickly, shaking my head. “I was just hoping you might know somebody who has some time, or whatever. It’s fine if you don’t, I just thought I should ask since--”

“I know somebody.”

“What?” I put down the tape that I’m holding and turn to face Kali, the end of my sentence still lingering in my mind: since I’m here.  

“I know somebody who needs something to do,” she says. She’s still sorting used CDs, splitting them into piles. The left one, I know, is for CDs in perfect condition, and the right is for ones that might not be resellable.

“Something to do?” I repeat. “I can’t pay anybody, Cor. This isn’t like, an odd job. I just need the company.”

Kali nods. “I know that. And this somebody, he needs company too.”

“Well, okay, great,” I say. “How well do you know him? Is he gonna murder me as soon as we hit the Grapevine and dump my body out of the car to rot with all the cows?”

Kali cringes. “I don’t know him that well, but my boyfriend can vouch for him--”

“You have a boyfriend now?” I ask, surprised. Kali and I don’t talk often when I’m not in town, but we text pretty regularly, and for a while we wrote each other letters. That was Kali’s idea, but I went along with it, no matter how cheesy I thought it was, because she’s one of the best friends I’ve ever had.

“Yeah,” Kali says, blushing. “He works at Columbia Records. And he’s known this guy for a few years, so I’m sure he won’t murder you--”

“Well, great then,” I say. I didn’t realize until now how eager I was to find someone to drive with me. Grams’ car reminds me too much of her. I can’t drive it that far alone. “That checks off my first box. ‘Won’t murder me.’ Check. Who is he?”

Kali bites her lip. “You’re not going to like it.”

“What are you talking about? I like everyone.”

“No, you don’t. And you especially don’t like this guy.”

“How do you know? Do I know him?”

“You know of him.”

“God, Cor, just tell me.”

“Harry Styles.”

“Harry Styles? From that boyband?” I try not to groan, mostly because I don’t want to hear her say, “I told you so.”

“They’ve been expanding musically over the past few years, you know--”

“Jesus Christ, Cor.”

“Well, keep it in mind as a last resort, okay?”

“Sure,” I say, picking up my record and heading for the door. “I’ll call you if I get desperate, okay?”