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echo-hiraeth · 4 years ago

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A Grand Fucking Gesture - Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Summary: Frankie leaves for Brazil without you knowing. This causes some major damages within the relationships that have all his insecurities out in the open.

Warnings: violence, death, cursing, angst

Masterlist

A/n: Little angst piece as a 200 follower celebration! Thank you all so much! There’s potential for a part two, so let me know if you’d like to see something of the sorts!

Brazil was a mistake. Everything about that whole damn operation was wrong and he fucking knew it. He felt it in his bones the night Santiago told him, but it was so much money. Money that you both needed so desperately. It just wasn’t fair, he’d served his country for years, only to be stuck with heaps of debt and a crippling mortgage. You weren’t doing great either, your small business failing to a point where you’d filed for bankruptcy, taking a job at the local corner store. He thought he was doing you both a favour, three days away from home only to come back a millionaire.

He’d mentioned it the night he met up with the others, the night ended with slamming doors and muffled sobs. You asked, no begged him not to do it, not ready to lose him, or anything else for that matter. He’d just gotten sober and all your last money had gone into his rehab program. Frankie kept trying to reason with you, insisting it would be a one-time-thing, harmless in fact and that he’d come back a wealthy and changed man. You stood your ground, forbidding him from going, which only resulted in a screaming match. Francisco Morales deemed you an ungrateful, selfish wench, and having heard that, you didn’t think you needed to hear anything else. You stormed off into the bedroom, crying into your pillow, staining the soft sheets with your tears.

Hearing your hushed sobbing, he didn’t have the heart to come in. He wanted to give you the world, but without all that money, he didn’t think he could. Francisco Morales wasn’t exactly aware of his worth in the world, he wasn’t aware of the true blessing in disguise he’d been to you. That first kiss saved your soul and everyone after that brought you closer to that special place. Even through all the difficult times, his coke addiction, the financial troubles, you were smitten for one another. You rarely ever fought, so tonight was excruciatingly awkward and painful, especially because he’d already said yes to Pope. The past three years by your side had completely transformed him, you’d singlehandedly saved him from himself, convincing him to seek help. He’d been clean for a little over two years, all your savings invested into his health and he desperately wanted to pay you back, no matter the actual cost.

And cost him it did. His phone blowing up as he boarded the airplane, inbox full of your messages, calls and voicemails. The urge to just turn around and run back home into your arms was there, but he had to follow through. He had to do this, for you. By the time he landed, the notifications stilled, you’d given up. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or even more worried.

Back at home you were pacing, he’d promised you he wouldn’t go. But when you woke up to an empty house, note on the counter, you knew what time it was. You would’ve woken up, you knew this, but somehow you slept through all of it. It was then you found the sleeping pills underneath the sink, some residue powdered fingerprints staining the sleek metal of the fridge. Did he really drug you? Just to go on that damn “mission”? You were fuming at that point, frantically trying to get a hold of him or any of the guys for that matter. Benny, your brother, was the first to answer, expressing his sympathy for you upon hearing what happened, because apparently Frankie had lied to them as well, promising you were fine with all of it.

That first night in his hotel room, he dubbed back and forth, not sure on what to do. He could call you back and listen to what you had to say, or he could leave it at that and wait until he’d be home in three days. Surely you could wait three days, right? He texted a quick “I love you” before turning the phone off again.

The text felt like a slap to the face to you and kept you up at night. You wanted to be angry at him, truly, but all you could feel was deep-rooted worry and concern. You knew him longer than you’d dated him, having met at a family event. Both of your brothers had boasted about their friends for years and when you met them you weren’t disappointed. Though they never meant for you to end up in his sleeping bag, fully naked on top of him, during their annual camping trip. It took some getting used to, but the Miller boys were fully supportive, often taking credit for the relationship as a whole. Benny was a successful MMA-fighter at that point, well-off and enjoying the thrill of the fight. Will was a spokesperson for the military, mustering up young Americans with profound – bullshit – speeches on the side.

Frankie and you hit it off from the very first moment, and if you hadn’t been in a long-term relationship, you might’ve considered the compliments and constant small touches for what they truly word: a shitty attempt at flirting. You still remember the look of horror on his face as your boyfriend picked you up, suddenly feeling very embarrassed. It wasn’t until you showed up at this place one night, years later, with mascara running down your cheeks, telling him you loved him and shortly after that you started dating.

As Frankie snuck through the drug lord’s house he could only think of you. The way you’d smile at him when he walked through that door, always finding some reason to be happy. He wanted to marry you, have babies, the whole shebang. He wanted a life with you, a financially secure life, where you wouldn’t have to worry about a bill ever again. So when he stood there, loading up duffel bags with cash, he could picture it all, a huge wedding with a sinfully lavish dress, a nice house, with too many bedrooms to count.

When he pulled that trigger the first time, watching the life fade from his victim’s eyes, he sighed. It didn’t need to be this way, but they’d gotten greedy, Tom in particular, picking fights where he could, making the tension rise even higher. It was when he ran up the stairs, ready to go tell the others to get their asses in that damn truck that he spotted Will, splayed out on the ground. He’d been shot, Lorea, the narco dead on the ground, it could’ve been any of them.

The next few days proved even worse, his heart breaking as the helicopter failed to surpass the mountain peaks, crash-landing into some field. He ignored the ache in his bones, determined to get home to you somehow. He bit his tongue, just about ready to jump at some of the other men’s throats, incredibly upset with Pope and himself, for agreeing to this. He could’ve been at home on the couch or in bed, you snuggled up to him, telling him about some trivial thing at work. The reality was much darker, here in the middle of nowhere, where Tom just gunned down a sixth of a village.

Meanwhile back in the states, you were an inconsolable mess, driving up to Molly’s, in hopes that she might know something more. She didn’t seem too interested or bothered, muttering something about them being smart and resourceful. You went back home empty-handed, feeling even more defeated and hopeless than before. Your boyfriend was supposed to be home yesterday and there had been no call, no message, nothing. Those damn walls, littered with pictures of what felt like a past life, were closing in on you fast. With every night you were alone in that bed, it got a little harder, the smell lingering in the sheets making you weep. Losing Frankie was your biggest fear, but at this point you didn’t even know if you wanted him to come back anymore, afraid of what would happen if he did.

When the ground crumbled beneath Frankie’s feet, he thought he was done for, but he quickly let go of the mule, watching it plummet to its death. His heart was beating in his ears at that point, breathing unhinged as he grasped the rock behind him. After catching his breath he walked to the front, stopping to chastise the two men in the middle from bickering any more.

The next day was rough. The sight of Benny cradling Tom’s lifeless corpse not leaving his mind. He would’ve cried if he wasn’t running on pure adrenaline. He just wanted to crawl in your arms and never leave again, he needed you so desperately now, more than ever before.

At the end of the weak, halfway through another bottle of wine, you got a call from an unknown number. You didn’t answer, not wanting to be disturbed as your drowned it all out. But when the landline started ringing, you got up, angrily yelling something about not being interested in any kind of membership.

“Baby – it’s me.”

The phone hit the ground at the same time your wine glass did, shards flying everywhere. You clutched a hand over your mouth, blood pumping as if you were in a horror movie.

He was alive.

“Hermosa, please talk to me.. I-I need to talk to you.”

You left the phone on the floor, slippers crunching as you walked across the broken glass. You couldn’t take it anymore and threw as much as you could into a suitcase, taking all your work uniforms with you. Benny’s place was a half hour drive away and he’d given you a set of spare keys years ago. That’s where you were headed, hoping to get some peace of mind. When the door opened at five am, you were sat on the couch, staring straight ahead of you. Benny jumped at the sight of you, softening up in an instant when he saw the red- and rawness surrounding your eyes.

He rushed to your side, sliding down onto his knees in front of you, cradling your face in his hands. As a military man, there wasn’t much that fazed him anymore, but his baby sister crying on his couch in the morning, that was something new. Frankie’s return home was equally unsettling, instead of his girlfriend smiling at him as he walked through the door, he was met with a pool of dark red wine and what looked like a murder scene.

He ran up the stairs, scared of whatever he might find there. When he did a full lap of the house and found no signs of you, he called Will, the oldest brother. But even that proved unfruitful and now he was worried as well. Frankie felt his chest tightening, breathing laboured as he checked for you once more. It was then, in his frantic panic that he noticed the missing suitcase and then the missing clothes. You left.

Benny got off the phone with Will, returning to your side once more, setting down two hot chocolates on the coffee table. You hadn’t said a single word and just let him ramble on, bursting out in silent sobbing as he explained what had happened to Tom. Despite being exhausted you couldn’t bring yourself to close your eyes, eventually just opening up to your brother. He shook his head in disapproval, reaching for the phone to give Frankie a piece of his mind when you stopped him.

“Benny, I don’t want him to know I’m here. I need some days to think.”

He understood and just offered you the spare bedroom, urging you to at least get some sleep before your shift. He’d offered to call in for you but you insisted to going to work. You were up about an hour after you’d fallen asleep, slipping into your uniform before heading off to work. Today was an early shift, which also consequently meant that you’d be able to go back to Benny earlier as well and take care of him. You’d seen the way he looked, the way he responded as he talked about what happened, he needed someone to be there for him. That got you thinking about Frankie as well, would he have someone now? Would he be okay? Did he need you just as much as your brother? More maybe?

You felt totally out of it as you stacked the shelves, apron getting caught between the freezer doors in your zoned-out state of mind. You looked the part too, bags heavy under your eyes, eyes squinting at the bright lights. It was then you felt a familiar hand on your shoulder, turning around to gaze upon Frankie’s face. Eyes ridden of their light and face sunken in, he looked a mess.

“Frankie, I’m working.”

“I know but I just.. I need to talk to you, please.”

His voice was shaky with emotion, the hand on your shoulder trembling as well. He looked worse than Benny, the clean shaven face not lost on you.

“Ten minutes, in the backroom.”

He trailed behind you as you punched in the code to the secured door. You sat down on a stack of crates, cracking open a bottle of water while handing one to him as well.

“I got some money now”, he started, sniffling a bit.

You furrowed your brow, not really impressed at it. “Benny told me you gave it all up for the kids.”

“We each kept twenty grand for.. expenses I suppose.”

“It’s blood money Frankie”, you sighed, not able to look him in the eye.

He stood up, reaching out for you. “I-I know baby, but we could start your business up again o-or pay of some of the loans. We can run away and start over, just you and me!”

“Run aw- Frankie you drugged me! You fucking lied to me and left me here to think you were dead!”, you shouted, standing up to point a finger in his face.

“Baby I know, I know! I screwed up! But I did it all for you, for us! I just wanted to make you happy..”

You scoffed at him, rolling your eyes dramatically. “I was perfectly happy before! I don’t need money, I just want my fucking boyfriend to be honest with me! To wake up next to me, safely.”

“Yes and I know that now, so we can go home and talk it out. We can get some lunch together and talk it out over a couple of beers.”

You shook your head, crossing your arms when he tried to hold your hands. “I think I’m done talking, Francisco.”

“C’mon baby, don’t be like this.. I need you, I-I need to hold you. Please, please just come home, we don’t have to talk just please-“

“Don’t make me cause a scene. Just turn around and leave.”

He sighed, jutting his hip forward. “W-we can’t be done, please, I love you!”

“And I love you! But this – this isn’t okay Frankie! I-I need time to think, to revaluate shit, you can’t just walk out on me like that!”, you explained, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “I thought you were dead.”

He wrapped his arms around you, his own eyes watery as he placed a gentle kiss atop of your hair. “I’m so sorry – I shouldn’t have left, I wanted to come back the second I left.”

“But you didn’t Frankie and that’s the problem.”

He didn’t show up at your work the following days, at least not that you knew of. Every night he’d try to call you twice and just sent a goodnight text in the end. A part of you really just wanted to go home and give in, but there was just too much hurt for now. Benny was happy to have you over, indulging in your exquisite cooking and company, binging some new franchise every night. Nearly all of them had enrolled in some form of therapy, all but Frankie. And over the weekend you’d visited Molly and the kids, helping her arrange the funeral and set everything in order.

That next Tuesday, during the service, was the first time you saw Frankie after your encounter in the frozen goods aisle. His hair was slicked back, completely dressed in black, top few buttons undone as per usual. Your eyes met, setting of that familiar spark. You managed a small smile and awkward wave, soon turning to the front again to listen to the eulogy. After the ceremony most people left, not really up for the mellow setting of a coffee table. You’d stayed, even if it was just to keep the kids company. About an hour in Frankie remerged again, looking more dishevelled than before. You were pulled to the side shortly after that.

“Hey”, he started, fingers twitching at his side.

“Hi, a-are you okay?”, you asked, noticing the way he sniffed a couple time.

His eyes were darting across your face, pupils blown. “Yeah, yeah, I’m cool, you?”

It wasn’t until you saw the familiar trickle of blood cascading from his nose that you pieced two and two together. “You fucking used again!”

He pressed a finger to your lips, hushing you as he dragged you into the nearby bathroom. “Baby, I missed you.”

You pushed him off of you as he licked his lips, trying to reach for you. “Stop it Francisco.”

“You look so lovely, I just – I just want to kiss you”, he slurred, reaching for you yet again.

You grabbed a hold of his wrist, gently backing him into the wall. While he was focused on you, you slipped a hand into the pocket of his dress pants, fishing out a half empty bag of white powder. “Is this everything, honey?”, you asked, purposely softening your tone and demeaner.

He nodded, resting his hands on your hips. “I couldn’t afford any more, your ring was too expensive.”

“My what?”, you asked, digging around in the remainder of his pockets, until your fingers bumped into something rigid and silky. His hand hovered over yours, pulling out whatever it was.

“I want to marry you, always have, from the first time I spoke to you”, he confessed, presenting you with a ring box.

You took a few steps back, gasping for air as he just looked at you, fumbling with the lock mechanism. “Frankie..”

He went down on his knee, opening the box to reveal a gorgeous ring, big diamond reflecting the dim bathroom lights. “Marry me.”

You let out a confused chuckle, clutching the bag of cocaine in your hand. “You can’t be serious.”

“But I am, I want to be with you, forever, you are my everything.”

“I can’t marry you! Look at what you’re doing! Showing up to your friend’s funeral with a powder-stuffed nose to propose to your girlfriend? What the hell is wrong with you Francisco?”, you whisper-yelled, not wanting to cause any turmoil.

“What’s wrong with me? How about what’s wrong with you?”, he shouted, “I risked my life for you out there, fucking shot all those people, just for you!”

He backed you into a wall, your backside colliding with the cold tile. “Stop this Frankie! This isn’t you!”

“Well what if it is, huh! Will you fucking leave me like everyone else? I gave you everything and it was never enough, I was never enough!”, he screamed, banging his fist against the wall next to your face.

“That’s not true Frankie! You were always enough for me, I didn’t want money or- or a grand gesture, I just wanted you!”

He scoffed, stepping away from you to sit against the counter. “I cost you your business, your fucking dream.”

“So what if you did? It was my decision, wasn’t it? And I never regretted it one bit.”

“But what if you will!”, your ears rang with the loud volume, “Every day I wake up more and more afraid that you’ll be gone. I-I can’t lose you.”

“This is exactly the issue Frankie! I love and love and love you but it’s just never enough! The constant reassurances, the constant affirmations, I love you so fucking much, but it just can’t work like this!”

Your screaming match didn’t go unnoticed, Will barging in before Frankie could say anything else.

“What the hell is going on here?”, he snarled, looking back and forth between the two of you.

The silence hung heavy, Santiago popping up behind your oldest brother, sighing as he noticed his friend’s bloodied nose and fist. You stepped into the nearest stall, throwing the baggie into the toilet bowl before flushing it down the pipes.

“What, you never leave for an illegal assassination without telling your girlfriend?”, you sneered, pushing past the men in the doorway.

Santiago ran after you, grasping your arm before you could get too far. “Wait, wait, wait. Hear me out okay?”, he pleaded, making some gestures with his hands, “None of this is Fish’ fault, alright, it was me. I encouraged him to come along in the first place and talked into him a bit, yeah?”

“I really don’t care Santiago”, you huffed, averting your eyes. “I need all of you to just fuck off so I can fucking think. If you really want to help out, look after your damn friend, that’s about the least you can do right now.”

Another two weeks went by, weeks in which you just lived a double life, going to work as if nothing had changed, but going home just to fall apart again. Frankie had been staying at Pope’s and a mental hospital, as suggested by his therapist, which he’d now hired. He’d returned the ring and invested the money into a therapist, to your great delight. The texts had stopped too, his psych insisting he allowed the two of you some space. It was in these dozen days that you realised how much you missed him. And that, if he was willing to work on himself, you could give it another try.

Later that night there was a knock at your door. You opened the door in half of your uniform, hair in knots at the end of the day. And there he was, familiar baseball cap staring right at you. The colour had returned to his cheeks and his eyes had that familiar twinkle again.

“Did you forget your keys?” you asked, letting him in.

“No, I just – I wanted to knock, didn’t want to interrupt or disturb.”

The chuckle he let out set your heart aflame with that familiar love and adoration. You had to resits the urge to kiss him, pink lips looking softer than they ever had.

“This your home too, Frankie, use the keys whenever. Have you had dinner yet?”, you asked, walking back into the kitchen.

He scratched the back of his neck as he stood in front of the kitchen island. “No – but it’s cool, I just came by to pick up some stuff.”

“I mean I was about to order some pizza anyway, I don’t mind if you stay. Unless you have places to be of course”, you offered, slipping your phone out of your back pocket.

“In that case, sure. Want me to order, so you can grab a shower?”

The fact that he remembered such a small thing was something beyond intimacy. He always took good care of you when he could, cooking dinner when you had the later shifts, laying out a set of towels and pyjamas. While he hadn’t done it now, just the fact that he offered to order, a silly thing really, made you blush.

“Yes please! Thank you honey!”

You rushed up the stairs, excited to just wash all the worries and woes of the day off of you. Frankie was left to his own devices, biting back a grin as he typed in the familiar order. He hadn’t dreamt of getting to spend the evening with you, let alone have you call him “honey”. He looked like a schoolboy, the way he got so flustered and shy. By the time you came back downstairs, hair half dry and in one of those short pyjamas sets, Frankie was at the front door, slipping the delivery guy a tip.

“Beer?”, you shouted from the kitchen.

“Yes ma’am!”, Frankie replied, setting down the two pizza boxes on the coffee table. He lifted his cap, running a hair through his hair as he tried to get his nerves in check. As far as he knew you were still his girlfriend but he couldn’t help but feel as if tonight was somewhat of a first date again.

You handed him a chilled bottle, plopping down on the couch. He sat down on the other end of the couch, reaching for the top box. “So how’s therapy been?”

“’s Been good actually”, he started, taking a sip of his beer, “Been clean too, therapist told me slip-ups don’t mean too much.”

You grabbed a first slice, nodding and humming as you listened to him.

“She told me to give us some space to revaluate it all, work on myself and stuff. We talked about the army and Brazil and uh.. Tom of course. But we don’t – we don’t have to talk about it.”

“I don’t mind. But if it makes you uncomfortable then don’t. Just know.. I don’t mind listening Frankie.” You shuffled a bit closer, handing him another slice.

The next half hour was spent talking about what had happened in that dreadful week, over pizza and beer. A half hour filled with emotional conversation and painful silences in which you didn’t know what to say. There he was, pouring out his heart and soul, voicing every insecurity and doubt he’d felt, every fear, every horrible memory and all you could manage was some nodding and sighing, desperately trying to keep yourself from crying.

“Did you mean it?”, you croaked out, even closer to him now.

He furrowed his brow. “Mean what?”

“When you said you wanted to marry me..”, you admitted, voice hushed with a sudden bashfulness.

His fingertips grazed over yours. “I did, still do.”

“C-can I kiss you?”

He didn’t bother to reply, just pulled you on top of him, smashing his lips into yours. Your hands soon found the rim of his hat, throwing it away to card your fingers through his soft curls. His fingers fisted as the material of your shirt, desperate to feel your warmth. By the time you turned away from his mouth you were completely out of breath.

“I really want to do this right, querida”, he murmured, burying his lips in your neck.

You stroked a thumb across his cheek. “You’re doing perfect, my darling.”

He smiled before latching onto you, hands at peace on your waist, pulling you on top of him. “I’m gonna marry you.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time Morales”, you cooed, resting your head in the crook of his neck.

His arms wrapped around, head leaning against yours as he just held you close to him. “Can I just hold you tonight?”, he whispered, closing his eyes as he drank in your familiar shampoo.

“What would your therapist say about that?”, you asked, trying to make him somewhat aware of what was happening.

“I revaluated the situation.. and I’m still madly in love with you.”

You grinned before capturing his lips in a slow, long-lasting kiss. “You should come over more often.”

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #francisco morales #triple frontier #pedro pascal #imagine

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yamithediaperdork · 4 years ago

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Draco’s New Daddy (Harry Potter)

From one of the great pure blood families and with a brilliant future ahead of him, Draco Malfoy these days was living a very much different life then he had even planned on. unable to land a job at the ministry of magic due to well, everything his family had done under he who should not be named, Draco found himself working odd jobs until the day he'd happened to run into a old classmate from Hogwarts: Miles Bletchley. Miles was apparently doing well from the fine clothes he was wearing compared to the blue jeans and formally white t-shirt but now mostly gray that Draco was wearing. He'd invited Draco out to lunch, and after assuring him he'd cover the bill, they had gone off and talked for hours.

As it turned out Miles was a gent of sorts for special young men who had certain..looks..and got them one night 'jobs' so to speak that payed well and of course took a modest percentage of the money as he wasn't doing this for fun. Draco knew how to read between the lines and blushed at the offer that was being made. "Listen Draco, with your looks, your frame and honestly..well..how some people feel about your family, I can promise you a lot of money for 1 to 2 works work at a time. And lots of clients." Miles said, chugging a butter beer. Draco was drinking something a little stronger and his bale cheeks were flushed, though from the offer or the wine it was hard to say. They had a private booth and Miles had cast a spell to give them further privacy, though he'd stressed what he was doing wasn't strictly illegal, it was gray area and best not to draw attention to it either way. "let's not beat around the bush Miles, you want me to be a prostitute." Draco said. "In a way yes, though in others no. I promise you'll never have to have sex with anyone who hires you unless you want to." Miles said. "..So loads of cash, and not getting my ass plowed..what's the catch?" Draco asked, raising a eyebrow and having more then a few doubts. "the catch is that each of my boys plays out one role for the lonely wizards of the world. One boy plays the part of a human dog,anther a sissy girlfriend, anther a maid and so on and so on. Any sex is to be agreed upon by both parties and I have my own branch of well..enforcers shall we say..who deal with clients who break that agreement." Miles said. "Bloody hell.." Draco said, shaking his head. "And what role would you have ME play then?" he was pulling his glass to his lips and started to take a sip when Miles told him. "A nappy boy." Draco spit out his drink and looked at his old school friend in disbelief.

And yet he'd ended up taking the job. Miles was true to his word that Draco never once found himself sucking dick or taking it up the ass, though he'd been forced to smog with more then a few men. And it was mostly men who hired him. people who loved seeing the pure blood in massive cloth nappies and a baby bonnet sitting on the floor and shaking a rattle. the fact that even after a year of doing this job he could still blush so bad while doing it only endeared him to his daddies and mommies. And Miles had been telling the truth at JUST how many clients he had. If Draco had so wanted he could of worked every days of the week for a month and still of had at least 2 clients a day. The only horrible part of the job (well aside from the general shame) was having to make BM's in his nappies. Oh how people loved to bounce him in a smelly nappy on their laps with a fat dummy in his mouth and chuckle as the tears rolled down his cheeks. Still it wouldn't be too much longer Draco figured before he could retire. he wasn't blowing though his money this time like he had before and was careful to save even coin he could, only treating himself to luxury items once a month. (In fact, he was so good with his money Miles had Draco speak with other of the working boys about how to better manage their finances!) He'd been relaxing in his modest flat and reading the paper when a Owl had arrived from Miles, telling him of a urgent client who was willing to pay triple the normal fee for a session with the nappy lad tonight, despite Draco having made it clear he was taking a few days off to treat a embarrassing little problem. His diaper rash. Miles note made it clear that it was up to Draco, but he strongly urged him to accept. apparently this client had used other boys and wanted to try something new and some vague threats had been made about dropping the service altogether. "Shit. Guess it's time for me to be the company man." Draco muttered and sent a message off saying he'd take the job, and asked for the location of tonight's 'daddy' Apparently Miles had figured Draco would do that because just as he sent his owl off, anther one appeared with the info he asked for. wondering just how well his agent knew him Draco went and packed up his work bag and headed out the door.

His work bag was a black duffel bag, filled with Nappies and plastic pants (and Panties) in his size. not that he wouldn't of minded if his clients supplied for him but some just went all cheap and others went over the top and expected him to go halves with him on it. if he brought his own supplies it just worked out better. He had some t-shirt and bibs in there, along with his selection of dummies and a bonnet, and most embarrassingly to him, a dress. It'd been a give from the first mommy he'd had and he'd promised to keep it even though he hated the thing. Still, you never know when someone else might want him in a dress and this one again fit him to a t. One of his recurring daddies had tried to get him a proper diaper bag but Draco had drawn the line there since he had to think of how that would look walking to and from his daddies or mommies places. The Hotel where the big shot daddy was staying wasn't far from Draco's place so he walked, it was late enough out that not too many people were on the streets unless they were outside of a pub having a smoke. 'The wacky duck..some people shouldn't be allowed to name things.' Draco thought with a smirk, reading the sign. it wasn't a high class hotel which was good because it meant not having to fuss too much with the front desk, nor did it look like a cheap and easy place which meant a lot Friday night party animals around to make it risky. walking in he did go to the front desk and a young lady was behind it and smiled at him. "Excuse me miss, I'm looking for room 201?" He asked in a polite tone. She gave him a huge smile and giggled a little, making him a little nervous. "Ohhh one of his boys huh? second floor, right next to the lift." She said with a wink then asked. "So what's YOUR gimmick?~" "...Not to be rude but I don't believe thats any of your business. Thanks for the directions." Draco said, face turning reds he turned and walked fast for the lift, he chuckles ringing in his ears. getting off on the second floor, room 201 was right where she'd said it was and he made his way over and knocked on the door. five fast knocks and then three knocks with a space of 3 seconds between them just as the note had said to. He could hear movement in the room and tried to banish all thoughts of discomfort away and focus on being a good boy for his daddy. 'your a little nappy boy. your a little nappy boy..' He chanted in his head, and put a big grin on his face that vanished as the door was opened up. "Draco? what are you doing here? I'm expecting..company.." Harry mother fucking potter said, going from looking confused to smiling. "I..I think there's..been..a mistake." Draco squeaked out. of all the people in the world he LEAST wanted to know about this job, Harry potter was number one, with Hermione at 2 and Ron at three. "oh I don't think so little man." Potter said, looking totally delighted. "Thought I wish Miles would of told me YOU were going to be my little nappy boy. I'd of doubled my offer. Now, are you going to come in like a good boy or does daddy need to spank?" as Harry spoke he moved to the side and gestured for Draco to come in. The mental image of him over Potter lap and the phantom pain of it made a hand go to Draco's back side and he sprinted into the room and Harry closed the door behind him. "Good Boy."

Draco looked around the room, it was at least decently furbished and even had a muggle telle on a night stand and then turned his attention to potter. the 3 years since high school had been more then kind to harry who was tall, broad shouldered and handsome while Draco could of passed for a 11th grader after shaving. "I'm going to set a timer once our session starts.I've paid for two hours and I intend to get every last second." Harry said then walked over and sat on the large bed, and patted next to him for Draco to sit. The blond nodded slowly and walked over. "Look, I know this must be a bit of a shock to you finding out you'll be getting babied by me, but to be fair it's not like I ever thought you were into anything like this." Harry said, giving a warm smile. "I ..I um..See..Miles just offered me the job..and..I rolled with it..I-I thought you were married to Ron's little sister though? so what are yo-" "Doing playing around with a bunch of fetish bitches? Me and Ginny have a understanding, I can play with them but no sex and then she doesn't have to bark like a dog or wear nappies." Harry laughed. Draco nodded, that kinda made sense. "Um..I..I don't know if I feel comfortable with you..seeing me in.." Draco mewed softly. "Draco I thought we settled this. I paid for this,so you ARE going to be my stinky little nappy boy. I wasn't Joking about spanking you if I-" Whatever Harry was going to say was cut off as a pot of fear escaped from Draco's backside, making him shut his eyes and bury his face in his hands mortified. "heh, seems like you're more of a little boy then you thought if just the threat of a spanking can motivate you that much." Harry chuckled and then pulled Draco in for a one armed hug. "Not a little guy all the time." Draco whined, and KNEW how bad it sounded. "it's just a job!" "Mhmmm I'm sure. Well since it's just a job let's get started. I was told you'd bring you're own supplies?" Harry said, clearly not believing a word Draco said, and making him give a huff and a pout. Which really, wasn't helping his case. Draco got up off the bed and stormed over to his duffel bag and picked it up, bringing it over and dumping out it's contents. "See? only a professional would have THIS much of a selection to make for his customer!" he said, then the color drained from his face as Harry picked up the dress. "Heh, do i wanna ask?" Harry asked, holding it up. "..I'd prefer you not." Draco said in a small voice. "oh and plastic panties too~ How adorable! Sorry though Draco, I'm more into diaper BOYS. Maybe next time though." Harry said and winked and Draco found himself wishing he could melt into the floor. "T-That's ok." he mewed weakly. Harry chuckled and looking over the odds and ends made his choice. "Alright, I'm going to start the timer. any more attuide and it'll be you over my lap little man. Understand." Harry said, reaching for a timer that was on his nightstand. "Yes Daddy."

Now on the clock Draco waited for his first order from Harry. "Alright now little man, first things first, I think it's time you lost those silly big boy clothes. lord knows HOW you've kept your pants dry this long but I'm not losing from my damage despot when you tinkle all over the floor just because you wanted to play pretend and act like a big kid." Harry said. Draco nodded and slid his green t-shirt off first, then his blue jeans leaving him in a pair of blue briefs, though he paused for a moment to kick his pants and shirt away from him. "Awww, cute briefs, though too bad there's no print on them." Harry commented. "Lose' em." Draco bite his touage, Harry wasn't the first person to think he'd be adorable in animal prints or worse and he doubted he'd be the last, still it was a sore spot for him so he turned away as he slid the undies off to semi moon his 'daddy' and it was only with a stab of pain hit his cheeks he recalled about his diaper rash. "Ohhh I see why somebodies been a grumpy Gus! Poor widdle Draco has diapie rash!" harry said, sounding sympathetic but as Draco looked over his shoulder Harry was smiling ear to ear. "Is somebody not using enough nappy cream? or just sitting in his poopie nappies for ages because he likes the feeling?" "I..I do not! I just..I.." Draco fumed and went to go on a mini fit but BARELY caught himself before he'd earn a spanking. clenching his teeth he hissed though them. "My last client likes boys getting nappy rashes and didn't let me use power or cream if you MUST know daddy." "aww, don't worry! I'll use lots." Harry sand and then took 4 of the thickest terry cloth diapers Draco had and laid them out on a changing pad that was where a small rug had been. "wasn't there a rug there? what happened to it?" Draco asked, pointing and confused. "..Draco come on, we're wizards. what do you THINK happened?" "Oh..yeah.." feeling sheepish and covering his front with his hands Draco made his way over. (it wasn't that he didn't think harry wasn't gonna see them anyways, but LOTS of clients liked the all fake modesty bit.) "Lay on your tummy first so daddy can take care of your poor cheeks buddy and move your hands silly boy." harry said, taking a jar of rash cream from the pile and opening it. "Oh, the extra baby powder scent brand. very nice." "I..it's..what the customers like." Draco squeaked out, moving his hands and letting his 6 inches show though like a good boy he was bald down there. "Huh. that's cute." Harry commented seeing the larger then normal cock and Draco paused as Harry stared. "heh, just because I wear diapers for a living doesn't mean I'm tiny!" Draco said with a hint of pride. "And I'd agree except I know a enlargement charm when I see one." Harry said and snatched his wand up and in one swift motion, Draco's 6 inches because 1 and a half. "H-HEY! YOU CAN'T JUST" Draco yelped up, eyes having gone from wide in horror to filled with fury. "You know how much that bleeding cost to get done so it would stick around!?!" "Draco, one warning. attuide dropped or over my knee and a slipper on your buns." Harry said then added. "I'll give you a little extra to pay for your next charm." Draco clenched his fists but then took a deep breath, reminding himself he was a professional damn it then in a calm voice replied. "I can technicality end the session now potter..your not allowed to use magic on me without my consent. But I'll take you up on your offer." with that he laid himself down on the mat, with his buns up and turned away from harry. "of course admit it. you want someone to treat your owie bum." Harry said and then started to coat the cream on the boys back side. Having found his favorite black and green dummy on the mat, Draco just popped it into his mouth, not dignifying potter with a answer.

His bottom coated with cream and powdered, and then his front looked after too, Draco had to admit Harry had done a better job then he could of on his own and it was feeling much better as Harry pinned the thick nappies shut on him. Picking up a pair of clear rubber pants Harry smiled down at Draco. Lift your legs please little one." Draco suckled on his dummy and nodded, helping daddy slide them over his feet and ankles and then lifting up his bum without being told so daddy could get them part way up over the diapies. "Hmm, mighta gone too thick..or we just need to use a little gravity." Harry said. Before Draco could go to ask what he meant by that, Harry had lifted him up and was holding him up by the rubber pants. not wanting to fall backwards as harry semi bounced him, Draco whined behind his dummy and leaned forward, semi hugging Harry as he got the rubber pants over the diapers. "awww, I love you too~" Harry chuckled and standing Draco on his feet, kissed his cheek bringing a fresh blush to the blonds face. the dummy fell from Draco's mouth and while Harry caught it Draco started up again. "I-I don't, that's not! Look I just didn't wan-" Draco started to whine when the dummy was popped back in his mouth and despite himself he started to suckle on it again. "you don't have to be bashful with me little man. Lots of your fellow workers have started to swoon over me." Harry said. Draco huffed and glared, but kept the dummy in his mouth.

Harry smirked, Draco was just TOO perfect like this and such a fussy baby he hadn't even noticed that the dummy had been enchanted with a little charm used by parents who's infants/toddler were backed up but refused to take their medicine. the more Draco suckled the stronger the charm would get and with how huffy he was and the rapid suckling he was doing.. "what down you come take a seat on daddies lap and let him fondle that big fat nappy butt of yours?" Harry said and Draco squirmed like crazy but let himself be lead over. He was a little disappointed he hadn't had a chance to spank the little guys behind, he'd gotten a pair of slippers JUST for that, but then again the little guy had nappy rash. 'once it clears up though..' Harry thought with a grin. there was no way this was gonna be a one time thing,that was for sure. Sitting on the bed and Draco on his lap side saddle style, Harry smirked as the big baby (oh sorry, professional) put his armed around Harry's neck and leaned in with his head on Harry chest/shoulder 'God, who's falling for who here?' Harry wondered, a flush coming to his own face. "You know you really are too cute. I was going to make my nappy lad crawl around and humiliate himself, but with you, I'll just read you a story. would baby Draco like that?" harry asked. Draco nodded and smiled a little behind his dummy. "There's just Onnne little thing..you have to keep your dummy in. otherwise I'll have you making a got out of yourself. got it?" Harry added. again Draco nodded and Harry poofed a nursery book out of thin air and started to read.

Draco squirmed slightly as he sat in daddies lap. this was..well..alot nice then his normal clients treated him and he did indeed find himself maybe kinda slightly crushing on Harry, and it was giving him butterflies or something in his tummy. He closed his eyes and suckled on his dummy, listening to Harry read and enjoying the hand that kept patting on his Nappied behind. "-and then the big bad wolf..Heh, Still awake little one?" Came daddies voice and Draco opened his eyes and nodded, giving a smile from behind his dummy. "Just checking. If you wanna go for a little nap I can pause the timer, just let me know." Harry said then leaned down and kissed Draco's forehead. Draco squirmed, the idea f just going for a nap and then waking up to be babied more suddenly felt really tempting! Still it was better to get the job done and maybe just kinda hint he'd be open to a longer session next time. He wasn't even sure how much time was left, just that daddy had been reading to him and he'd gone into a total little state he wasn't used to. "You ready for me to go back t-" Harry started to say but then he was cut off as a loud but muffled poot escaped out Draco's behind, and warmed up Harry's hand. "oh, Is somebody about to make presents like a good boy?" harry asked. Thankfully the nappies cut down on the smell but Draco whined, something he'd eaten was NOT agreeing with him because that fart had been rancid! he reached up and removed his dummy and looked at Harry with a sheepish smile. "Uh..sorry,know that stinks I don-" He started to say but anther poot forced it's way out with gusto, almost hurting and harry laughed. "I think that answers if somebodies gonna make BM for daddy." he said then wrinkled his nose. "About time too from the smell of things little guy." "I-I swear I used the potty earlier today! I don't know why i-it's guhhh!" Draco cried out as a super wet fart erupted and he mewed. "M-Maybe we should reschedule this..this is gonna be toxic!" "oh no, it's ok, I don't mind a stinky boy. and I paid to have the whole floor to myself so no ones gonna complain." Harry chuckled and shifted Draco on his lap. Now instead of sitting side saddle he was back to Harry's front and his bum on Harry's right leg, with Harry holding his arms and kissing the back of his neck. Draco..wasn't exactly how he felt about al of this, normally he would of charged extra for the neck kisses but daddy was kissing and nibbling just in the right places. "oh! Oh!! Daddy!" Draco mewed like a little needy boy..no. a little needy BABY. "Be a good boy for daddy baby Draco, Make me a nice BIG present." Harry coo'ed into Draco's ear. Be a good boy. Jesus. just the words were driving Draco wild and his little nub was twitching as the command took hold and he started to grunt and push. "Y-Yesh daddy! I'll be a good boy! da bestest boy!" Draco cried out. His rosebud opened wide and muck rapidly poured out, filling up the seat of the nappies so fast that Draco also seemed to get taller! as the filth filled the diaper and the smell filled the room, Draco drooled and moaned as Harry went back to assaulting his neck with kisses. "Good boy Draco! Such a good big stinky boy!" Harry coo'ed. Draco mewed happily and kicked his legs, not even minding the smell or feel and only semi lifted himself up for a few to keep going and gasped as the muck started to fill the front of his nappy, coating his cock and balls. "Oh! Oh! Daddy i wuv you! I wuv going popie fer you!" Draco baby babbled on and as even as he farted and kept going. Harry chuckled and lifted the big baby up and turned him around, but still on his knee. "And I love you. now you almost done?" Harry asked. "Uhh.." Draco looked unsure and make a scrunchie face that had Harry biting his bottom lip and there was a few sputtering farts then nothing. "I fink so." "Good, who wants to play horise?" Harry asked with a loving smile. "Oh but da-da..dat'll make my BM go all over mah nappies." Draco said, biting his lip now. the sensation of being picked up and sat in his mess had been well..wonderful! "Don't worry about it. That's daddies job to worry about those things." Harry said and then kissed Draco on the lips, deep and hard and the little professionals mind and self control was gone as the kiss broke off. "So..Horise?" "hehehe ya ya! Horise daddy!" Harry smirked and getting Draco to hold onto his shoulder and putting his hands on the big babies sides, started to bounce him with his knee. gently at first but then picking up more and more speed as he went on. the smushing of the mess was having it's effect as Draco gasped and moaned and leaned forehead, face in Harry's chest as he was getting closer and closer to making a sticky in his diapers. it went without saying that he had flooded them though he couldn't be sure when and god he was just..so..close.. BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ! the ride stopped and Draco was trying to figure out what had happened and what was that noise, as daddy sat him on the bed. "Looks like our time is up buddy. But this was VERY fun. we should do it again sometime." Harry said., turning off the timer and kissing Draco's cheek. "Buh..buh..I was bot ta." Draco mewed and whimpered. "I know buddy, but like you said, your a professional. If you're free tomorrow night I would LOVE to book anther session." Harry said, chuckling at the look on the blonds face. "I..But..I.." Draco's mind was frazzled, and he was finding it hard to even think. "I put some extra gold in your diaper bag for you little guy.to cover you're penis enlargement charm. though i think a little cock looks better." Harry said, sweeping the baby stuff back in the duffel bag and handing it over to Draco. The blond was just so out of it, wanting more, so horny he barely realized he was being ushered out the door with his pleas of five more minutes ignored. A final pat on the butt and a kiss on the cheek and Draco was out in the hall and numbly made his way to the lift, thinking about how good being with potter had felt and how amazing he was. It wasn't till she stepped out onto the first floor and started to make his way into the lobby and heard a snort then lots of laughter he realized he'd forgotten to change back, and was still in just his soiled nappy and socks. "So I guess THAT'S your gimmick huh?" the clerk asked. "I..I..I'll be right ba-" Draco started to say but was cut off. "Ohhh Sorry. Mr.Potter has made it clear once one of his guest is back in the lobby, they're not to be allowed back into his room. Sorry sweetie, you'll have to go home like that." The clerk said, though her tone made it clear she was far more delighted then sorry. Whining loudly though happy that he kept his flat key in his duffel ba, the big stinky baby started the normally short but tonight long walk home.

the end

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therollingstonys · 5 years ago

Text

Last Stop Before Malibu

A very happy birthday to my best friend and co-mod, Tina!! Hope you enjoy love!!

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

Steve leans against the side of the building, watching as cars flow by, the stench of diesel heavy in the air and thick in the back of his throat. For many the travel day is ending as the sun fades, but for Steve, his day is just beginning.

He’s had a few customers already, nothing too fancy, just bathroom blow jobs and handies—nothing that will pay the bills though. He’s hungry and there’s not much left in his fridge, or his bank account, and the fifty bucks in his back pocket won’t do much to pay the rent at the shitty motel he calls home.

Shoving a hand under the rim of his ballcap he runs a hand through his sweat damp hair, nose wrinkling at the sensation—he could use a shower despite the short time he’s been out here. It’s August in the desert and that means sneakers melting on hot asphalt and two showers a day—not that he can afford to use that much water a day.

So he’s hot, and sweaty and maybe a little dehydrated, but he can’t waste his hard earned cash on a drink—not till he’s made at least two hundred bucks.

An eighteen wheeler rolls in and Steve looks up, brows lifting when a woman with red hair and curves for miles hops out. She gases up the rig and is joined a few moments later by a man with dark hair and the oddest looking prosthetic arm Steve’s ever seen—he didn’t know they came in metal.

The man eyes him hungrily when he strides past into the gas station and when he comes back a few minutes later he smirks at Steve on his way past. The couple stands by the rig, shooting him looks before they approach and it’s the woman who does the talking, head tilted at an angle as she studies him.

“How much for us both?” she asks softly, gaze trailing down his body.

“Two hundred.”

It’s said fast, greedily—he’s had others ask for a threesome before and most don’t mind shelling out a little more, so he hopes that holds true for these two. They look well dressed and clean, a lot better than he’s dealt with in the past.

The woman nods and smirks, “Two hundred it is.” She glances around and her gaze lands on the nearby motel, “There,” she murmurs, jerking her chin toward it, “Get a room and we’ll meet you.”

Steve nods and waits till they start to walk away to hurry over to the motel. He pushes the reception door open and is engulfed in cool air that smells like coolant from the machine vibrating under the window.

He smiles at Wanda and baby Peter, “Hey guys,” he says with a finger wave to the little boy, grinning when he laughs and claps happily. “Can I get a room?” he asks Wanda, sliding her a twenty when she hands over a key wordlessly.

She knows how he makes his money and doesn’t judge—her dead husband was the one who found her on the street, strung out and beat up by a bad john. He brought her home, gave her a new life and a baby and then died a month after Peter was born—heart attack.

Steve nods his thanks and waves goodbye to Peter, his laughter bright as the door swings shut behind him. Hot air engulfs him like a furnace and he shifts uncomfortably as the fabric of his shirt sticks to the small of his back.

He unlocks the room door and steps inside just as the eighteen wheeler pulls up. He makes eye contact with the couple and nods before closing the door, pulse skipping faster as he debates stripping and prepping himself.

Some clients like to do it themselves, others prefer it to be done already—and he’s not sure which these two will be.

The door swings open behind him and he turns, jeans half undone and hanging from his hips, to find the couple watching him hungrily. The woman saunters forward and circles him, slides a hand over his back and down to grab his ass and he shivers at the touch, pushes back into it a little.

His gaze is locked with the man’s, dark and hungry and watchful and it makes his gut clench with need. There’s a soft laugh from behind him and then a tongue swipes up the side of his neck, a hum of pleasure following it and then soft lips and softer words brush his ear.

“Oh honey, we’re gonna have such a good time.”

Steve emerges from the hotel room hours later, stiff, sore and tired. He shuffles down to his room and pushes inside, swaying with how exhausted he is. Stripping his sweaty clothes off takes more energy than it should and he almost cries when his shirt gets stuck on his ear for a minute and his hip bangs into the shitty Formica countertop of the bathroom sink, but then he’s free and naked and stumbling into the shower.

He stays in longer than he normally would, letting the water get fully hot instead of just the chilly blast he spends too little time under in the mornings. Leaning against the wall of the shower, he closes his eyes and lets the heat sink into his skin and ease away the aches.

The woman—Natasha she’d called herself—and her partner James had used his body for hours before none of them could go anymore and his body feels every inch the used and wrung out thing it now is.

He’d lost count of how many times he came—the last two had left him sobbing, his cock raw feeling and his prostate so sensitive it hurt. He’s covered in hickies and scratches and his ass aches and it all feels so damn good that if he wasn’t half asleep and wrung dry, he’d be hard.

He stumbles out of the shower when the water turns cold and wipes a towel over his skin before flopping onto the bed, groaning as his aching body protests. The red numbers on his alarm read 12:53am and he stares at them till his lids droop and he sinks into dreamless slumber, drooling into his lumpy pillow.

A wad of cash lays on the bedside table, thick and smelling faintly of strawberry lube—$350–a night well spent and money hard earned.

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

Steve’s fridge is full, his phone paid up for another month and his room is paid up for two weeks and he still has ten dollars left over so he puts it in the safe he’d bought when he first landed here eight months ago and sighs when he sees the measly amount he’s managed to accrue in that time.

He has plans to go to Los Angeles and get an apartment and work on his art, but it never seems like he’s saved enough. Every month that passes brings a new expense—he still hasn’t managed to finish repairs on his motorcycle, and with every week that passes he’s not sure he’ll ever have enough to get it back to working order.

He’s only earned two hundred dollars in the last three days—a slow week for him. He pays for yet another test at the local clinic to make sure he’s still clean and takes the PREP they give him—most clients are willing to use condoms but he’s been stealthed a few times and he’d rather deal with the side effects than have HIV.

He’s dusty and dirty, coated in grease and sweat as he works on his bike, cursing the wrench as it slips for the third time and his knuckles smack into the sharp edge of the carburetor.

“Shit! Fuck! Fucking piece of shit!”

He rises to his feet and sucks the blood from his knuckles, pulse thrumming as he restrained himself from kicking the damn thing over.

A low chuckle has him spinning to find a man more handsome than a movie star smiling at him, beard trimmed to perfection and eyes bright with amusement from behind tinted sunglasses.

“That’s a thing of beauty, what did she do to you?”

Steve huffs and laughs softly, shaking his head, “Damn bolt won’t loosen,” he says with a wave of his hand toward the bike.

The man nods and then grins, “Mind if I take a look?” he asks taking a half step forward.

Steve looks him over incredulously—his suit looks more expensive than all of Steve’s possessions and cash combined; “You’re gonna ruin your suit,” he points out, waving a hand at himself to make his point.

The man just shrugs and starts taking off his jacket, tosses it over the handlebars and goes to work on his crisp white sleeves. “I’ll buy another,” he says carelessly and then holds his hand out for the wrench dangling uselessly from Steve’s fingers.

Steve hands it over and watches as the man crouches down and starts working the bolt loose by inches, sweet talking to it the whole time in a way that makes Steve’s blood heat in a way that has nothing to do with the sun pounding down on them.

There you go darling, loosen up for me, just like that.

Yea you just need a gentle touch, huh?

Ahhh that’s my good girl, let go for me

Steve turns away, flushed and thirsty, though the water he gulps down seems to do little to actually quench his thirst.

“There we go,” the man says and Steve turns to find him smiling brightly, a pleased look on his face as he holds out the bolt in question. His shirt and forearms are smeared with grease and Steve frowns—he’d warned the man.

“Uh, thanks,” he murmurs, reaching out so the man can drop it into his palm.

The man grins and waves a hand at the bike, “I haven’t seen a 76 Triumph since I was a kid,” he says excitedly, “Where did you find it?”

Steve pockets the bolt and grabs the hem of his tank top, pulling it up to wipe the sweat and grease off his face as he replies, “It was my dad’s. He was a Vietnam vet,” he explains, straightening out his shirt and looking up at the other man in time to see a familiar look of lust pass over his face before it’s replaced with something polite and urbane.

“Very nice,” the man murmurs with a nod, “well, I uh, I should let you get back to it,” he says, hesitating for a second before extending his hand to Steve, “Tony, and uh, thanks for letting me tinker with it.”

Steve takes the proffered hand and is surprised by the calluses—this man seems more like the type to have manicured nails than work roughened palms.

“Uh yea sure, anytime,” Steve murmurs, smiling softly, some soft longing in his gut as the older man starts to walk away, jacket tucked over one arm. He doesn’t want him to leave, and before he can stop himself he steps forward and calls out.

“There’s a great diner about a mile away, has the best shakes and fries,” he blurts, “you wanna grab a bite?”

Tony stares at him for a long moment and then cracks a grin, “I could eat.”

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

They talk over burgers and fries and it’s around the time that Tony’s telling him a funny story about his best friend James that Steve realizes he hasn’t smiled and laughed this much in years.

He likes Tony, a lot more than he should, and more than that, he wants him. The way Tony’s hands move is distracting, enticing thoughts of them on his body and he flushes, trying to pull his attention back to what Tony’s saying.

When he does focus in he realizes that Tony’s smiling at him knowingly, twirling a fry in his fingers.

“So, I hate to be presumptuous, but if I offered to take you back to my hotel to spend the night, would that be more or less expensive than this meal?”

Steve flushes and ducks his chin; there’s something about Tony that makes him weak and hot, desperate feeling. “It uh, it wouldn’t cost anything,” he murmurs, looking up at Tony through his lashes.

Tony’s brows rise for a moment before he smirks and shuffles out of the booth and pulls his wallet out, throws a handful of bills on the table and then cocks his head, “You coming sweetheart?” he asks.

Steve scrambles to his feet without hesitation, limbs feeling gawky and too large for the space they occupy. He follows Tony out to the flashy Audi he’d drove them here in and slides into the seat, pulse fluttering as Tony winks at him and revs the engine before pulling out.

They whip through the night till the town appears on the horizon and then minutes later screech into the parking lot below the building, the cheap fluorescent lights making his skin look golden as they pass beneath them.

It’s quiet on the elevator ride up, tense and heavy with expectation, want building between them like an electric charge. Tony’s hand weighs heavy at the small of his back, guiding him toward the oncoming door.

When it shuts behind them Tony presses him up against the door in a move that leaves his head spinning and guy clenching with need. Dark eyes stare up at him, smiling and hungry, the hand at the base of his throat pinning him in place.

“You know what safewords are?” he demands of Steve, fingers pressing into the skin of his throat, lips curving upward. Steve nods breathlessly, breaths harsh and excited between them, the heat of Tony’s hand searing into him.

“Good, tell me yours then get undressed,” Tony commands and steps back, dark eyes glinting.

“Shield,” Steve gasps, hands shaking as he works the buttons of his shirt open, heart pounding beneath his ribs as Tony walks to the bar and pours himself a drink, gaze never leaving Steve.

It’s a heavy thing, Tony’s gaze, like a warm, heavy blanket and he shivers under it, shoving his worn jeans down after kicking off his boots. He’s naked, exposed, and Tony’s smirking as he moves to sit on the couch, legs spread wide and an arm thrown over the back of the couch.

He’s the picture of indolent pleasure, gaze hooded as he beckons Steve over with a lazy wave of his wrist. It feels like there’s a tug beneath his ribs, a lure pulling him closer, connected to the hand that Tony holds out to him.

He’s aware of every inch of his body from the cool marble beneath his bare feet to the hot heavy weight of his cock between his legs, the hot pool of arousal in his gut making him twitchy and desperate for touch.

He pauses between Tony’s legs and swallows hard, fighting the urge to squirm as Tony sips his scotch and smirks up at him. “My my aren’t you a big boy,” he teases, lifting a brow and giving Steve’s cock a pointed look.

Steve flushes a deeper shade of crimson and ducks his head, shoulders bowing forward as Tony chuckles. “You look so pretty like that darling,” he murmurs, “but why don’t you come here,” he says, motioning toward his lap.

Steve hesitates for a moment and then moves to straddle Tony’s lap, gasping softly when his cock drags over the silk, hips rocking forward into the sensation. Tony’s free hand falls to his hip and steadies him, grinning when Steve whines at the loss of stimulation.

“Now darling, be patient,” Tony murmurs with a soft tutting sound, “I want to play with your pretty cock, you just sit still and be quiet,” he orders. Steve swallows hard and nods, though he can’t hold back his gasp when Tony’s hand closes around his cock.

Tony hushes him again and strokes him just once before stopping to play with the head of his cock peeking out from his foreskin. Steve shudders and bites his lip, holding in his gasps as Tony strokes his thumb over the head of his cock, the pleasure like electric shocks, surging under his skin and up his spine.

Tony watches his face as he pulls back his foreskin slowly, thumb pressing into the tender skin just below the fat head of his cock, and Steve can’t help the gasp that rises from his chest, head falling back at the rush of pleasure in his veins.

It stops abruptly and Steve whines, head sloping back down to find Tony has stopped touching him in favor of sipping his scotch, a smirk playing around his lips. “Wh-why?” he gasps and Tony chuckles, sips his scotch.

“I told you to hush darling, if you can’t do that maybe we should stop,” Tony murmurs, rueful amusement in his voice. Steve shakes his head, desperation roaring through his veins, hips arching in search of pleasure.

Tony chuckles again and sets aside his scotch glass, condensation from the ice shining on the sides of it and then Steve’s gasping and arching as Tony runs a cool, wet finger down his cock.

It’s like ice against his too hot skin and he gasps, shuddering at the sensation. Tony hums softly and does it again, gathers more wetness and trails it over Steve’s cock, watching him writhe with dark hungry eyes.

Steve’s never experienced anything like it; the cool pearls of water drag over his skin, teasing against his heated skin, Tony’s fingers follow behind, scaldingly hot and he’s trapped between wanting to get away from it and wanting more.

He’s not sure how long it continues, all he knows is that it burns and aches, and every time he whines or cries out Tony stops and waits till he’s under control once more to start touching him again.

He’s slick with sweat and harder than he’s ever been before and Tony, Tony is hard in his slacks and watching him eagerly, but makes no move to let him come or touch him further.

Tears blur his vision and he’s panting, chest aching when Tony smirks and pushes him away, off his lap and down onto his knees.

“Stay,” he orders, pausing to smirk at Steve before striding away. Steve listens to him move about in the other room, cock throbbing and aching with every breath he takes.

Tony’s back a moment later with no shirt on, torso bare, trousers riding low on his hips and a bottle of lube in one hand. He motions for Steve to rise and sits back down, “C’mere,” he orders, motioning once more to his lap.

Steve can barely contain the eager noise he makes as he crawls back into Tony’s lap, shaking with the need to be touched. Tony chuckles and wraps a hand around the nape of his neck, “Kissing ok?” he murmurs, pulling Steve down till all that separates their lips is a breath.

He nods eagerly and gasps when Tony closes the distance, kisses him so thoroughly it seems to steal the air from his lungs. He’s dizzy when Tony pulls back, panting as the other man grabs the bottle of lube and slicks his fingers.

The cold touch at his hole makes him shiver and gasp, the sound sharpening into a keen as one finger slides in easily. Tony watches him as he fingers him slowly, slicking the way before he comes back with a second finger and slides it in alongside the first.

Steve keens and gasps as Tony scissors his fingers, opening him up in slow, aching movements. “That’s it sweetheart, open up for me,” Tony murmurs softly, eyes bright and avid on his face.

He finds Steve’s prostate with unerring accuracy and focuses on it, stroking it relentlessly as Steve whines and arches, cock twitching against his belly, leaking pre cum heavily.

“That’s it sweetie, look how nice your cock leaks for me baby,” Tony croons, pressing harder on Steve’s prostate till he’s all but sobbing and can feel the pleasure in his gut growing like a burning ember given oxygen.

Tony is relentless, crooning praise in his ear as his fingers move within Steve with slick movements that drive him slowly crazy. He sobs, the desperation within him to come building to a frenzy, his cock twitching and leaking as it grows relentlessly within him.

“There you go baby, lets make you come from that pretty ass,” Tony croons, his stroking growing harder, faster. Steve sobs and arches, the pleasure growing into an inferno in his gut. He wails, the pleasure crashing into him, hips grinding down into Tony’s fingers as he comes.

He sobs Tony’s name as he writhes, Tony’s fingers still moving inside him, the pleasure sharpening in his gut till it’s like a knife. Tony relents and slows, fingers stilling inside him as he pants and sobs, lashes wet with tears.

His heart thunders in his chest and he barely registers the hand on his face for a few minutes as he gasps, breath hitching in his chest. When he can manage opening his eyes he finds Tony staring at him in wonder, breathing unevenly, hand on his face gentle.

“You are so lovely,” Tony murmurs pulling him down for a kiss that robs him of his remaining breath. He tastes like scotch and heat and Steve sinks into it, buries his hands in Tony’s hair and hangs on as the older man grips his hips tight enough to bruise.

When they break apart neither of them are steady; he can feel Tony’s fingers tremble against his ribs. They tighten and Tony smiles up at him, softer than before, “C’mon big guy, lets go to bed,” he urges, pushing and guiding till Steve’s on his feet, cock still hard between his legs as he’s led to the bedroom.

Tony pushes him back into the bed and he goes willingly, knees falling open, watching with hungry eyes as Tony stares at him, entranced for a moment before he shoves hastily at his trousers and briefs, shucking them off before crawling into the bed and hovering over him.

He kisses Steve greedily, moaning low in his throat, fingers twining through his hair, tugging till Steve moans and arches into him. Steve's panting when they part, moaning when his cock slides alongside Tony’s.

The older man grins and pulls back, leans over and grabs a condom from the bedside, pausing when Steve grabs his wrist. “I...you don’t have to use one,” he murmurs, averting his gaze when Tony looks at him, curious.

“I think I do,” Tony replies, “unless you’ve got proof you’re clean?” he questions.

Steve nods and waves a hand towards the other room, “My phone, I have my test results for the last six months there,” he tells the other man. Tony stares at him for a moment before pulling away, striding into the other room, his ass tight and round, flexing as he goes.

Steve sits up and contemplates his cock—he’s never come like that before, solely from his prostate, and the force of it had left him breathless and aching. Tony seems to know how to play his body, teasing out pleasures he’s never known before.

“Heads up.”

He looks up in time and lifts a hand to catch his cell phone, thumbing at the screen for a few moments before he turns it and shows Tony the test results. The older man studies it and then grabs it, flings it away and presses him into the mattress before he can protest the damage to his phone.

Tony’s hands are firm behind his knees, pushing them up to his chest as he kisses him, desperate and hungry. Steve feels something at his hole and then gasps into Tony’s mouth as he pushes in, hole fluttering as Tony’s cock stretches him open.

It’s thick and hard and hot and he clings to Tony, gasping against his lips, dizzy as he’s taken slowly, Tony’s cock pressing into him, firm and unyielding against his soft insides.

It’s overwhelming, the thick length relentless, until finally Tony’s hips are flush against his and the older man is cursing and panting. Tony kisses him, inelegant and demanding, “Fuck, baby, you’re so good,” he pants, “so tight, fuck.”

He starts rolling his hips, the drag of him over Steve’s prostate sending pleasure firing through his neurons, sparks lighting up in his brain as Tony fucks him.

“That’s it baby, so good,” Tony pants in his ear, “god you’re fucking perfect.”

Tony sucks a mark beneath his jaw and then another and another, one of his hands sliding through the slick sweat on Steve’s chest to toy with his nipples.

Sharp pain shoots through him as Tony pinches and pulls on them, pleasure shuddering through him as Tony fucks him, cock slick and hot between them.

He’s unable to silence the cries that fall from between parted lips, bitten and swollen and slick from Tony’s kisses. Tony seems determined to make him scream, hands traveling over his body, teasing and torturing.

The cock inside him is relentless, driving deep with bruising thrusts that leave him aching and sobbing, begging for more. Tony fucks him harder, teeth closing on his throat as he wraps his fingers around Steve’s cock, stroking hard and fast.

Steve shouts, spine pulled taut like a marionette as pleasure wraps around him, slicing into him like a razor wire embrace.

“That's it baby, come on my cock,” Tony growls in his ear, “god, you’re fuckin perfect,” he pants, thrusts growing wild and harsh.

Steve sobs, “Please, please,” he begs, writhing beneath Tony, more desperate to come than he’s ever been.

“Fuck wish I could stay inside you forever,” Tony says breathlessly, “so hot and tight.” Steve keens as Tony’s hand on his cock tightens, the ache enough to tip him over.

Cum falls in stripes across his chest as he screams and then chokes on the sound, body twitching as Tony pounds into him, hole spasming around his cock.

He barely registers Tony coming, hears his shout and then feels the heat of him as he spills deep inside Steve, hips pumping it deeper till finally the older man collapses onto him, breathing heavily.

Steve floats for awhile, limbs tangled with Tony’s while the sweat on his skin cools. Eventually Tony stirs and kisses his throat, peels himself away and disappears through the door to the bathroom.

He’s back moments later with a warm damp cloth, wipes Steve down before tucking the sheets in around them and pulling them close together. Steve nuzzles into his throat and sighs happily, the warm rush of hormones in his veins making him soft and sweet.

Lips press to his temple and he smiles, falling asleep in gradients, shades of red behind his lids as he sinks deeper into the haze of sleep.

When he wakes the next morning it’s to an empty bed and a note on the bedside table. He picks it up and frowns at the check that slides out and into his lap.

His fingers feel numb as he picks it up and stares at the exorbitant amount of zeros on the paper.

Hands shaking, he picks up the note once more.

Steve,

I know you said it wouldn’t cost me anything, but I want you to have this anyway. Use it to get out of here if you want, fix that bike of yours, go see the world.

Maybe I’ll see you in Malibu sometime.

Tony Stark

Steve sits for a very long time, a little numb, as his brain races.

He’d slept with Tony Stark.

Billionaire, playboy, philanthropist…

And that man had just paid his way out of this shitty little town.

Tapping the check against his lips, Steve grins slowly.

He’s always wanted to see Malibu.

#steve x tony #stevetony #Steve Rogers #tony stark #superhusbands #truck stop hooker!steve #not family friendly #happy birthday tina!!!#steve rogers x tony stark #stony #i know the pictures disrupt the flow of the story but they're necessary ok??

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somedayonbroadway · 5 years ago

Note

Looking at your Newsies AU list, I'd love to see that Now You See Me idea. These fellas strike me as the Robin Hood con artist type

Absolutely I can!

Now You See Me AU

Characters

Jack Kelly- J. Daniel Atlas

Katherine Plumber- Henley Reeves

David Jacobs- Merritt McKinney

Racetrack Higgins- Jack Wilder

Obadiah Wiesel- Arthur Tresler

Joseph Pulitzer- Thaddeus Bradley

Bryan Denton- Dylan Rhodes

Hannah- Alma Dray

Jack Kelly (The Lover)

Jack is an illusionist.

He’s a bit of a ladies man and nows how to get what he wants while also being a complete and utter control freak.

He’s been practicing magic since he was four years old and the last thing he received from his biological parents was a book on magic tricks

He grew up in the system with his little brother, Charlie

He was abused most of his life and used his magic tricks as a way to cheer up his little brother and himself when things got bad

He begins preforming on the streets when he’s fifteen, just to make a little extra money.

At age twenty he is one of the worlds best illusionists.

His little brother gets really sick when Jack is sixteen. Charlie is twelve by then. Bone cancer.

Since they’re in the system and his foster family gives them up so that they don’t have to deal with it, Jack finds a lot of the pressure on himself to provide for his little brother and keep him alive.

The system splits them up, placing Jack with a Mr. Snyder and Charlie with a Miss Medda who promises to help

Jack has to run to avoid getting killed by his foster father. But he still sneaks over to the hospital to see Charlie once a week. And he steals for the orphans he left behind in that boys home.

Medda knows he’s there but never calls him out.

Charlie survives but is not truly out of the clear. Jack visits him whenever he can.

Jack lives on the streets doing magic until he’s eighteen. He buys an apartment and starts doing actual shows with his assistant, Katherine Plumber.

Jack Kelly actually begins to become fairly famous. Him and his assistant are proud. They make good money before they split up when Jack was around 22.

Jack gets his card when he’s 24. His card to join “The Eye”.

He’s doing a street show, just for fun.

He does a card trick for a young, beautiful, drunk girl who he ends up taking home that night and almost sleeping with before he sees it.

He kicks her out of his apartment and immediately gets ready to go on his way.

Katherine Plumber (High Priestess)

Katherine is an escape artist.

Katherine had a relatively normal childhood. Mom, Dad (who worked all the time).

She was an only child.

When she’s little, she learns about this magician names Harry Houdini

Baby Katherine is fascinated

Growing up, she’s a bit of a loner, the only people who really talked to her being teenage pricks who wanted to get in her pants.

Her father was a great magician too. She wanted to be just like him. Except, when she was around seventeen, he quit, instead choosing to depict the illusions rather than perform them.

Katherine left home the day after she graduated high school, running off to join some magic act where she meets the famous Jack Kelly.

Yes, they sleep together. Several times. But their quest for fame gets the better of both of them and things don’t quite work out at first.

She leaves Jack when she’s 24 and starts her own shows and acts, doing magnificent escapes and tricks

She gets her card when she’s 25

She’s doing a show for a paying audience. She does a morbid trick that involves chains, a glass box filled with water and flesh eating piranhas.

She finds the card floating in the large tank after her show.

David Jacobs (The Hermit)

David is a mentalist.

This means many different things.

First off, he can hypnotize people easily. He is self taught and very good.

Second, he can read people easily, causing people to believe that he’s psychic or can actually read minds.

Third, he’s overall just very smart and takes information in easily, which helps him out a lot in his career path.

David grows up poor, with his father and his mother and his little brother. He has to start working when he’s sixteen and he does mentalism on the side which actually brings him a lot of cash considering he kind of shakes people down by threatening to give up all their secrets that he gets out of them

He’s very smart.

The most important person in his life is his little brother

His father can’t work after he breaks his leg. It never fully heals.

It’s David’s job to support for his family.

David’s mentalism career takes off when he’s about 23. He does a couple tours around the US. But all of his money goes straight to his family.

His career dies down when his father dies and he has to go take care of his mother and baby brother.

He gets his card when he’s 26.

He’s doing a street show for some tourists where he meets a couple.

He figures out that the husband is actually cheating on his wife with his wife’s sister and he forces the husband to give him everything in his wallet in order to make the wife forget she heard it.

He does it to a lot of people that take their family for granted.

Racetrack Higgins (Death)

Race is a sleight of hand. More well known as a pickpocket.

He is also very good at throwing cards and using them as weapons.

He has anxiety.

Race grows up as an orphan.

He’s put through a lot of homes and is taken advantage of a couple of times by some foster parents.

Eventually he lands in a boys home run by a mister Snyder.

He’s about ten when he lands there. He never meets Jack officially, only sees him a couple of times at the window, passing around some food and blankets to the littles.

The kids are like vultures. They grab for it even though Jack asks them to share. None of them know him since he ran before all of them got there. They just know him as the boy who brings them gifts.

Only once does Race get to talk to him. When Jack realizes he never gets any food or blankets. He makes a point to give Race some.

Race looks up to Jack so much even before he really knows him.

Snyder is cruel to Race.

Race is loud and likes to talk back so Snyder constantly locks him in closets or in the basement. He starves him and makes him do chores before locking him up again.

Race gets sick of it fast. So he teaches himself how to pick locks. He teaches himself how to lift things off of people like food and wallets and anything he can just to survive.

When he’s thirteen he runs away. He wants to be just like the mysterious boy who helped him and the other boys out for so long.

But he’s too scared to go back.

Eventually, he finds the boy who helped him. Jack Kelly. He’s a magician. And Race is his biggest fan.

Race starts teaching himself how to do magic after he sees his hero do it so easily and confidently.

Living out on the streets, Race gets amazingly good at pickpocketing and sleight of hand tricks. He also gets very good with cards. Throwing them, of course.

He gets his card when he’s seventeen.

He’s doing a trick on a ferry ride, promising that if someone could figure out how he bent a spoon with his mind, he’d give them a hundred dollars.

One man figures it out, but the second he steps up, Race slips his wallet off of him, giving him a hundred from the man’s own wallet and taking the rest.

Then he runs and jumps off the ferry as it pulls away.

He finds a card in his pocket only a couple minutes later.

The Four Horsemen

These four magicians meet at an apartment building, all believing they were the only ones chosen to be apart of a group called the eye — the cards being their invitation. (The eye is an exclusive group that defends and protects magic, just to sum that up real quick). David arrives first, finding that the door is locked and waiting to see if it will be unlocked.

Only moments later do Jack and Katherine find each other in the streets and immediately recognize each other. Jack tells her to wait outside while he takes a look, trying to protect her or be the gentlemen when she immediately pushes him away and walks up to the apartment first.

The minute they get there David laughs and shakes his head, disappointed that he wasn’t the only one chosen. He immediately does a read on Jack, concluding that he is an artist as well as an illusionist and a control freak who may or may not have an OCD problem in every aspect but his art. He pretends to know Katherine’s name, but Jack quickly points out that it’s on the coffee cup she’s holding because he doesn’t like Davey all that much right off the bat.

David hates that Jack calls him Davey.

They start to argue a bit while Jack tries to open the door, when they are interrupted by the last member of the future crew. A teenager who sees Jack and freezes for a moment. Race recognizes Jack. Jack does not recognize him.

Race goes fully into fan mode, telling Jack how he’s seen every trick Jack has ever done and how all of it was so impressive and cool. And Jack would thank him and shake his hand David would ask if he got a card, at which point they would reveal all of theirs (Lover, Prietess, Hermit and Death) and Race would ask why they were all standing around and they’d tell him the door was locked, in which Race would reply that nothing was ever locked and he’d pick the lock and let them all in.

That’s where they’d find plans. A lot of plans. A years worth. It would be hidden by some effects. Water and dry ice and lights.

A Year Later

These four magicians are books out in Las Vegas where they are doing a spectacular magic show. At the end of which they promise an audience member that they are going to rob their bank. They do. And they give their audience 3.2 million dollars.

That’s when the FBI is tipped off.

Agent Bryan Denton of the FBI is put on this case which he calls stupid and low profile because the people they were trying to catch were magicians. He goes to their hotel with a small team and arrests them. The four horsemen (as they call themselves) are smug and not at all concerned as they are led away in handcuffs in front of a cheering crowd.

Denton easily notices that the group is a bit tight knit. He notices that Jack gravitates towards Race a bit when they are arrested, like he wants to protect him a bit more than the others.

When Denton goes into interrogate them, he’s told that Interpol will be assisting them on this case. That’s when he’s assigned a temporary partner. Hannah Dray. He doesn’t appreciate the help and constantly tells her she’s not needed but brings her into interrogation anyways. But she is the one that connects with the people they interrogate, beginning with the man who was chosen to have his bank stolen.

It is revealed the man was hypnotized during the show and a trigger word will make him believe he is a violinist playing in an orchestra.

Denton and Dray interrogate all the magicians, where they are told by Jack that they have no ground to arrest them because if they did it would be like the FBI was admitting that they believed in magic and they couldn’t possibly do that.

In the end, the four horsemen are released.

Denton immediately questions that decisions where his coworkers ask him what changed and he says he met them.

One of the other agents rushes up to tell Denton that someone recorded the entire show. A Joseph Pulitzer. A former magician who now reveals tricks in TV specials.

Pulitzer meets with them and takes them down to Vegas where the trick was done and shows them how it was pulled off, consisting of the four horsemen targeting the man in the audience and hypnotizing him to believe he is actually in Paris when the truth is They’s robbed a Paris bank prior to the trick.

The four horsemen get on a plane to go to their next show.

Their benefactor, mister Wiesel is traveling with them to New Orleans for their next show. The horsemen joke around with him and Jack, to show Davey up, tries to get a read on Wiesel by simply looking at him and fails miserably.

The FBI and Pulitzer attend the next performance, conveniently taking place during Mardi Gras. The four horsemen start their show and explain that they have four separate acts that they are going to make work together.

It’s a spectacular performance.

Prior to this, the FBI figures out that Jack is a pretty big control freak. He puts trackers on the entire team. Not just the horsemen, but stage hands as well.

What they don’t really know is that it’s more to make sure they’re all okay at all times.

At this show, the horsemen admit that every audience member was a victim of hurricane Katrina and they were tricked by their insurance company. Wiesel insurance.

They rob Wiesel and the Denton immediately runs up to arrest them, showing “freeze” as Jack waves to him, only to be tackled to the ground by hypnotized audience members.

Hannah, Denton and Jack eventually end up in a chase through the crowds of New Orleans. Hannah catches up to Jack for a second, holding him at gunpoint, but letting Jack slip away, not shooting on account of him not having a weapon. Denton gets irritated and chases after him again. Jack eventually loses them with the help of Race who plants Jack’s tracker in Denton’s own pocket.

Denton questions Hannah’s motives later that night and Hannah tells him she’s just doing her job. Eventually she tells him about the eye and some tricks that she had to look so far into the past to figure out.

At some point during their chat, Denton realizes that they planted a bug on him, leading him to discover that Jack had lifted his phone off of him during their interrogation and had planted a clone on him instead.

Denton tells them to leave the bug in the phone, believing themselves to finally be ahead of the horsemen.

Meanwhile the horsemen are panicking back at their hideout in New York where the FBI now knows they are. Jack destroys Denton’s phone as they scramble to execute the plan they were given perfectly.

Race in particular is frantic.

He keeps telling them all that he doesn’t think he can do this and that he doesn’t want something to go wrong. He sees his card. Death. He doesn’t want to die.

Jack eventually lashes out and tells him that if he wants they to stop treating him like he kid and more like an adult, then he needs to start acting like one and just do this. Race is taken aback and almost starts crying, which is when Jack tells him to stay and burn it all, only offering him a small pat on the back as a sort of comfort.

Jack feels bad about it but doesn’t have time to offer Race much else.

Davey, Katherine and Jack all leave Race to destroy the evidence in the apartment they met at.

Denton finds him.

Race tries to sneak away, trying to avoid the FBI, but is forced to engage in a fight that ends up being another epic chase. Race uses his sleight of hand techniques to trap another FBI agent, as well as disgusting his voice to sound like Denton to ward off the rest of the FBI and then fighting by throwing cards, pulling disappearing acts and eventually rushing out of the apartment and sliding down a garbage shoot.

He lifts the keys to an official FBI vehicle where Hannah, who wasn’t allowed to go inside on account of jurisdiction, catches sight of him. He drives away and she commenders a car where her and Denton end up chasing him onto the Brooklyn Bridge where Racer ultimately crashes and dies in a big fiery car crash.

Denton tries to pull him from the burning wreckage, only able to grab onto the plans the kid had been trying to hide from him before the car explodes.

Pulitzer calls Denton up after the whole thing, asking Denton how much he trusts Hannah. Denton then questions her place there once again, accusing her of being the mastermind behind the four horsemen.

Only a day later, the remaining three horsemen release a video on YouTube, where Jack tries to explain that they will be having one more show in Race’s honor as he tries not to cry. Davey has to finish for him.

Denton is all over it, feeling guilty over having a teenager die like that and wanting the horsemen to answer for it.

The FBI use Race’s papers to find the next planned crime scene, where they stop the safe from being driven away and put it on full time guard. Pulitzer shows up and tells them to open it, where it is revealed to them that the safe they have is full of balloon animals and magician’s props.

The FBI heads to the horsemen’s show, Hannah and Denton stay together and try to figure out the horsemen’s play. The horsemen DONT truly gives a show, instead saying goodbye to their audience when the show had hardly even begun and managing to jump off the roof of the building they were on, showering their audience with fake money that had their faces on them.

The FBI finds all the stolen money overflowing out of Pulitzer’s car. They arrest him.

Pulitzer waits in a cell until Denton comes down to visit him, where Pulitzer explains to him that he was framed and that he knows how the horsemen did it. He tells Denton that the safe never left the building it had been in and that someone had planted a mirror in the room to make it look like the room had been empty. And while the FBI had gone after the fake safe, someone broke into the warehouse to steal the money.

It was Racetrack Higgins.

Denton said that that was impossible. That Race had died right in front of him. But Pulitzer would explain easily. The other three horsemen had been on the bridge waiting for him. Davey drove a bus, Jack drove a cab and Katherine drove van. They got Race out of view of the FBI for a second where Davey let an identical car lose and had it crash, a cadaver from the mall at the wheel. Race made it out just fine.

Denton asks Pulitzer who put it all together. Pulitzer says he doesn’t know but it had to have been someone on the inside.

He turns around for only a second to think.

When he turns back, Denton has disappeared. Pulitzer then realizes who had been behind it all.

Meanwhile, Jack and Kath and Davey make their way to Central Park where they find the gate locked only for one Racetrack Higgins to come up and tell them that nothings ever locked.

Jack pulls Race into a hug and apologizes for yelling at him and Race holds on a little tighter than he means to.

This is the only real family he’s ever had.

They make their way to the center of the park towards the carrousel. That’s when they see the mastermind.

The one and only Bryan Denton.

Denton tells them that they did phenomenal and are now apart of the eye.

About a week later, Hannah is back in France at her regular job where she sits on a bench to read the paper. She finds an article from twenty years ago stuck in the middle of it.

And Denton sits down next to her.

He explains that his father was a famous magician who had been called a fraud by Pulitzer who revealed all his tricks. He explained that his family had been tricked out of their money by their insurance company, Wiesel insurance. He tells her that he is the fifth horsemen.

And she tells him that some things are better left a mystery.

I wanna write scene from this. What scenes should I write?

Thank you, Anon! For more AU’s, check out my list!

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amygsburne-blog · 4 years ago

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Jobs in Dubai

Many people know drones as sophisticated weapons to be used only in war zones. But this is not the case anymore. The use of drones from military purposes has expanded. Drones are now extensively used for commercial as well as personal purposes. Some drone users have taken it to the next level. These fun loving drone users use their drones to race each other. They have made it a matter of pride and a way to check who owns the better drone. This has resulted in the arrangement of dedicated tournaments related to drones with high prize money. Usually drones are equipped with 4 motors and usually of the configuration of "X" or "+", but in this particular case, the configuration which is being implemented is of the form of alphabet "H" so as to accomplish forward movement not the upward thrust as in the case of delivery or photography drones.

The main aim of this type of racing is to provide high speed to the drone and use the speed and maneuvering skills to outpace the other drones. In future, it is predicted that drone racing would very much be as popular as formula racing. Big companies will be vying to sponsor such events. In general, FPV or first person view is preferred that means the participant whose drone is racing will be able to see only what the drone's front camera can see. To achieve this, the camera is placed on the nose of the drone or on its front and is used to transmit high radio wave signals to the Jobs in Dubai participant and hence further commands are being supplied by the user. This way drone racing becomes a very exciting race including the mental co-ordination of participant along with high end skills used in making the drone.

The first person view (FPV) lets the viewer experience flying with great speed and maneuverability, passing the hurdles in between. It increases the level of difficulty to a much higher level as compared to the normally used third person view.

Although this racing was first invented in Australia now it is getting popular in other countries too where people are getting familiar with this prestigious technology. The selection of drone material and the motor is as such to meet the requirement of high speed and to overcome crashes which are quite inevitable during the race. There are many organizations which organize these kinds of events such as DRL (Drone Racing League), U.S. National Drone Racing Championship and many others. These organizations provide their own drone materials in order to level the playing field and verify the skills of pilots across a large number of participants. Drone racing provides excitement not only through pure speed and agility, but also though the robustness in the design of these drones. Nowadays it is quite common to use the materials having high strength to weight ratio for making drones lightweight. This technology can be very expensive. Even though this kind of racing has thrilled many, connectivity and data transfer rates for FPV video provides a hindrance behind the success of this sport.

The main motive of participants, aside from the love of the sport is the high amount of cash prizes at some of these events. Following is further insight in the world of drone racing and prize money.

World Drone Prix:

Just last week, a 15 years old was able to take $250,000 home after winning the World Drone Prix in Dubai. This was first of a kind tournament in Dubai. The total prize money of the tournament was 1 million dollars with the winner getting 25% of the total prize money. The participants raced by wearing goggles. Those goggles were connected to the camera which was mounted on the drone of each racer. The kid beat one hundred and fifty amateurs and professionals to win the title. About two thousand spectators converged to watch the spectacular tournament on Sunday afternoon. The race was organized by the crown prince of Dubai. He is also the head of the city's Sports Council. This was the first ever race and Dubai plans to make it an annual event just like the Formula 1 race. You won't have to worry too much about being a foreign worker in a strange land, anxious about standing out since most of Dubai's workforce is composed of expats anyway. Do you want in a hotel in Dubai? Then consider the following tips to improve your chances.

- Do your research. Read up on which hotels or resorts have job vacancies by searching the Internet or hotel industry-related magazines. Classified ads usually describe what the job involves, so you don't have to waste time trying to figure out whether you'll be right for a certain position. You can submit your CV or resume to hotel websites or to job agencies. However, make sure that the recruitment agency you are doing business with is a legitimate, licensed company or organization. There are so many scammers out there who will charge you a placement fee and then disappear once you give them your money.

- Broaden your horizons. If you have past experience as a valet, why not consider something slightly different, like being part of the front desk reception staff? But don't get carried away; you can't expect to be considered for the position of executive chef if your background in the hotel industry is in housekeeping. If you want a higher-paying hotel job, make sure you have the necessary qualifications for your application to be considered seriously.

- Remain open-minded about job positions. Did you know that members of a hotel's service staff make a lot of money even if they aren't paid large salaries? This is because they receive plenty of tips from guests, or enjoy a share of a hotel's service charge. These extras add up to a sizable amount, so much so that their wages seem insignificant in comparison. If a management position is your ultimate goal, then you can always work your way up.

- Learn the ins and outs of living and working in Dubai. Don't make the mistake of thinking that you can act in any way you see fit in any given situation. For all its modernity and cosmopolitan feel, Dubai is still an Islamic nation (though perhaps one of the least rigorous), and there are rules and procedures concerning behavior that should be observed and followed. You shouldn't be ignorant about local customs and etiquette; it might breed ill will and cost you your job. One of the best things you can do is to read about the experiences of expats who are already living and working in Dubai. Learn from their insights about what life is like for a foreigner there.

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sammysdewysensitiveeyes · 5 years ago

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@thecorteztwins

Based on your idea about Pyro being unable to lift Haven. It was supposed to be funny, but this is Legacy Virus Pyro, so it got a little angsty.

It was, according to Dominic, a quick-and-easy, in-and-out job. Some fabulously wealthy Indian bird was holed up in one of New York’s luxury hotels, and they were going to ransom her for her family’s considerable wealth. And if the job went south, they’d just snatch up whatever cash and valuables she had in her room – he’d seen her in the papers, her earrings alone were probably worth thousands – and run off. Quick-and-easy was about all St. John could handle these days, but he had still angrily shrugged off Dominic’s “You sure you’re up to this?” because fuck, he wasn’t an invalid yet, was he? So he had lied, grinning with gritted teeth, and claimed that he was just dandy, that today was one of the “good” days.

Of course, there had been complications. Complications in the form of a hulking, muscular brute that claimed to be the rich chick’s brother. And he had powers. At least there were no bloody X-Men in sight. Yet.

“Go up the stairs, Johnny, I’ll handle this,” Avalanche ordered, as they both picked themselves up off the hotel lobby floor. The big guy had knocked them off their feet with a gust of wind, and now a storm was lashing the plate glass windows with rain and hail. It had been a clear sunny day just moments ago.

“You okay on your own?” St. John didn’t want to leave Dominic fighting solo with a guy who appeared to be a male Storm, and he really didn’t want to be ushered away from the “rough stuff,” like some kind of delicate child that needed protection. He tried to ignore the burning in his lungs.

“I got it, man, just finish the job!” Dominic shoved him towards the stairs while sending a seismic wave rippling across the lobby floor, knocking the big guy off his feet.

“Right.” Pyro sprinted up the stairs, letting adrenaline do the work, hoping he could make it to the luxury penthouse suite before he had a chance to feel how very tired he was. He needed to get this done, because it was for Dominic. Or rather, it was for Dominic’s ex-wife, who apparently needed a pot of money for heart surgery. St. John wasn’t entirely sure why Dominic was so hell-bent on helping a woman who had broken his heart, but if it was so important, St. John would have his back. Dominic had stuck his neck out trying to help him find a cure in the Savage Land, and St. John wasn’t going to die owing anyone favors.

There were guards at the door, of course, but a quick blast of flame made them drop their super-heated guns, and then a red bull made of fire chased them down the hall. There had been a red bull in some book he’d read years ago, but damned if he could remember the title now. He grinned as the guards bolted through the emergency exit. He still “had it,” even if using his powers now sent sharp, stabbing pains though his head. The lock on the door quickly melted, and he kicked it open.

The woman did not look surprised. Perhaps her brother had already informed her of the danger. She sat upright on a chaise lounge, with her flowing robes and impossibly long hair pooled around her, hands folded in her lap.

“Did you kill the guards? I hope you didn’t. They are good men, with families.”

“Nah, they…..ran like rabbits….guess you….guess you didn’t pay them enough…..” The run upstairs was catching up with him now, and he couldn’t help gasping for breath.

“I don’t want them to die for me,” said the woman. She hadn’t moved from her position on the couch, one of several scattered around the lavish suite. It was bigger than most apartments St. John had seen, and filled with fine furniture, and what appeared to be Indian artwork, similar to what he’d seen a lifetime ago as a travel writer. Radha Dastoor, the woman who called herself “Haven,” was supposedly some kind of charitable humanitarian, but of course she surrounded herself with luxury, like every other rich fuck Pyro had ever known. Certainly none of them were willing to wear the sackcloth and ashes, in his experience.

“Well, that’s good then. No one needs to die, love. We’ll make this nice and easy, and you won’t even get a scratch on that pretty face of yours.” She was stunningly beautiful, although there was something odd about her eyes, almost unnaturally calm.

“Is this about my message? Or do you simply want money?”

“The latter.” Perhaps in the Brotherhood days it would have been about her message – she was spreading some kind of New Age bullshit about humans and mutants living in harmony. Magneto probably would have wanted her eliminated – or maybe not. He could never keep track of the “Great Leader’s” ideology, and these days it was much harder to keep things straight in his head.

He grinned at her, and sent a jet of fire sweeping around the room. It hovered around the walls, but didn’t actually touch or burn anything. It would be a shame to destroy this swanky stuff, and this was just an intimidation tactic to get her up and out of the room faster. To his surprise, she remained seated, staring at him without a hint of fear.

“Look, darling, we’re not interested in hurting you, okay? It’s very simple. You’ve got money, and we need some. With the fortune you’ve got, you won’t even miss it. Now you just come with me, your lawyers will fork over some cash, and you can enjoy the rest of your day.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. I’ve got a speech to give this evening. And I’m not going to let myself be kidnapped. It won’t end well for any of us. Please put the fire out. People will get hurt if it spreads.”

“You seem to be confused, love. You don’t get a choice in this.” Pyro strode across the room, somewhere between amused and annoyed. These rich types always thought the universe would somehow bend to their will, even if there was someone literally pointing a weapon at their faces. He grabbed her wrist and attempted to pull her to her feet. She yanked her hand back, stronger than he expected.

“C’mon now, don’t struggle. That’s how people get hurt. I’m tryin’ to be gentle about this.” Haven was looking up at him, eyebrows pursed together in what appeared to be concern.

“You’re very thin,” she said.

“Yeah, no shit, love. I’ve always been a beanpole.” He gritted his teeth, blinking away sweat that dripped down into his eyes. The flame wall was lopsided and ragged at the edges, nowhere near his usual precision, and he wasn’t sure how long he could maintain it with the pounding in his head. He leaned in, and she shrank away, probably getting entirely the wrong idea as he wrapped his arms around her, taking care not to put his hands anywhere inappropriate. Pyro was known as a terrorist, thief, murderer and all-around criminal, but he wasn’t known as a rapist, and he didn’t want that on his reputation. He tried to lift her from the couch, while she pushed against him and kicked.

“C’mon, don’t….” He gasped, his breath starting to catch in his throat as burning pain shot through his chest. “Don’t make this…..I won’t hurt you, just…..just give me a bloody break, love!” Why was she so unnaturally heavy? And so freakishly tall? Or had his arms really gotten that weak? His grip slipped as she shoved him backwards, and he staggered, unable to stop the coughing fit that tore out of him. He dropped to his knees, shoulders shaking. For fucks sake, could he not hold it together long enough to pull off one easy job for Dominic?

Suddenly, he felt a strong pair of arms wrap around his chest from behind. Before he could struggle, he was being lifted up onto the couch, leaning back against the cushion as he wheezed. The flame wall, which had mostly been maintained by his own concentration, had largely evaporated, and he waved a hand to extinguish the remnants that had fallen to the floor. This didn’t need to get any more out of control than it already was.

“You are extremely ill.” Haven was now hovering over him, putting her hands on his cheeks and turning his head to peer into his eyes. The mask hid the worst of the lesions, but he couldn’t really hide how sharp his cheekbones had become, jutting out of a gaunt face. “You should be in a hospital. I will arrange for –“

“No, no hospital!” Pyro snarled, although it came out as more of a croak. Once he went into a hospital, he was never coming out. They’d jam him full of tubes and keep him breathing long after he devolved into an incoherent, drooling, shitting sack of flesh. And that was the best case scenario – if they recognized him and called the authorities, he’d breathe his last strapped down in a SHIELD holding cell. He was going to die anyway, at least at his apartment he had booze and porn and some god-damned privacy. And he had everything he needed to end things on his own terms, when it came to that.

“They can’t help me,” he continued. “It’s…..” He couldn’t quite bring himself to say the word “terminal,” even though it hung in his mind like a black flag. “There’s no cure.”

“I’m sorry,” said Haven, and the look of compassion on her face seemed to indicate that she actually meant it. Usually people didn’t. “I’m sorry” was usually such bullshit, better translated to, “Better you than me, mate.”

“Perhaps I could…..” Haven stopped and trailed off, her head cocked to one side, as if listening to something Pyro could not hear. “No? No, it seems it is not the right time. I’m sorry. I don’t always understand the workings of the divine, but I most obey.” She reached out and clutched his hand in hers.

Pyro shrugged as his breathing gradually came back under control, although it was still a painful wheeze. Today had really not been one of the “good” days. And obviously this woman was crazy. A lot of rich types were, especially if they got religion. But at least she appeared to be genuinely nice. He felt oddly comforted sitting on the couch, holding her hand, even though either the police or some do-gooder X-Team was probably on their way.

“Are you for real? Most people aren’t this nice during a robbery.”

“I try to see the world with compassion. I want to ease suffering, and you are suffering. Is that why you need money? For treatment?”

“Not treatment for me. There’s no treatment for me. A friend needs help. He’s down there with your brother, probably getting’ his bell rung.”

“Monsoon can be very….overenthusiastic, but he only wants to protect me. I will contact him, and perhaps we can work this out peacefully.”

Dominic, with his face pressed against the shattered rubble of the hotel lobby, and a 200 lb man sitting on his back, reflected that this job had been a complete shit-show. All the rich socialite “humanitarians” in New York city, and he had tried to rob and kidnap the woman with a mutant for a brother. Above him, Monsoon shifted his weight, and Avalanche winced at the pressure on his ribs. Maybe it was closer to 300 lbs? Worse, he had dragged Johnny out into this, and the man was in no condition to be running around, no matter how many times he said he was “fine.” He seemed to be running on pure, stubborn pride these days.

“Look, fella, my partner is up there with your sister, so unless you want him to torch her, you’d better let me up,” he tried. He could, of course, shake the entire building off its foundations. And that would kill everyone inside, including him, Johnny, and the spoiled rich bitch they were here to rob. Monsoon stared down at him, contemptuous and silent. Then his phone chirped.

“Yes? Are you okay? Understood.” He snapped the phone closed, and hauled Avalanche up to his feet, with one arm twisted around his back.

“It’s over,” Monsoon said simply. “She wants to talk to you.” And he began to drag Avalanche over to the elevator.

“Wait, what’s over? What happened? Is Pyro….” He trailed off. Haven had a team of bodyguards with her, and they had probably been posted at her room. Bodyguards with guns, and Johnny was off his game these days. Dominic would never be able to forgive himself if he’d gotten his best friend killed, even if it was the kind of death he might prefer over slowly wasting away. Monsoon was frustratingly silent as the elevator took them up.

“Look, this is on me, okay? This was my job, I pushed him into it. You can have me, but let Pyro go, okay?” The only thing worse than Johnny getting gunned down while doing him a favor would be Johnny dying in jail. Dominic was ready to do anything to keep that from happening. But he was met with only silence while being dragged down the hallway towards the room. There were scorch marks on the carpet, but no blood, which made him sigh with relief. He wasn’t entirely sure what he expected to see when he was pushed through the doorway into Radha Dastoor’s suite, but he still stopped short in surprise.

Pyro was sitting on the sofa next to the woman who called herself Haven, both looking up as Avalanche came through the door. Pyro had a blanket draped around his shoulders, and was clutching a steaming mug of something that smelled like spice. He looked vaguely guilty behind his mask, while her face was a perfect picture of calm.

“What….what the hell, man?” Avalanche spluttered.

“I’m sorry, Dom,” Pyro shrugged, using one hand to gesture helplessly at Haven. “She’s just…too nice. I can’t do it, mate. She’s too nice.”

“Too nice? Are you kidding me?!” Monsoon let a heavy hand fall upon his shoulders, forcing Dominic to his knees while Haven glided over to him. And as she knelt and began to coo over the bruises that her brother had left on his face, he realized exactly what Pyro meant.

Notes: Haven is probably going to write a check for Dominic’s wife’s treatment, and then let them go. I realized I needed a reason why Haven wouldn’t attempt to heal Pyro like she tried with Jamie, so I’m thinking the Adversary told her “No,” because it didn’t want her to fail (and possibly destroy the faith she had in her cause).

#pyro #st. john allerdyce #avalanche #dominic petros #haven #radha dastoor #monsoon

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elle-stevens · 5 years ago

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The Break Up Blog - Day Twenty Six

It’s official: I hate my nasal passages.

It’s like there are furry kittens growing inside of them, that’s how sensitive they are today. Not that I’m allergic to cats or any other furry mammals; at least, I still hope that’s the case. I have heard that some adults develop latent allergies later in life that they didn’t have as children. Wouldn’t that just be my luck if that happened?

While I sneezed my brains out nearly all day, I carved out time to do a few creative and productive things. First, I made scones for breakfast; I haven’t baked scones in nearly two years. This is the first time I made them while living abroad by myself. Granted, I left them a little too long in the oven, so they came out firmer than usual. But for a first attempt in a miniature oven, they weren’t half bad, especially when I spread butter and strawberry jam liberally all over it. My colleague, N, expressed a love for scones the other day at work and I thought of her while baking this morning.

So when I decided to do my grading for my students’ journals at a cafe instead of at home, I asked N if she wanted me to drop off some scones for her near her home since it was en route to where I wanted to go. I left my apartment 15 minutes later that what I initially told N, but the traffic was kind to me and I got to the meeting point early enough. N had a harder time getting to me after doing her grocery shopping. There’s all kinds of roadworks and construction happening in my city these days to build more subway lines and the neighbourhood close to where N lives is completely discombobulated, including all the bus stops that have shifted over slightly to make way for the construction walls.

Anyway, N finally met me and I gave her the scones, which she was happy to receive. It seems like she’s really stressed about work since she and C are part of the recruitment process that hires new foreign teachers at my school. There have been some issues with visa paperwork and flight bookings for a new hire that has many of my colleagues completely stressed out. Thank God I don’t help out with visa paperwork at my job; I’d be two blinks away from being carted away in a straitjacket if I were.

N had to rush off to her Chinese class and I made my way to a cafe she and C frequented the week before. The cafe has cosy decor inside and a terriffic balcony section above where you can sit outside. Sadly, the balcony was closed today; the cafe probably only opens it up in the evenings when they serve dinner. So I sat inside and did my grading, which was still nice and cosy.

The grading itself was more stressful than I initially planned. Maybe I just over-thought it and did more than I needed to. But it took me close to 4 hours to check and correct 38 journals as well as give each student feedback and a rating based on their writing. I know that H meant well when she planned for us to do weekly journals with our students. But the plan was meant to be executed at the start of the school year and it’s already the second semester. Plus, she made C design all the journals in different formats and colours for each grade instead of just ordering ready-made journals from a publication house. Now H wants us to critique each student’s writing every single week and only give them positive feedback so they stay motivated to keep writing in class. If I have to climb up more people’s asses and kiss them from the inside, including those of my students, I might never see the sun again.

Nevertheless, I forged on and managed to finish all my grading, even though I was hungry and the cafe suddenly didn’t serve food. But they had a menu which not only had drinks displayed on it, but food as well. So naturally I was confused that there didn’t appear to be any food. I wrapped things up and tried to call my Dad to wish him happy birthday. After all the delays with my money transfers, I was happy that I managed to send my siblings some cash to help pay for my dad’s gifts and the family brunch. But the signal was really crappy on my phone since I was outside and waiting for the bus to take me home. I managed to get back to my neighbourhood after 18:00 and made a stop at the grocery store to buy tomatoes, mushrooms and garlic. N gave me some French bread earlier, so I made some bruschetta for dinner. Not the healthiest meal to have, especially right before going to the gym, but it kept the hunger pangs at bay since I inadvertently skipped lunch.

My parents and siblings ended up going on a drive around the beach, which gave me enough time to have a good session at the gym almost unimpeded, shower and then head home. I even had time to go to work beforehand to pick up the new headband I ordered for the gym that I used for my workout. Unlike last week’s ultra-crap fat-loss regimen, I practically aced it the second time around tonight, which kept me in good spirits.

I got home after 21:00 and called my Dad again. With most phone conversations, I don’t always know what to say to him. I don’t know why, I just run out of safe topics quicker with my dad than with my mom. My mom and I aren’t as close, but we find ways to talk about very superficial things like who’s a new and upcoming contestant on ‘Idols’ or what new wave of crime hit my old neighbourhood this time around. I’m closer with my Dad, but it’s hard to grab time with him to have a good heart to heart. Still, I was in an excellent mood and the conversation flowed well, especially when we talked about dishes we’d been cooking in the kitchen lately. It makes me realise how much I miss my Dad these days.

It was great catching up with my mom and my siblings too; I feel bad that P and G have been treated to my depressing and morbid side too much lately. So it felt good to ask how they’re doing and make lots of silly jokes to keep the mood light. Even though I wished I could’ve been home with my family celebrating my dad’s birthday today, I’m happy they’re still able to have fun without me too. Sometimes I feel guilty about being so far away from home, but I know my family loves and supports me no matter. I’m really lucky and it’s time that I start acknowledging and embracing it more often.

Throughout my busy day, I still thought of X on occasion. When I walked to the grocery store earlier, this called ‘Loving Strangers’ by Russian Red started playing in my iTunes library. That brought up a flood of memories all related to X. I actually liked that song long before X and I even became friends, but I put her onto it and it eventually became one of our songs that epitomised our relationship. The song is from a soundtrack for this lesbian romance movie called ‘Room In Rome’. It’s about these two women who meet at a bar in - you guessed it - Rome, and end up spending the night together in a beautiful Roman hotel room. It wasn’t the best acting in the world, but the chemistry between the two actresses was on sizzling and the movie had a scintillating soundtrack too.

Anyway, X and I both loved the song and the movie and watched it together a few times over 3 years. When I visited her the first time in the Philippines, we stayed a lovely 5-star hotel for our last night together. Unintentionally, we acted out a few romantic scenes from the movie. Like dressing up in fluffy bathrobes after taking a swim in the hotel and staring out the window together at the city skyline. Of course, we improvised with other things, like slow-dancing in our bathrobes to Coldplay’s ‘Sparks’ and ‘Loving Strangers’ in the middle of our hotel room.

That night was so bittersweet for me because my flight back home was at 4am (I still don’t know why I booked that absurd flight time), so X and I only had a few hours together in that hotel room before I left her. I felt like Cinderella on the night of the ball with the Prince. For those first few hours, everything felt magical and wonderful. But as soon as the clock struck twelve, reality kicked in again and it was time to go back home in my pumpkin carriage.

Being with X always felt like a beautiful dream that I was eventually going to wake up from. Now I’m finally awake and it’s still disorienting knowing that we won’t have more beautiful memories together or new shared experiences to make life a little sweeter than it was before. But I’m trying my best to move on and only focus on the crappier aspects of X’s personality to make me miss her less. What I need is to just land myself a hottie Sugar Daddy or Sugar Momma with low self-esteem on the next go-around with a relationship and hope to God they never get clued in on the fact that they could do better than me. Don’t get me wrong, I know I’m a catch in a lot of respects, but I am also a hot mess. I’m a slow learner, but I’m getting better and wiser with time.

Shit, it’s past midnight and I’m starving. I’m trying hard not to snack late at night, but I haven’t been eating well lately because of stress and my depression kicking my proverbial butt. Does this even still count as a diary entry for 7th September?

Since I’m making up the rules for my own happiness now, I say it still counts. And from here on out, I’m gonna do whatever the hell I please.

#breakupblog

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seulserenity · 5 years ago

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Obligation - Krystal scenario

[a/n] I've wanted to do a mafia au for a long time now, the prompt for this is "I was supervising, not participating"

Working for the sicilian mafia had always been something of a challenge for you as a child, it was the ultimate quest you had to defeat and now aged 26 you were finally finishing the challenge. As you sat in your chair overlooking the sicilian streets you reminisced on your first days with this crew, your crew. Aged 19 you joined the mafia, located in Naples and working with burly men your father's age. You performed the menial tasks, fetching the money and land off of scammers and families indebted to the group however when you were 20 it no longer was viable to live the way you did within that mafia. Indeed as a child you had been told stories of great gangs that dominated Italy but as you grew so did the world around you and as it evolved mafias began to die out, their services and even their threats dwindled with time.

At that point you moved to Sicily, the sicilian mafia was still widely known and respected and it seemed that the work would be profitable there. Landing a role within the group was easy enough and by 22 you were a fully fledged member of their close knit group; life seemed to be floating by but you didn't mind. That exact October you met her for the first time, Krystal Jung Soojung. She owned the antique/rustic Italian 2 storey terrace that you were sent out to with some lemons and an envelope filled with cash. It was no secret that to survive and thrive in sicily as a town member you'd have to cooperate with the mafia, the residents and mafia coexisted with both sides benefitting from the almost business like deal between them. It seemed this derelict and depleted mansion was only occupied for a few weeks each year by the mysterious Miss Jung and that when she was on the island your boss had urged you to deliver these parcels despite knowing you were higher in the ranks than a mere messenger.

You remembered knocking on the door that time and seeing her in a silk robe, purple face cream painted her face and she had resting on her head a pink band that pulled back her dark brown hair away from the purple cream. She had welcomed you in and even offered you some rosé seeing as it was after 9 so surely you'd have been clocked off. You let yourself be pulled in for a glass or two and you spent the evening getting to know the Korean beauty. Every holiday she visited, you would always offer to deliver the envelopes regardless of your position in the gang and slowly you two formed a bond. She was the closest friend you had in Italy other than your gang and the old lady you checked up on for your boss each week.

Aged 26 you were settling into a new role in the mafia, just last month the boss had assigned you as his successor purely based on your managerial skills and knowledge of the clients in the area. Stepping up to the bat had never been more terrifying, in fact taking on this large position felt even more daring than when you had first go in contact with the mafia in Naples. Hundreds of men and women relied on you and listened to your every command before dutifully following it out. Not only were you in control of your own people though but you also assisted with the general management of trade and daily life on the small island. Krystal was due to arrive this summer, you couldn't wait to see one of your closest friends again, especially since she had been thrilled to know of your promotion (she'd heard of this news through a crappy touristic postcard that you'd found was the easiest way to keep in touch with the busy Korean idol) and what better way to describe your new role then to show her. The new role as a boss came with a suite on the top floor of a mafia run hotel and you thought it was about time she came to yours for a drink. In the past she'd always invited you to hers for it was unsafe to reveal your accommodation while you worked as an assassin, now you had the protection of many other men and women you were finally able to bring her round.

Unbeknownst to you Krystal had always admired you, it had started with a mere fascination of your job and the sacrifice you made for the mafia. As your friendship grew and the two of you became inseparable when she visited Krystal felt the admiration turn into something slightly more. The longing to stay with you in Sicily rather than returning to Korea often tugged at her heart and the little habits you'd developed endeared her. One of these quirks would be holding your hand as you wandered through markets or when you dozed off whilst watching movies and all the time you saw these as friendly or meaningless gestures Krystal had put meaning behind each action.

She arrived at the airport wearing tiny denim shorts and a figure hugging tank top, her dark hair was pulled back taut in a high ponytail and she wore a face full of makeup (something about being an idol she would say) and even though you'd seen her before like this somehow she looked so good. Shrugging it off you ignored it for the sake of your friendship, your strong arms circled around her small waist and grazing under the back of her sweatshirt you held her close to you. Memorising her scent and mapping out the contours of her body against yours, she felt like she was meant to be in Sicily with you. Once you released her you grabbed her luggage and both of you headed for your favourite ice cream bar; it was a large chain on the island and offered so many flavours that both of you were sure you'd never run out of options. A strawberry cone and oreo tub glided across the counter whilst you slid some coins to the flirty cashier, as soon as you could you both left the little shop giggling at the very obvious cashier. Krystal led you to the park in front of her house where she promptly laid down the toy story 4 blanket which she'd brought in Walmart. The afternoon merged into evening and still you laid in the park on Forky and Rex's faces but as the night crept in Krystal checked her expensive watch and nagged at you to leave for your shift. You bid her goodnight in the park and watched as she unlocked her peeling door and slipped into the shadowy building.

At 1:00 your crew had rushed upstairs with news of a new rival gang attacking one of your clients. At once you rose from your chair and asked for an address of the client, the eldest in the gaggle of men spoke. " Its no. 10 opposite the park." immediately your brain spun, confusion and possibilities swirled around like a merry-go-round. You wondered how a rookie gang could even know what your biggest weakness was or whether it was pure luck, if so the bastards were so very lucky but now you'd teach them a lesson. You ordered for your best snipers to be on watch nearby before commanding some of the lower rank members to go and drag the gang away before beating the new gang to a pulp after all the Sicilian mafia weren't known for simply managing business, the reputation of being the most powerful gang came with incredible fighting skills.

Krystal heard five men barge down the door and within minutes the rival gang was squirming on the floor with hands twisted behind their backs and weapons cast under her old creamy sofa. Looking at their faces Krystal recognised them but y/n was nowhere to be seen amongst them. Krystal thanked them in Italian before going to open the door and let them out with their new victims, as she opened the door y/n strolled through.

"Are you okay?"

Krystal scoffed, was this all y/n could say? She'd always fought for Krystal but this new promotion seemed to cause a separation between them.

" Why weren't you here? Maybe then you'd have known that just 7 minutes ago I was not even remotely okay!" Krystal seethed.

" I know what happened Krystal, I was supervising, not participating. My new role means I need to oversee rather than..."

"For once I hate this new promotion, I thought you would still be here to protect me. I thought I meant something to you, I was something more than just a fucking friend to you but it seems I'm just another client you have to deal with. I mean do you even know how confusing you are? Like genuinely, or is your head stuck so far up your mafia ass that you can't even see the mixed signals you gave off. You know what, fuck you y/n! I was hoping this summer something would actually happen between us, I waited so long and finally this year I was gonna make my move but you went first. Congratulations, dickhead. "

Her lithe figure stomped upstairs to her room and you were left looking at five very uncomfortable henchmen. The eldest and your longest confidante murmured "We'll leave you boss and take the idiots, I promise we'll do a clean up tomorrow as long as the Missus doesn't mind?"

"That's the furthest thing on her mind right now, don't worry. I'll close up after you."

" Boss, stay and sort her out, we'll be fine on our own and we can cover you for tonight."

With a simple nod at him you headed up the old trodden stairs to her room, hangul was sloppily painted on the door and you vaguely recalled Krystal painstakingly trying to teach you her language. Pushing the door open you heard a sniff before the cheetah print pillow was lobbed at you, laughing at the meagre attempt you padded into the room. Maroon carpet swallowed your footsteps as you walked over to the double bed, you sank next to Krystal on it.

"I think we both need to clear the air Krys."

Suddenly you were jolted out of your trip down memory lane by two arms which looped around your neck. Words were muffled by your skin as she burrowed into your exposed neck

" Whatcha thinking about beautiful?"

"You and my mafia days, love" you murmured back to her before gently bringing her cheek across to kiss you. As you pulled away you stood up from your chair and let Krystal drag you out of the hotel. Yelling a goodbye to your crew as you were eagerly pulled out of the building some wolf whistles could be heard. The pair of you ran to the little ice cream store, this time only ordering one cone with two scoops. One scoop oreo and one strawberry and when you reached the cashier Krystal pulled your face in for a huge sloppy kiss before grabbing the cone and walking out the door.

As you headed to the park you saw that same kiddish blanket on the grass and you smirked, no matter what distance you two might suffer you'll always have these moments and these sort of moments made you feel you'd last forever.

That was how your fiancée Krystal Jung Soojung made you feel, cringy as it was.

Fin

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dinerdashadventurescheats-blog · 5 years ago

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Diner DASH Adventures Guide

Diner DASH Adventures Guide can help you a lot! That is certainly a decent arrangement! These future the majority of our Diner DASH Adventures tips and traps that we have for you at the present time! Do you realize some increasingly helpful game tips that you might want to impart to us? Ensure you do as such in the remarks area underneath! All things considered, inside 30 minutes play, you will acknowledge how significant Gems are in the game to advance to the following sections. To redesign the kitchen machines, you should spend the Coins just as the Gems. Utilize the Rainbow Match lift to hit DASH Mode much quicker. Quick Service – serve clients rapidly to procure Fast Service rewards and increment the DASH Mode meter. You can get a Fast Service reward for seating clients rapidly, taking their request, and serving them their sustenance. Fastening is a propelled move – seating various clients straight, taking requests in succession, and serving in succession all offer rewards to your DASH Mode meter. One final tip – did you realize you can consolidate Order Tickets together?

You think this will back you off, yet in the event that you combine a similar request you can cook different dishes at the same time, sparing you a colossal measure of time and procuring you significantly more money over the long haul. Diner DASH Adventures is a cooking subject related versatile game. On the off chance that you have ever make some cooking recreations previously, you ought to be comfortable with their control. In this new experience, you will revamp and redesign the coffee shop town, make it prosperous once more. On the off chance that you tap on different spots, the game will take you to precisely those put in the request that you tapped. So ensure you do this privilege since this will be too critical to realize the more you advance. In the event that different clients need something very similar, attempt to pick them in such a request, that Cookie (you cook) can make them simultaneously. For instance, if a client needs a Burger and a Salad and another needs only a Burger, ensure you first pick the request with the single Burger, at that point the one with a Burger and a Salad. In case you're an aficionado of the Dash arrangement, you won't be baffled. San Francisco-based portable game distributer Glu Mobile has propelled another Diner Dash title on Android and iOS. The game, titled Diner DASH Adventures, joins rethought ongoing interaction from Diner Dash, Hotel Dash and Cooking Dash. In Adventures, players accept the job of Flo as she attempts to spare the place where she grew up DinerTown from the insidious Mr. Huge and his goons. Players should redesign whole sections of land of DinerTown utilizing a wide range of structure and stylistic layout blends. For instance you may have a red table too among them, however no red clients approaching. What you ought to do is attempt to consistently coordinate the client to the table, since this will give you extra tips (and expanded heart level).

Continuously check the line ahead of time to know precisely how to put your clients, since this in itself is practically a procedure game! On the off chance that you feel like the client behind the first in line can sit at a superior table which matches them, at that point ensure you swap them utilizing the catch directly there beside the line. Presently your absolute first ensemble you will get from the mail when you are simply beginning off, yet not long after you will get one from simply passing the stages (The Greasy Spoon Outfit), and others from different places in the game: – The Greasy Spoon Outfit – by finishing errands Now for different adornments, you can likewise discover them either during uncommon occasions, in the Daily Deals, or by obtaining stuff for genuine cash in the Store. At whatever point you gather every one of the things from an accumulation, you will almost certainly break the Piggy Bank having a place with that gathering. For the most part, you will offer your cooking items to profit in this game. Gaining cash will enable you to purchase all that you have to fix the dish town and eating vehicle. There might be a few troubles trouble you when you begin your experience. Luckily, we've given you Diner DASH Adventures Cheats and tips to enable you to get past them. Gather stars to revamp your burger joint. Prior to serving your clients, you need to fix and redesign your coffee shop right off the bat. In this cafe building part, it's fundamentally the same as other city building game. Every client you seat gets a "Shading Match Bonus," which fulfills them extra. This is additionally an incredible method to trigger "DASH Mode" significantly quicker than expected. "Quick Flo" makes Flo work a lot quicker (multiple times quicker to be careful!). Help Flo zoom around tables at light speed! This lift is extra valuable in levels with loads of tables to serve. "Fast Customers" accelerates your clients. All clients will just take two or three seconds to arrange and eat. This is an extraordinary lift for levels with moderate clients, similar to Rosie's Grandpa, Norbert. Just once! This will gather the cash they left and you can leave the table open. This thing is great to know in the event that you have numerous hued tables, yet you would prefer not to situate the off-base shading client at the off-base hued table. Ensure you know this, else on the off chance that you tap twice, you may situate the off-base client at the off-base table! A few tables may have pre-characterized hues from the earliest starting point of the level, however they may not generally be 100% precise.

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gal-from-valentine · 6 years ago

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June Bishop & Damon

—-/—-/—-/—-

June sucked on her teeth in annoyance as she lead She Cat into Strawberry. She had no one to be upset with but herself and June knew that but it didn’t stop her from trying to pass the blame onto fate.

Cat snorted at her side, and June almost felt like the horse was sympathizing with her. They had been chasing after a fine bull elk when one of She Cat’s shoes had fallen right off and the mare had stumbled, sending June flying over her neck and landing with a splash in the running creek just ahead of them.

Without a rideable horse June was a sitting duck, it wasn’t worth it to treck through the mountains on foot when the nights got so cold and the predators were so hungry. So she had gathered herself up and started the long walk to Strawberry’s stable.

On a normal day she could get to Strawberry from the valley in a good two or three hours but on foot it took much longer and by the time June had limped into town the sun was already setting and she was chilled to the bone. Cat was doing her best as well but June could tell she was unstable due to the missing shoe. A string of curses left her mouth when she realized she wasn’t carrying any money and all she had trapped were a few lousy rabbits. She didn’t even have enough to reshoe her horse.

Thankfully Richard the butcher showed her a little pitty, he looked over the pelts she had brought and sighed. “Seems like everyone with a gun has been bringing these in,” he looked back to her and Cat, both miserable and cold. “But for you I’ll make an exception.” An extra fifty cents per pelt wasn’t much but it would be enough for her to board Cat for the night and get herself a room, maybe even a bath.

June started to walk towards the trail leading up to the towns stable, Cat at her side without even being called. The butcher watched as she went, his mustache ruffling as he purses his lips.

“Girl!” He shouted just as she reached the bridge, and she turned to look back, her hand taking hold of She Cat’s bridle. Richard waited a second before continuing. “Not sure if it’s true but I heard there was a gent at the hotel looking for some help, might be worth your while to go have a chat with him.”

June scowled at that. She wasn’t above honest work but she liked to think she wasn’t at that point yet. Still the blonde waved and shouted out a polite thank you before taking She Cat and bedding her down in the barn.

It’s was well past nine when she finally got her horse settled and made her way into the inn. Thankfully The innkeeper seemed pleased to see her. Perhaps he had fallen on hard times too. Her bath was ran for her and he even offered to have her clothes washed for her too.

June soaked until the water went cold, not used to having luxuries such as this ever since the homestead had been sold. She traveled now, following the racing series wherever they went. Often she was camping out in the wilderness and not shacking up in a fancy hotel like she was tonight.

After she had stepped out and dressed in the borrowed night clothes the hotel had provided her she mad her way to the stairs, ready to sleep and figure her life out in the morning. The innkeeper, Roy, was still standing at his post looking back toward the stairs with nervous energy. She smile politely at him, “Good night Roy.” She called out before heading up to her room. He gave a weak smile back and turned back to his paperwork that was scattered across his desk.

She thought it was odd that he had gone from being so excited and accommodating to so scattered and wary right after. She shrugged as she opened the door to her room, freezing when she realized there was a man sitting on her bed.

He was slow to turn an look at her. His brown eyes glancing at her before focusing back on his watch that he was holding. He was handsome in a dirty sort of way but the smile he offered her made June’s skin crawl.

“I heard you’re looking for work.” He said in a matter of fact way; breaking the silence that had grown between them. Her blue eyes narrowed at his words and she felt like a barn cat cornered by a dog; ready to pounce and rip him to pieces before he even knew what hit him. She took a step out of the doorway, ready to run if needed. “Afraid we have different ideas of work. I’m not that strapped for cash.” She wished she hadn’t have been so trusting by leaving her pistol with the holster on the night stand. He smirked at that, rising from the bed and walking her way. “Don’t you worry kitten; I ain’t here for that.”

Relief washed over her but June didn’t let her guard down as he approached. He reached up and took the hat from his head, short red locks shining in the candle light. He ran his fingers threw them before bowing his head in an almost apologetic manner. “Now ya see, I have a horse that needs to learn some manners and I don’t have the patience to do it right now. Heard from the town butcher you good with the animals and I figured if you would work him and ride him out to Van Horn I would make it worth your time. See what I’m saying.”

June scoffed, stepping back again. She didn’t trust him and knew distance between them was for the best. “You want me to ride a stolen horse all the way to Van Horn? You’re out of your mind.” She she with a tone of finality, turning to head down the stairs and request a new room. His hand reached out and caught her shoulder.

She started to pull away but he held firm. “ The horse wasn’t stolen by me, honest. “ He stayed, voice warm and silky, so close to her ear. “ I’m too big a guy. I’ll break that horse before I get close to Van Horn.” He let out a hard chuckle before dropping his hand away. “ I need a nice lil girl with a quick wit and gentle touch to teach him along the way that’s all. It will be the easiest five hundred dollars you’d ever make.” And just like that June’s mouth went dry. Her eyes blushed and she spun around to look at the stranger.

“Five hundred dollars to ride a horse? You must be jokin with me.” But the broad man just shook his head and put his hat back on. “No Ma’am, my employer really wants him moved up there. Present for his wife or something like that.” He shrugged, pulled out his pocket watch and looked at the time. “ But if you don’t want the job I’ll just find someone else.” He walked past her and out into the hall. “It was a pleasure to meet you Kitten.”

She let out a huff before crossing her arms. “If I’m gonna do this for you, you’ll have to call me by my name.” The man tsked as if disappointed then let out what she could only assume was a short laugh. “We’ll miss June you got a deal. Five hundred to get that horse nice and gentle, and be sure to make it to Van Horn by the end of the week.”

She nodded and flushed a little as he looked her up and down. “It’s a deal,” she stuck out her hand to shake his and he took her hand in his. His palms were large and calloused, much warmer than her own and that caused a shiver to run down her spine as she shook his hand firmly. He grinned and went to leave but she called out before he got to far. “And who am I supposed to say sent me to move this horse?” An air of snark was laced in the words. The man chuckled before replying. “Just say Red sent you. They’ll know. Now good night Kitten- I mean Miss Bishop.” Red raised his hat and placed it atop his head, before giving her a wink. “And rest up, you have your work cut out for you.”

—-/—-/—-

The next morning Bishop got to the stable right after sunrise, she knew the town would be dead at that time and she would have a better chance of riding off on a stolen horse if the horse was in fact stolen. Red had assured her he hadn’t stolen it but that didn’t mean someone else hadn’t.

The stable owner’s daughter Ruth had been mucking stalls when June had showed up. The bright eyes little girl rushed to her side and took June’s hand in hers, pulling the blonde woman over to where She Cat was stabled. The girl pointed at the pinto, grinning widely. “I took good care of her just like I said I would!”

June smiled and reached over the stall door to pet Cat’s forehead. The mare nickered before continuing to eat her breakfast. “You did a great job Ruth. I’m so pleased I would love for you to care for her awhile longer.” The small girl’s pigtails bounced as she jumped up and down before hugging June’s legs with excitement, repeating thank you over and over until June wasn’t sure if the little girl was saying anything or just making noises. “Ok little one go get your daddy and I’ll be sure to pay you the nickel I promised last night.”

Ruth eagerly raced out of the stable only to return minutes later with the owner in tow. He was a good man and usually very nice but when she mentioned Red had sent her the man had gone stiff before turning to a stall in the back. “I’ll saddle him up and get you on your way. Don’t want Red sniffing around no more. “ Muttered as he saddled the stallion up. June’s eyebrows raised at that. Not only was the horse hidden in the back of the barn but the owner didn’t like Red either. “Something wrong with him?” She questioned, watching the man stumble over himself as he tried to go faster.

“No ma’am.” He shook his head and lead the horse too her. It was a handsome buckskin American Saddlebred, his nostrils flaring and eyes wild. While he was larger than She Cat it was clear the Red might have been a bit too big for him like he had said. She took the reigns from him and he looked relieved at the fact.

“ His name is Damon,” the stable owner offered before grabbing Ruth’s hand and pulling her away from the stallion. “You have a nice ride Miss Bishop. We will take good care of She Cat for you.” June nodded, knowing he wanted her gone and she was happy to oblige. Mounting up on Damon and asking him to walk on. She could already feel his resistance and she knew that had a long road ahead of them if he was going to listen to her but they had time.

She treaded her fingers in his mane and whispered to him before pushing him into a trot, heading down the hill into Strawberry. He did well going through the houses and even managed to cross the bridge like a a well trained fellow. Just as June started to think this was going to be an easy trip Damon caught sight of Richard’s scruffy old cat that liked to lounge around under the Strawberry sign. June clasped his man and patted his neck but he would have none of it and the stallion reared and tried to buck June before galloping down the road and out of Strawberry. She clung to him like her life depended on it and forced him to slow. The stallion bucked a time or two more before June finally regained control, she was panting and tired already. Her regret rising for taking the job. She sucked in a breath and patted Damon before turning him again to trot down the road. This was going to be a long ride.

—-/—-/—-/—-

So not sure if anyone really bothered to read that long monstrosity. It really won’t hurt my feelings if you didn’t. I just wanted to write a June story. Let me know if you like it and I’ll continue writing, or tell me to stop and I will haha.

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thelordismytreasure · 7 years ago

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The Evidence of Friday, June 15, 2018

In the description of this blog, I state that I find that God defends me from this evil organization that has come to rule the land, the courts and officers that have abandoned the worthy traditions upon which our country was founded and now act with abandon to undermine our civil liberties, divide our country into factions, favor the religion of psychiatry, women over men, the rich over poor, those accused of crime over those accused of mental illness, and, in my case, the government has stolen twelve years of my service by the use of a trick: falsely promising me this reward: money sufficient to pursue a career as a singer or an actor.

And what have been the consequences upon me and my house that were engendered by their abandonment of the common sense guide that a man must be able to confront his accusers in court?

Here follows the tale of how I met my first, and most damaging, accuser.

When I was a young man just starting to make my way in the world, I chanced to meet a woman at a Halloween Dance in Minneapolis, Debbra Myers. She was about five years older than me and not of the type that I would normally desire as a sexual partner, but I was loathe to make the long drive home after the party and She invited me to stay the night with her following the celebration; we slept together.

The following day, I awoke in her bed to find that we were greeted by her three young sons. After breakfast with her sons and her female partner in renting the house, a co-worker from the restaurant where she worked, I jumped in my white Nissan automobile and drove back to my mother’s house in Mankato.

Being young and not established in a career or with sufficient money to afford to rent a room when I traveled or to buy a home of my own, I would stay with Debbra in Minneapolis when I had the occasion to travel there.

After a time, she took the occasion to visit me at my mother’s house in Mankato. In this way she learned that what I had been telling her about myself was true. I was the only son of a doctor and surgeon, had graduated from Harvard, and that my father had left my mother, moving out of his big, fine house, leaving it to her.

She was allowed to stay with me in my bed that night, only this time, her birth control failed and she became pregnant.

She was distraught. How could this have happened? How could she support another child by herself? Abortion seemed to be the right choice for her.

I, too, was distraught. Debbra was my first sexual partner in a long time and the first since I had been tricked by Wendy Gross, a male to female transsexual I had met in New York City. (I had expended my grandfather’s bequest to me to travel there and across the country, learning about the entertainment trade.

It was there, (and when I was on my last dime and most susceptible to an offer of employment,) that Stanley H. Holler III of the British American Petroleum Company made me an offer. I turned it down.

Wendy was his companion. She turned to me when Stanley threw her out of his room at the Hotel Chelsea, she said, and asked to stay with me for the night in room 100.

You can’t imagine the relief I felt when Debbra first took me as her lover.

(The coincidence of the pairing of issues of gender identity with work roles in ’81 revived in me the issues I had discussed with David Swanson on March 3, 1965, and gave rise to my firm belief that “Wendy” was the transsexual reinvention of David, who must have acted on my putative offer of marriage in ’65 and been brought in with Stanley to reinforce the pressure on me to accept his offer.)

Nor could I agree to have my first conceived child aborted.

As Debbra was now seriously interested in me as a husband, partner and support; and I was interested in her as the future mother of my child, partner and support; we moved in together.

It became summer and she left her job on the West Bank area of the city, (also known as Cedar-Riverside,) to take a summer job as a cook for Outward Bound school and camp in Ely, MN. I traveled with her there and we shared a cabin on their grounds for a while. It was in this cabin that the disagreement between us first became physical.

She had long been contemplating driving to Duluth for an abortion, but as she had no car, she needed my cooperation to do it. I wouldn’t lend my cooperation to the arrangement and denied her the use of my car. As she was leaving the cabin after discussing this with me, I saw her grab the keys from the table. I followed her through the door and tackled her, retrieving my keys. I was careful not to let her be injured, as she was carrying my baby, but she was incensed that I would lay hands on her.

She insisted that I get counseling. I maintained that I had acted properly and within my rights, refusing counseling. Nonetheless, management would not countenance a feuding couple on their grounds and we were asked to cohabitate elsewhere.

We moved into a tiny house in town. It was right across from the courthouse. Debbra commuted the short distance to the Outward Bound camp and looked to me to find some kind of work in town to supplement her income.

As for myself, I continued my series of messages to the President of the United States, looking to capitalize on the growing evidence that the Almighty supported me in my contention that the government had stolen twelve years of my service using means both forceful, (under the terms of Minnesota’s Compulsory School Attendance Act, and allowed by the federal government in violation of the 14th Amendment guaranteeing Due Process of Law before an individual’s rights are reduced,) and fraudulent, (under the terms of the instruction that I had received early in my education and presumed to continue throughout the school system, thereafter.)

Debbra had supported me in this endeavor when we lived together in Minneapolis: She had driven with me to Victoria, MN to mail one of my letters from there. I felt that a postage cancelation mark with the Victoria name would symbolically invoke the memory of the recent Victor/Victoria movie, a tale of gender identity woes reminiscent of the issues in my story and related in earlier letters in my series.

I used this tactic to help any one who may have been assigned to open and read my letters recall the foundation of the series without burdening myself or the reader with a re-telling of the entire tale.

It was at this juncture that I sereptitiously took a $20 from Debbra’s wallet to pay for the extra postage required for Registered Mail. I felt that this was justified for two reasons: 1. the information in my letter related to the security of the nation as well as that of the President, himself, justifying the use of the most secure method for sending a letter, and 2. when the Evidence became so great as to become irrefutable, the government would condescend to pay for the lengthy term of service I maintained it had solicited of me through the men and women it had placed over me, and Debbra, who’s interests were now intertwined with mine, would also benefit.

When she discovered the missing bill, however, she was dismissive of my rationale for taking it and very angry.

Not long after that blow-up, however, our entire family stopped at the DQ in Shakopee, for a treat. A light wind was blowing and in it, a twenty dollar bill.

Debbra saw it without anyone else seeing it first and grabbed it. She insisted that it was entirely her luck that had brought her the twenty. I felt that I had used her twenty for God’s business as well as hers and mine, and that He had returned it to her, satisfying the grievance.

She maintained that I still owed her money and required that I make good on the debt.

What a pity that we didn’t see eye to eye on this mystery. It was a difference between us that would shape the rest of our time together and lead to our eventual parting of ways.

As for the Evidence of Friday, June 15th, 2018?

The preferential prosecution of men over women in cases of domestic abuse, the ability of a reporter to lambast a victim without being held to account in probate court, the preference of the courts to award custody of younger children to the mother and also to the stronger provider, combined with the resistance of the government to award me my just due after dozens of years of service to the government, all these have combined to deprive me of the affections of my daughter, felt most acutely this Father’s Day.

On this past Friday, leading into Father’s Day weekend, I spent the day texting my daughter, Cassie. Inviting her to attend a concert at the Dakota Jazz Club that evening. Telling her about how the owner had offered to give the two of us complimentary admission to any performance there, when I told him of how much sorrow I endured because of Cassie’s rejection. Inviting her to call the club to ask the owner if he, indeed, had made that promise. Calling the club to remind the owner of his promise. Calling his sister to help me contact the owner when I couldn’t reach him at the club. Reviewing my available cash to offer the owner as a bribe to let us in if the date was sold out and he didn’t remember his promise. And generally pulling my last hair out in order to bring Cassie and myself together again, which I desire with all my heart.

This is the loss which the enemies of American liberty and justice endured on that day: As reported on page A6 on the Sunday, June 17th edition of the Star Tribune, “Inmate fatally shoots 2 deputies” (Kansas) and on page B3 of the same edition, “Blaine officer, wife killed in motorcycle crash.”

While you may argue that these losses are not extraordinary to the daily occurrence among law enforcement, please allow me to consider them the work of a Divine force of protection afflicting evil-doers.

#family separation #mental health fathers day justice religious freedom

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moodboardinthecloud · 4 years ago

Text

How To Be A Writer: The Map Is the Territory Ramona Ausubel's Winding Path to a First Novel

I was talking with a student who asked, “How did you get from here to there?” And I wanted to tell her because she was a good writer and a hard worker and I wanted to make the map clearer for her. But I found I couldn’t tell her the story of the stories without also giving her the map of my life in those years. Before my first books were born they were with me everywhere, growing babies, part of my body and my every move.

We are not ever just writers—we are also sons and daughters of good parents and disappointing parents and we are partners who need to pick up a quart of milk on the way home and parents who crawl into bed with the little ones late at night to admire them when they are still, even though we know we don’t have any tiredness to spare. We are students and teachers. We are readers, taking in the universes created by other minds. Our stories and poems and essays are written in and amongst and because of these moments. A scene is not the only thing that takes place in space and time—the writing of that scene takes place in space and time, too. I remember working on a particularly dark section of my first novel, No One is Here Except All of Us, in which the character based on my great-grandmother escapes into the Russian wilderness with her children and survives on tree bark, and it so happened that this writing day took place beside a Southern California hotel swimming pool where my visiting father-in-law was staying. I spent the morning in the shade surrounded by Disneyland-bound families and I wrote about starvation.

The stories are woven together with my life and my life moved across the globe as I wrote, so the stories too took that long journey. My map of becoming a writer goes all the way around the world.

* * * *

A few months before finishing graduate school, my grandmother was in a minor car accident while riding shotgun to the grocery store with her boyfriend. She was hurt and needed surgery, but it seemed like she would be fine, until it didn’t anymore. My family members and I all gathered in Chicago to be with her while she died, and I stood by the window of her hospital room where the machines beeped, and looked out at Lake Michigan. There happened to be another old woman in the ICU near her and a sentence came into my head: the grandmothers find themselves at sea. It immediately felt true. On the plane back to California, I wrote a story—all these women, floating on a freight boat in the big wide ocean, not knowing where they are or where they’re going. I needed to make a world where I could look for my grandmother once she left this one. I invented a world because death is unknowable and someone I loved was about to live there.

My grandmother and I had always been close, and she was the most unwaivering supporter of my writing. Even when I was 19 years old, she took me seriously as a poet and as a writer.

A few weeks and several drafts later, one of my teachers submitted the story of the grandmothers at sea to a contest. It didn’t win but the magazine editor called to ask if they could publish it anyway. I was thrilled. There was a new green shoot of her life, sprouting.

* * * *

When I finished graduate school the next summer, I received a small fellowship. It was a few thousand dollars, and a total surprise. I refused to cash the check for weeks because I was afraid it would disappear the way money does. I badly wanted this to be a doorway rather than a stop-gap.

Then I got another check in the mail, this one much more complicated. It was the insurance settlement from the car accident that had eventually killed my grandmother. Another few thousand dollars and also a total surprise. I thought about returning it, upset to think that any dollar amount would ever equal a human life. The more I thought about it the more I wanted to do something she would have loved. Writing and travel were the things we had always shared, so I convinced my husband to quit his job and travel around the world.

My uncle donated frequent flier miles for our flights and I made a plan to research a book of nonfiction about families. It seemed like a practical project, a good idea. One of those things people out there think is worth doing. I scheduled interviews, did a ton of reading, and booked flights from San Francisco to Marrakech and another pair home from Beijing.

Soon, my story about the lost grandmothers was published and I received several emails from editors and agents who were interested in seeing what I was working on. I cried a lot that week. It felt like my grandmother had sailed her ship up and out and into fancy offices in New York and said, “I’d like to introduce you to my granddaughter. I think she’s a pretty good writer.” It felt like she had found a way, in death, to support me as energetically as she had in life.

I had been working on No One is Here Except All of Us and because writing a first novel is an exercise in ambient terror I really, really, really wanted it to be done. I knew in my heart that it wasn’t finished but I wanted it to be because I had gotten it in my head that the end was the part that mattered. There was that castle up there on the hill, all glittery. So I sent it to the people who’d written to me. And I waited.

While we got a zillion immunizations and made critical decisions regarding the two pairs of shoes we’d wear for a year, I started to receive rejection letters from agents. At best, they thought the writing was good but the story confusing. At worst they had no idea what I was doing. When we finally left for our trip, I’d heard back from everyone except one editor at a small press. I held hope.

Teo and I landed in Morocco and it was beautiful and wonderful and we ate lamb sausages at a street stand where they periodically rewarmed your dish of fat so that you were better able to soak it up with fresh bread. We rode camels. We ran down dunes in the Sahara. We drank tea in a tent with nomads who had ten children each and I took notes in my official non-fiction writer notepad, which was my only credential.

And then I got a long email from the lone editor. The only thing I remember was the answer: I don’t want to publish this book. Maybe I’d been wrong, I thought. Maybe I had misread the signs. Maybe I wasn’t such a good writer after all. We ate more lamb sausages and also these really amazing donuts on a string. Rejection sucks. Food helps.

Since then I have gotten to know a lot of writers and I know now we’ve all been there. Not the same thing at the same time, but the truth is always there: sometimes it’s so hard, and you really don’t know how to make your work work, and it feels like months or years of may have been wasted and you continue to be, beyond all heroic efforts, right smack in the middle of the job, rather than at the end, as you had so brightly hoped. People will tell you that you need a thick skin to be a writer, what with all that disappointment and rejection, but I think part of what makes a good writer is the ability to be porous, to be able to feel all the intricate and complicated notes, the particular music of each moment. No writer should turn the volume down on her own emotional register. That’s her instrument. We have to feel everything. Which also sucks. That’s where the donuts come in.

* * * *

I let the novel drift to the back of my mind. We explored Gaudi’s buildings in Spain, spent our entire daily budget on pasta in Venice, found the villages in Ukraine from which both my husband’s and my own family came. We bought postcards in a museum in Syria—neither of us could imagine the war that would soon overtake that beautiful, warm country—of these disarmingly sweet Sumerian clay statues with grass skirts and huge eyes who look as if they want to make your whole life better, and we sat at the shore of the Euphrates writing poems on the postcards in the voice of those statues about living and loving during the bronze age. I remember wishing so much that I could mail one to my grandmother who would have been the most appreciative of anyone.

Over those weeks between the final rejection letter and the Middle East, there had been a lot of long bus and train rides and one very vomitous crossing of the Black Sea by ferry and on all of them, I thought about my possibly dying novel. Some days I thought, forget it, it’s over. I’ll try something else. Other days I missed working on it, remembered it fondly, like a favorite cousin. Other days I thought maybe I’d make five beautiful cloth-bound copies to give my relatives and forget about writing after that.

And then I had an idea that seemed like it might change the story. I saw the next step towards making the novel better. This was great news, of course, except that there we were in Egypt. Fortunately, my sweet husband was glad to take a break from travel and he swam in the Red Sea and snorkeled and drank milkshakes with a litter of stray kittens curled up on his lap while I sat on our two-foot wide porch with a package of locally branded “Boreo” cookies and a view of Saudi Arabia in the distance, and I changed the point-of-view for my entire novel. It was a total experiment. When I’m stuck, I tell myself, “You’re right. It’s a big mess, probably irreversible. How about we just pretend to try and fix it?” Richard Bausch says, “You can’t ruin a piece of writing, you can only make it necessary to go back and try again.” So I dove in. And it felt good to be trying something. And I could feel how the change was opening the book up. At the end of the week we had a little party. The Boreo cookies were joined by a bottle of “Gordoon’s” gin. I had lots and lots of work ahead, but a passage is a passage.

* * * *

We continued on in our journey. We watched huge herds of giraffe cross the Great Rift Valley in Kenya, rafted down the White Nile in Uganda, rode on a bus driven by an actual giant who ate what can only be described as bouquets of chicken skewers as he honked and weaved. I was completely filled up by what the world was made of—the beauty and the sadness and the lives being lived in fancy cities and humble cities, in grasslands and deserts. I dutifully conducted my interviews, continued my research and tried to believe in my journalist alter-ego. We made our way to the far north of Kenya where I talked to a Samburu woman who was one of five wives and had six children who, once weaned, often subsisted on a mix of cow’s milk and blood let from the living animal’s neck.

The research was fascinating, but something started to happen: I began to dread the job ahead. I hadn’t even begun to begin and I was already running out of spark. The project I had outlined was something I wanted to read, and not so much something I wanted to write. I thought of one of my favorite pieces of writing advice, from Jim Shepard. He says, “Follow your weird.” In other words, only spend your time on things that are your very own. I knew that this was not my dearest wish, this book I’d been researching. I knew that I this wasn’t my work. It was sad to let go, and I also felt like I had wasted my fellowship money and made a promise I couldn’t keep to my grandmother.

* * * *

India was our halfway-point. In a small city in Rajasthan, in a half crumbling hotel that had once been a palace, I began to panic. I began to think of plans B through Z. No one wanted my novel. Maybe it was better now, after my binge revision, but maybe it wasn’t. Even I didn’t want my nonfiction project. While we ate butter masala and naan, I considered becoming a midwife. While we walked through the marigold scattered temples, I thought maybe I should be a zookeeper. I even emailed a friend who raised money for the Portland Zoo and asked how a person became the elephant tender. She wrote back, “Um, you need an advanced degree in zoology. Last I checked you were a fiction writer.” At night, listening to the tuk-tuks whiz by, I planned to open an artisanal snow-cone stand. I spent weeks this way, manufacturing alternatives.

Then I ducked into an Internet café and found an email with the subject line “Your Work.” It was from an editor at a big publisher in New York who’d read the story of the grandmothers, of my grandmother, and wanted to know what I was working on. The power went out in the café while I was sitting there and I was pretty sure I’d dreamed the whole thing. I waited half an hour, the power came on, and the email was real. It was a tiny crack, just a sliver of light, but my desire to walk through that opening filled my entire self. That was what I wanted to do most of all—the fact-gathering, zookeeping, baby-catching, and snow cones would have to wait—I wanted to finish this novel, not be done with it, but to actually see it through because it was a story that mattered to me to tell. And I realized how much energy I’d been spending thinking of plans B through Z. I had been all but insuring that what I most wanted—to write—would fail, by spending all my time drafting insurance policies against it. I resolved to ignore the fear until I had really and truly let this story become its biggest, most complete self.

I was relieved that I didn’t have to keep up the pretense of being a journalist, though I kept talking to people because their stories interested me. I didn’t think of it as research anymore. I didn’t worry about whether it was productive.

A few months, a few countries later, it was time to go home. I was sad that our trip was ending but I was looking forward to having a kitchen and a couple of bowls and I was looking forward to getting back to work.

My husband and I lived in a two hundred square foot house for a few months to keep expenses down so I could write full time. While it snowed and thawed and snowed and thawed, I sat on a child-sized couch for twelve hours a day, feeding the wood-stove and working. I fell into the novel in a way I never had. I was completely in it. I kept thinking of more and more that I wanted to breathe into it. It took up my entire self.

I corresponded with the editor who’d written to me in Calcutta. I did not offer to show her my novel because it was not ready yet, but she sent my stories to her favorite agent and he loved them. Finally, several months later, I was ready. I emailed what I think was the 16th draft of the book. By then I could practically recite the novel by heart.

That weekend I was looking through old boxes at my mom’s house and discovered some of my grandmother’s travel journals. One was from Syria, and out fell a photograph of the exact same Sumerian clay statues that I had seen in Damascus. At the top of the photograph in her handwriting it said, “Our attentive staff are here to make you feel at home.” Not only had my grandmother and I fallen in love with the same figurines half a world away and 20 years apart, but we’d had the same joke. She’d been with me all along, of course she had.

A couple of weeks later, my agent submitted the novel manuscript to publishers. I flew to New York. I was standing on the corner of 86th and Broadway in front of an exuberant grocery-store fish display when my phone rang. The editor whose email I’d received in Calcutta, into whose hands the story about my grandmother had sailed, had bought my books. I tried to play it cool on the phone and then I hung up and screamed and jumped up and down. It was New York so no one even noticed.

But this part surprised me. My very first thought was pure joy: “Now I get to write another one.” There I was at the finish line, that dreamed-of place, the goal I had once sprinted so hard to get to, and the best part, the magnificent part, was that I’d get to start all over at the beginning. Spend another few years in the dark mysterious chambers of a story I would understand a little better by the day. We’re all rushing along towards the end, but it turns out the middle has been the prize all along.

* * * *

Seven years later I am putting the polishing touches on a collection of stories about people far away from home the world over. So many of the places we went on our trip are in the book. So much of what I thought about on those buses and trains are in the book. Some of my research for the abandoned nonfiction project is in the book. Except there’s no pretense, no stretching to do what I think others would want. This version is all me. There are innumerable challenges to writing but there are also blessings. No work is ever wasted. Even if one throws something away, it leaves behind seeds. I’m so glad I tried the book that didn’t work because it turned into another one that does.

* * * *

When that student asked me how to write a novel I told her every true thing I know: Read 50 pages a day, which is the quickest way I know to get better. Stay in the chair until you’ve done that day’s work. Sit there right until the moment when you think you’ve had enough, then stay 20 minutes. Turn the Internet off. Leave the page knowing what you’ll work on tomorrow. Go places, love people, be good, be bad. Live as much life as you possibly can and then give it all away to your pages.

I did everything I could to give this writer the map to the castle. But here’s what I know: when she finally gets there, all she’ll find is a chair and desk. And it will be the most beautiful thing in the world.

https://lithub.com/how-to-be-a-writer-the-map-is-the-territory/

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thiamfresh · 7 years ago

Note

Hey :) for the prompt thing - number 47 ?? I feel like that would be something Theo would say to Liam

Hey :) I used this for Day 3 of Thiam week.

(sorry my Thiam week is late, had a friend visiting)

Liam hated Theo.

He’d thought, maybe, just maybe there was some small redeeming quality about him, that somewhere deep down in his cold lifeless heart he’d be able to find the tiniest shred of humanity but no. Theo was pure unadulterated evil. He was the devil in disguise, he was hell spawn. He was a vicious, arrogant, manipulative cheater.

And he was winning.

“If you touch it I will kill you.” Liam growled. Theo’s eyebrows raised, lips curling into a smirk. Liam narrowed his eyes as Theo raised a finger to his lips brushing his tongue across it before he moved to flip through his fake money.

“Mason.” Theo sung, waving his newly counted cash at the boy. A low rumble rolled from Liam’s chest.

“Mason don’t you dare take that money.” Liam hissed.

“Please don’t bring me into this.” Mason said desperately, inching away from the table.

“It’s your job Mason. I want to buy bond stre-” Theo started.

“Don’t you dare give him that property!” Liam snapped.

“Maybe we should play something else?” Scott suggested, clutching his own paper money to his chest like a distressed damsel.

“We’re not playing anything else I'm going to beat him fair and square.”

“Yeah! Crush him Liam!” Stiles cheered.

“You shut up!” Liam gruffed. “This is your fault in the first place!” Stiles’s face twisted into a pout.

“Liam it’s monopoly. It’s not a big de-” Scott tried.

“You don’t get to talk either!” Liam screamed. Scott backed down. Lydia let out a shallow sigh from where she was curled on the couch.

“I told you we shouldn’t play monopoly.” Corey mumbled.

“I thought it would be fun!” Stiles said stiffly. “I didn’t realise they’d go all-”

“Liam, I get it.” Theo said calmly. “You don’t like loosing so if you want we can just call it a draw now and end the game.” Liam grit his teeth, anger burning through him.

“I’m not going to draw with you. You’re cheating!”

“No, I’m just winning.” Theo said, Liam felt his claws threatening to slide out as Theo looked back at him calm and smug, lips twitching into a smile and eyes fucking sparkling. Liam hated it, he hated him. He hated this stupid game and Stiles for suggesting it.

“I’ll tell my mom you’re a drug dealer and have you kicked out.” Liam threatened. Theo’s gaze fluttered in surprise before he started to laugh, loud and real and Liam hated that it left his heart fluttering.

“You’re going to kick me out because I'm beating you at monopoly?”

“Well, you’re obviously well versed in stealing properties from people!” Liam hissed. Theo only looked more amused, lips pulled back in a genuine smile.

“You know what. Alright, kick me out.” Theo said. “Mason. Give me bond street.” Mason, the traitor, took Theo’s money and replaced it with the new property card and a little house. “That won’t do. Give me a hotel.”

“You son of a bitch.” Liam said, seething as Theo placed his nice little red hotel onto the board with a flourish.

“You know.” Theo hummed, tossing the dice to Liam. “You’re cute when you’re angry.” The dice slipped through Liam’s fingers, landing on the table with a thud. Liam’s eyes flickered from the dice to Theo, eyes wide heartbeat galloping in his chest. Theo’s smile grew.

“Even someone I liked wouldn’t be able to distract me from this game. You have no chance.” Liam said, proud of how steady he kept his voice. Theo’s smile dropped, his jaw working as he grit his teeth together. Liam caught the scent of embarrassment rolling off of him.

“I’m gonna go pick up some food.” Corey said, standing up suddenly. “Theo can you give me a ride?”

“Lydia. Take over for me.” Theo said. Liam blinked in confusion. Theo never backed down when he was about to beat Liam at a game, no matter what threat Liam threw at him. He’d even claimed he’d send Theo back to hell during a tense game of snap (they were bored and it was four am) and Theo hadn’t stopped playing, sure he’d punched him, but he hadn’t stopped playing.

“Why me?”

“Scott’s still playing and those two-” Theo jabbed a thumb towards Stiles and Malia. “-would throw the game just to piss me off.”

“Just wait till the games over.” Liam said stiffly. If he was going to lose the dumb game he didn’t want to have to be a hand me down loss. That was just insulting like he wasn’t good enough for Theo to even beat himself.

“Lydia’s smarter than I am.” Theo said. “Let’s go, Corey.” Liam watched as Theo left mouth gaping open.

“We’re in the middle of a game!” Liam shouted. Theo didn’t reply. He heard the door to Theo’s truck close and the car pull away from the drive. “Stupid assh-” Liam froze when he saw all eyes on him.

“What?” Liam asked. No one said anything. Lydia moved sitting across from Liam at the table with an impassive face as she eyed the board critically. Scott lowered his money back to the table, eyes flickering between it and Liam. The room stayed in an uncomfortable silence.

“You know. I thought it’d feel nice to watch Theo get slapped down a peg but I’m actually feeling embarrassed for him.” Stiles whistled. “I mean Liam, dude, that was cold. Great, but cold.” Which did absolutely nothing to help clear things up for Liam.

“Corey’s got it.” Mason hummed. “Liam it’s still your go.”

“Corey’s got what?” Liam asked. “Why are you all acting like I just kicked a puppy?”

“You sort of did.” Mason said, shifting from his place on the floor.

“A murderous puppy but a puppy none the less.” Lydia said seriously.

“What?”

“I think they’re talking about how Theo’s been flirting with you for months and you haven’t noticed and the moment you did you shot Theo down in front of everyone. Like nuclear, have no mercy, shot him down.” Malia said. “Can we play something else now I'm bored?”

“Once I win.” Lydia said. “Liam take your-”

“Wait what?” Liam asked. “I didn’t shoot him down. He was trying to distract me and-”

“Sweetheart, he’d won this game twenty minutes ago.” Lydia said sweetly. “He didn’t need to distract you.” Liam laughed, a small somewhat hysterical bubble.

“Guys, Theo wasn’t flirting with me.” Liam said slowly, urging them to understand. “He says dumb stuff like that all the time it doesn’t mean anything.” The looks that he got in return to his statement told him they felt very very different about that. “Maybe I pissed him off threatening to kick him out or maybe he was just really hungry. It wasn’t about that.”

“I bet you ten dollars he doesn’t come back tonight.” Malia said.

“You can’t be serious?”

“I’m with Malia. He’ll be licking his wounds.” Stiles said.

“He’s coming back.” Liam scoffed. “Let’s just play.” Liam rolled the dice.

He lost, both the stupid monopoly game. Lydia wiped the floor with him and Scott, and the bet that he didn’t actually agree to take part in. Corey came back alone with his arms full of pizza boxes and a small smile.

“Sorry.” Corey hummed. “Theo had to head home so I had to walk back and-”

“He went home?” Liam asked. Corey dropped the pizza’s onto the now finish monopoly game giving a small nod.

“Told you.” Malia said.

“Licking all those wounds.” Stiles garbled past a mouthful of steaming pizza. Liam’s stomach clenched.

“No.” Liam said. “He...No?” Liam looked to Mason for reassurance but the boy just gave a sad shrug. “But Theo isn’t interested in me. Not like that.” Liam was met with varying ‘oh honey’ looks that made his eyes widen. “No! I didn’t, he..he flirts with all of you how was I meant to realise he was serious?!” Panic settled in Liam’s stomach as he replayed earlier in his mind. Theo had called him cute and he’d basically laughed in his face. He knew Theo wasn’t the best with showing emotions, even after almost a year of living down the hall from each other Theo had only just started opening up to him about certain things.

And if Liam had just humiliated him when he tried to be more open.

“I need to go.” Liam said scrambling off of the floor.

He’d expected to come home to Theo crying in his room. Sure, he’d try to hide it, his cheeks would be clear of tear tracks and his eyes would hold no emotion but Liam would be able to smell the salt of his freshly wiped off tears in the air and see the redness around his eyes and he’d be able to say 'I like you too, sorry for sort of rejecting you in front of everyone.’ and then things would go back to normal, but better than normal. Because he could finally stop hating himself for the flutter in his heart whenever Theo smiled because he wouldn’t be living in pathetic unrequited…feelings, anymore. They’d argue and Liam would try to kill him over board games but it would be good.

Or maybe for Theo’s room to be clear of his things and his truck to be gone as he ran away realising that Liam and the pack weren't worth it and fled town.

He definitely hadn’t been expecting to find his Mom soaked from head to toe carrying boxes out from the basement as he heard Theo’s swearing reverberating through the floorboards.

“Oh thank god.” Mrs Geyer sighed. “This is the last of the boxes but I think Theo could really use your help fixing the pipe.”

“Um..”

“I need to make sure the pictures aren’t ruined and call an actual plumper and-” Theo let out another angry curse from the basement. “Please sweetie, I could really use your help.” Liam nodded dumbly, making his way to the basement. He stepped down the creaky stairs, Theo was easy to find, standing underneath a spraying pipe a torch dangling from one hand as his other span a bolt uselessly. The floor was up to his ankles in water. His jeans rolled up to his knee’s as if it would help keep him dry even as he stood beneath the spraying pipe spitting out water. The water sloshed around Liam’s foot as he stepped into the cool water. Theo’s head snapped round, eyes meeting his.

“You know anything about plumbing? I could use a hand.” Theo grumbled.

“Not really.” Liam admitted, inching closer. Theo sighed turning back to the pipe.

“Go on youtube or something. Your Mom doesn’t know how to turn the water off and I'd rather not drown so-”

“I like you!” Liam blurted. Theo froze for a moment before slowly turning back to look at him. Liam gulped wading through the water towards him. “A lot and I know I can get a bit…temperamental when we play games but I just..hate loosing and you’re always so smug and so when you said that I thought you were joking and trying to win and so I just..snapped back. If I thought you were serious I wouldn’t have, even though I thought I knew you weren’t my heart was still pounding at hearing you call me cute because like I said. I like you too and it scares the crap out of me because I was sure you didn’t like me back and I didn’t want to say anything to ruin the friendship we’ve built because I like being your friend. You’re an annoying pain in the ass who I'm sure cheats at most of the things we play but I do really really like you... I think I might even love you to be honest and I didn’t mean to upset you, or embarrass you and I never meant to reject you but-”

“Liam what the hell are you talking about?” Theo asked eyes wide, water dripping from his hair into the flooded basement with little splats.

“What do you mean what the hell am I talking about? I rejected you and you ran off with Corey then came home to lick your wounds!”

“What?” Theo’s brows pinched in confusion.

“You left with Corey tonight and didn’t come back!”

“I came home because your Mom called me and asked me to.” Liam’ next words died on his throat at Theo’s admission. “Did you just say you think you love me?”

“No. What? No.” Liam stuttered. “No you…You left with Corey. In the middle of monopoly-”

“Yeah, because I lost that bet last week. I bargained a month of playing chauffeur to Corey.” Theo said slowly. Liam felt himself paling as he remembered the stupid bet Corey and Theo had going on who could sneak up on Liam the most in one day.

“So uh..You weren’t-” Liam let out a nervous laugh. “You weren’t upset that I uh..rejected you then? Just everyone said that-”

“When did you reject me?”

“Oh my god.” Liam breathed.

This is not happening Liam was going to kill them all. How could he believe them, he’d been perfectly happy hiding his more than a crush for Theo for months. Why did he listen?

“Can we get back to the you lov-”

“No.” Liam said stiffly, heartbeat skyrocketing as embarrassment clawed through him making bile rise in his throat and his hands shake.

He made a fucking speech and Theo had just been being his normal asshole self. He couldn’t even feel happy that he’d been right in his first assessment because he’d been dumb enough to let the others sway his opinion.

“Liam.” Theo said, the water sloshed as he moved closer. Liam darted around him, eyes focusing on the stupid burst pipe as he tried to get his heart rate back to an acceptable level. He blinked tears of humiliation from his eyes as he scurried towards the water raining down from the ceiling. He couldn’t run away, that would be even more humiliating than staying.

The water was bitingly cold against his skin, drenching his top in moments as he fondled around to feel how big the break was. He swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing himself to focus n the task at hand.

“Have you tried using duct tape yet?” Liam said, voice only somewhat croaky.

“Are you really trying to change the subject right now?” Theo asked dryly.

“I got sent down here to fix the pipe. I’m not changing the subject, I'm doing what I came to do so-”

“Yeah, after randomly announcing your undying love for me.” Theo muttered. Liam growled spinning round. Theo was closer than he thought, the spray of the pipe catching him, little speckles of water landing on his cheeks.

“I didn’t say undying!” Liam hissed. Theo’s lips tilted in a smirk. “I said I think and you know what, I take it back you asshole. Everyone said that I rejected you and that you were sad and that you’d come home to lick things-”

“What?”

“and that you had..feelings, for me and of course I didn’t believe it but then Corey came back alone and yeah, I’m an idiot and I got excited because I thought maybe you weren’t a totally heartless bastard and actually had feelings.”

“The others convinced you I had feelings for you?” Theo asked, head tilting like a confused puppy. Lips still pulling in the frustrating smirk that Liam had never known whether he wanted to punch off or kiss off. “How stupid are you?”

Definitely punch it off.

“I’ve not exactly been subtle about it.” Theo continued. “I’ve been flirting with you for months, obnoxiously at times.”

“Everything you do is obnoxious.” Liam grumbled, eyes skirting past Theo. Theo growled, grabbing Liam’s chin and forcing him to meet his eyes.

“Are you actually so stupid you don’t hear what I’m saying right now? Theo hissed. “I like you.” Liam’s breath caught in his throat. “I’m genuinely horrified you would question that for even a second let alone have to have that pack of idiot’s spell it out for you.”

“If you liked me why aren’t you upset about what I said earlier?” Liam asked suspiciously.

“I can hear when you lie. Your 'rejections’ don’t hold all that much weight when I know you’re not telling the truth.” Theo said. Liam tried to shift away but Theo held him there, fingers slipping round the back of his neck, carding through the wet hairs there as green eyes bore into his. “I wanted to call you out on it so many times.” the words came out fractured, like it hurt Theo to remember it. “I wanted to prove you were lying.” Theo’s eyes lowered, settling on his lips leaving Liam’s heart pounding and his hands curling into fight fists. “I wanted to kiss you until you admitted you like me.”

“Why didn’t you?” Liam asked, the words coming out in a little gasp of breath as he remembered breathing was necessary. Theo’s eyes moved back up, meeting his leaving Liam breath sticking in his throat again.

“You suck at losing.” Theo said softly. Liam let out a snort of laughter. “No seriously. You broke my arm when we played mousetrap. Can you imagine if I proved you wrong about your own feelings? You might actually kill me.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re a danger to my health when your competitive side comes out.”

“If that’s true then you should stop trying to sabotage me every time we play something.” Liam grumbled. He was sure that Theo was cheating somehow. Even if he could never prove it.

“I would, but I like to win and like I said, you’re really cute when you’re angry.” Theo hummed regretfully. Fingers still carding through the end of Liam’s hair

“Kiss me.” Liam barely had the words out before Theo was swooping in, lips brushing against Liam’s burning the chill of cold water away. Liam pressed into it, hands unclenching for a moment only to grab at Theo’s wet top, dragging him closer as every fiber of his body shivered in relief.

“I don’t want to ruin your moment.” Theo pulled back from the kiss slowly. Liam ducked his head cheeks burning. As he listened to the creak of the bottom step as Mrs Geyer shifted her weight on it.

“Mom, How uh..how long have you been there?” Liam croaked.

“Since 'kiss me’.” Mrs Geyer said. “Which again, not trying to ruin your moment, it’s very cute, I support it, i’m happy for you yada yada but that really can’t be sanitary and our home is still flooding so if you could fix the pipe like I asked rather than using it for your 'kiss in the rain’ moment that would be really fantastic.”

“We’ll fix it now.” Theo said. “Sorry for uh..getting distracted.” Liam let out a small whine.

“Get distracted all you want, just make sure the house isn’t flooding and I’m not in to hear it first.”

“MOM!” Liam screeched.

“Honey, I was a teenager once to I know-” Theo’s chest rumbled in a laugh beneath Liam’s hands.

“Please stop.” Liam begged. Theo smiled at him, soft and fond.

“I’m going, but do the pipe now. You can ask him to go steady later.” Mrs Geyer said, leaving with a slap of feet against the stairs.

“No one calls it that.” Liam called as Theo pulled away moving back over to the pipe. Liam watched as he twisted at the bolt again.

“You gonna help or are you going to go on another 'I love you so much’ rant?” Theo asked. Liam huffed, stomping the two steps to meet his side.

“I’ll say again, I said I think That’s totally different from an actual..you know-”

“You know I do too right? Think I do with you that is.” Theo murmured.

“Yeah?” Liam breathed. Theo’s eyes flickered down to him a small grin tugging at his face.

“Yeah.”

#thiam #thiam week #thiam week 2017 #day 3 #games

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