#and frankly this would break ed in a delicious way

[ryanthedemiboy]

Now, i'm not usually a fan of edwin, but i had a thought: what if ed was infertile? Whether it was all the trips to the Gate, or physical traumas over the years, or a result of healing himself in Baschool, or whatever else...

What if Ed and Winry went to start a family, and couldn't?

Winry finally gets it into Ed that he's not his father, that he'd be a great father, and then... Nothing.

[edactually]

Ed POV - 7.1

What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck?

The question played on a loop in Ed’s head as Buttons drove him to the waiting tour bus on the other side of town.

When he’d invited Stede over to see him one last time before leaving, none of that had been a part of his plan. He was so exhausted that he’d gotten changed into his comfortable clothes as soon as he’d gotten home and taken a little nap. He knew Stede wouldn’t mind, he was always telling Ed to get more rest. 

After the whole thing with Sam, which Ed was still frankly clueless about (was he Stede’s boyfriend or not? Had they been going on dates this whole time without Ed knowing?), he’d resigned himself to the fact that Stede just didn’t see him that way. He’d used Ed for practice and then found someone else he actually liked to try things out on. Ed had served his purpose and now he was just a friend again.

He would have been angry about it, but he couldn’t blame Stede for his actions. Ed had offered himself up as practice after all, and it wasn’t like he’d told Stede the truth, so Ed could be hurt and he could be sad about it, but he couldn’t be angry.

He’d planned for a quiet night in where they would order a pizza and watch a movie - a casual, comfortable evening as friends. He hadn’t planned for Stede to show up with a suitcase and turn his world on its side. 

For a brief moment he had allowed himself to believe that Stede had packed a bag to come with him on tour. He said the suitcase was a gift and what a gift it would be to set out on tour and have Stede with him the whole time. Except of course it didn’t mean that, it was a literal gift. And Stede knew him well enough by now to understand Ed would open that suitcase the moment Stede’s back was turned and so he’d fitted it with a combination lock.

And Ed hadn’t planned for Stede to help him with his packing, the man had offered and rolled up the sleeves of his button-down shirt to expose those delicious forearms of his. He hadn’t planned for Stede to make him dinner either, especially not blueberry pancakes with bacon, which Stede remembered he had promised to Ed.

Any one of those things would have been enough to make Ed melt. Stede had swooped into his apartment and in under ten minutes had offered up three kind gestures with no expectation of reciprocation, just given freely because he wanted to do nice things for Ed.

It made his heart want to burst out of his ribcage and land at Stede’s feet in his own offering to the man.

Ed had spent the evening up to dinner convincing himself that this was just Stede being a good friend, that he was with Sam now and any romantic undercurrent to Stede’s actions was just Ed projecting his own desires.

And then the moment with the whipped cream had happened.

The air had been thick with sexual tension as Ed inadvertently licked Stede’s fingers as he tried to wipe the whipped cream smile from his mouth. And it wasn’t just him that felt it, right? It was too big, too obvious. Never mind an elephant in the room, that was a fucking blue whale. Stede breaking away from their locked gaze to throw a tea-towel at him had done nothing to alleviate it either. But if Stede hadn’t been comfortable enough to mention it, Ed wasn’t going to either.

The sleepover had also not been part of his plan. He’d put the last of his non-tour clothes away and then thought he could rest his eyes for just a minute before going back out to the living room. He’d been half-delirious when Stede had woken him up and asking if he had to leave had just been a slip of the tongue.

But Stede had stayed.

Stede had stayed, and he had slept in Ed’s bed with him.

Stede had stayed, and he had slept in Ed’s bed with him, and he had combed Ed’s hair until he’d fallen asleep.

And Ed had had lovely dreams even though they were just a series of disconnected images - fields of chamomile flowers, a giant teacup he’d used as a hot tub, edelweiss floating on a moonlit sea, a fading sunset where purple and blue streaked across the sky and melted into one another like velvet and silk. The one constant through all of it was that Ed felt warm and safe and cared for. He thought he felt Stede pressing up against him from behind, but awoke to see the man halfway across the bed lying on his back, so that had just been another dream.

And then Ed had thought he’d ruined things again by selfishly trying to keep Stede to himself on a Friday morning instead of letting the man leave for work but Stede had insisted he wasn’t going anywhere until he’d seen Ed safely off on his tour. When Stede had started talking about showers, it had been all Ed could do not to suggest they save time and water by sharing one, but he’d still been convinced Stede was just his friend and so he’d offered to use one of the other bathrooms. 

He’d chosen the one furthest away so Stede couldn’t hear Ed crying out his name as he took himself in hand in the shower and conducted his usual morning ritual of imagining Stede fucking him senseless. He was trying to be fast on purpose, but he had still come rather embarrassingly quickly at the thought of Stede telling Ed how pretty he looked riding his cock.

The rest of the morning had been rather business-like as they ate their breakfast (made again by Stede with Ed’s only meaningful contribution being a generous dusting of cinnamon and powdered sugar over the top of the french toast) and then finalised all of Ed’s packing.

Even though it was a friendly action, Ed had wondered if he was crossing a line by asking for a goodbye hug. And then while they were holding each other in a tight embrace, Stede had asked a question that set all of Ed’s nerve endings on fire. He’d asked when Ed couldn’t see his face, so he had no idea if Stede was serious about asking for a goodbye kiss. Ed had to spend a moment weighing up if it was worth taking the risk of assuming Stede meant it.

And holy fuck, he was glad that he had.

That had been no ordinary goodbye kiss.

That had been what Ed had waited weeks for.

It had started out gentle enough and Ed hadn’t expected it to last long, but he would gladly accept whatever affection he could get from Stede. But then Stede had deepened the kiss by pulling Ed in by his hair, and that had been the moment where Ed realised something had shifted between them.

He’d had his suspicions, but there had been nothing concrete, no undeniable proof that Stede wanted him. Not until Stede had invaded Ed’s mouth with his tongue and shoved him against the wall. It felt similar to the roof of Spanish Jackie’s in that they were both pawing at each other like animals, but different in the sense that Ed hadn’t been the one to initiate this time. Different in the way that Stede wasn’t just reacting to and matching Ed’s passion, but actively taking charge and showing Ed exactly what he wanted.

Ed had let him take the lead, thrilled at the prospect of it. Ed’s only moment of control had been waiting for the green light to get his hands on that perfect ass he’d been eyeing up since day one, and then making the move of pulling Stede close enough to feel Ed’s erection pressing through his jeans. He got to experience the absolute delight and gut-shuddering pleasure of Stede’s cock grinding against his own, and the sudden fury that there were multiple layers of fabric between them.

And then Stede had whispered the words Ed had been longing to hear and he knew he was a goner. He had fallen hook, line and sinker for Stede Bonnet and there was no way of clawing his way out of the grave he had dug for himself. But fuck, he could lie down and smile while dirt was shovelled on top of him if it meant he could have this just once.

And he had been close. So, so fucking close to feeling Stede’s hand on his cock for real and not just in his imagination, and the stupid fucking doorbell had chimed.

He had prayed for Stede to ignore it and carry on with what he’d been about to do and then there was the sound of that damn key and they’d had to spring apart and neaten themselves up in a matter of seconds.

Ed was going to take every spare key he had given to his most trusted friends for emergencies, and he was going to melt them all together and create a metal DO NOT DISTURB sign to hang from his front door.

He’d been so close to getting what he’d wanted for weeks, and he’d tried to recapture it as soon as Buttons had left, but the moment was lost. Fiery, passionate and take-charge Stede was gone, replaced with the usual thoughtful and gentle Stede who Ed equally adored, but wasn’t the side of the man’s personality he wanted to see at that moment.

Even though he’d promised to be a better friend and frontman to the guys, at that moment Ed would have cancelled the entire tour if Stede had asked him to. But no, Stede was too noble for that. It was both infuriating and admirable.

He went along with it but the tension still thrummed in the air, and the second they were closed in the elevator together, Ed was eyeing that emergency stop button. It would be a guarantee of uninterrupted time and perhaps they’d have a chance to finish what they’d started, but Stede had seized his wrist as soon as he reached out for the button. He was happy to laugh the moment off until Stede made the surprise comment about blowing him and suddenly Ed couldn’t concentrate on anything else.

Stede had only ever been intimate with one person, Ed had been his first kiss with a man, and Stede was so new to everything that he’d needed the concept of friends with benefits explaining and yet he had suggested that he’d been ready to give Ed a blowjob in an elevator.

Fucking hell.

Ed didn’t care how good or bad it might have been. It could have been completely artless with Stede asking for advice the whole time but Ed was confident he wouldn’t be able to last the second Stede got his mouth on his cock.

The goodbye kiss had been bittersweet but filled with promise, and then the elevator doors had closed and the metal box continued its descent down to the parking garage and Ed was left with lingering feelings of lust and loss and, if he was honest, a whole gut load of fear.

He’d gone through the motions of getting in the car, getting driven over to the waiting tour bus and helping the guys load the luggage before climbing onboard. The bus had four bunks with privacy curtains for them all to take naps in while on the road, but it was mostly just a means of transportation. In their early days, their entire lives had been on the tour bus, but now Ed was too old to spend an entire tour sleeping in a bunk, and they always had hotels waiting.

He tried to take a nap, but even without the sound of the guys thumping around and the steady shake as the bus set off, Ed knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He could think only of Stede, and the horrible twisting feeling in his gut that told him history had a tendency to repeat itself.

The last time he and Stede had had a passionate makeout session had been on the roof of Spanish Jackie’s and then they hadn’t seen each other for a week. In just that one week, all the promise that his friendship with Stede was going to develop into something more was lost. Absence hadn’t made the heart grow fonder, it had made Stede think twice, and then Ed had found himself on the receiving end of messages that had a strong ‘ it’s not you, it’s me ’ vibe.

It had been hard not to take the rejection personally when he’d spent that entire week absolutely giddy with anticipation at the thought of seeing Stede again, how he would wrap his arms around the man’s neck as soon as he opened the door and Ed would kiss him and kiss him and kiss him –

Fuck.

That had been torn away from him after just one week of separation and then they’d spent the rest of the month doing that awkward little ‘ should we or shouldn’t we ’ dance around one another. And there was still the matter of the Sam problem.

The way Stede had been with Ed didn’t lead him to believe Sam was Stede’s boyfriend, but what if he was wrong? What if Stede felt nervous around Sam and was using Ed as practice so he could put the same moves on the man he really liked when he had some more confidence? The thought of Stede kissing and touching Sam the same way he had with Ed that morning made him feel nauseous.

No, no. Stede wouldn’t use Ed like that. He wouldn’t. Stede had said he wanted him, that meant everything that had happened had all been because Stede wanted Ed, not Sam.

But they would still be apart for a month. Stede had said he would wait but what if he couldn’t? Boyfriend or not, Ed knew that Sam was still interested in Stede, not to mention all the other matches waiting for him on Grindr. Stede could have his pick and have his fun, there was no need to wait for Ed at all.

Ed tossed from side to side in his bunk, all to no avail.

His mind was filled with thoughts of Stede and sleep never came.

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[carewyncromwell]

[Ficlet] Sing Us the Song, You’re the Piano Man

Hey y’all, here comes another little drabble featuring Ed Rosier, as well as Sirius Black and Chess Thornton @cursebreakerfarrier. This one is set in the summer of 1995, right around the time Harry arrives at Grimmauld Place. For some context, Ed’s just joined the Order, but Sirius -- Chess’s once-again boyfriend -- is still sus as hell toward Ed, considering his schoolboy history. But maybe this might start to change...? We’ll just have to wait and see...

x~x~x~x

Sirius didn’t like being stuck in Grimmauld Place. It was unpleasant enough having to be trapped in the house he’d dreaded returning to every summer, surrounded by the old unpleasantly sneering portraits and grotesque house elf heads mounted on the wall -- but knowing that everyone else was out there risking their lives, getting into trouble, and more important being of use made it that bit more frustrating. 

Still, it was a little nicer having the old house being full of people than it being completely empty. When the Weasleys brought their whole family to stay there, at least more pleasant noises like laughter and exploding Dungbombs could be heard. And when other members of the Order were over, Molly would make even bigger, more delicious meals. When Remus was over, she’d usually bake a dessert with chocolate in it. When Chess was over most recently, she’d tried out a new recipe for avocado toast. And whenever Ed Rosier popped up, Molly went out of her way to prepare her very best cheesecake for him. 

Ah yes -- Ed “Zorro” Rosier. Sirius had known Ed was into music -- it was something Chess used to talk about when she defended him, that he was a lover and a poet, not a fighter. Sirius had frankly seen it as more proof that the idiot was more interested in play-acting in his own comfy little world than actually seeing things as they were, and from what little he’d heard of Ed’s group’s songs on the Wizarding Wireless Network (thanks, Ginny and Molly Weasley), the fluffy pop sound confirmed that judgment in his head. And yet despite this, everyone else had taken quite well to Ed, once he got it in his head to tune the piano in Sirius’s mother’s old study and play it to entertain the others whenever he had the chance to stop by. 

“I remember one of my old collaborators saying that every mundane task is easier to do, with a good song in your ears,” Ed had said to Ginny with a bright grin one day. “If you all have to be stuck in here undoxying the curtains and dusting the chandeliers, at least a song might help all that go a bit faster, eh?”

And so now whenever Ed was over, he’d play the piano in the study while everyone else was working. Sirius used to be sour that he wouldn’t just get off his arse and help, but Molly used to insist he was working -- and admittedly Ed always did look like he’d worked up a sweat, playing through every single request hollered cheerfully up at him from Tonks, Fred, George, and the others. But really, after playing and singing songs like Bon Jovi’s “Living on a Prayer” and the Weird Sisters’ “Do the Hippogriff” solely on a piano forte for two hours straight with no breaks, wouldn’t anyone be a little tired? 

Despite Sirius’s irritation, though, Ed’s music had a noticeable effect on everyone else. Molly very regularly asked him to play one of Celestina Warbeck’s songs, while Fred and George always bugged him to play stuff by the Weird Sisters. Hermione and Ginny would sometimes spend their breaks from cleaning standing beside the piano and asking Ed questions while he played some of Hermione’s favorites, like Madonna’s “Express Yourself.” When Remus arrived in the middle of a cleaning session one day while Ed was playing, he actually made a point to stop upstairs so he could watch Ed play his attempt at Fleetwood Mac’s “Everywhere.” Even when Harry finally arrived, he -- after some encouragement from Ron and Hermione -- called up to Ed asking if he could play something by Elton John, to which Ed laughed and shouted back his compliments before settling on “The Circle of Life.” And of course when Chess was over, she would spend a lot of her time with her best friend at the piano, talking and laughing with him as Ed played more and more ambitious pieces to show off in front of her and make her smile. 

It irked Sirius just a little. Or maybe more than a little. Particularly since, really, even he had to admit, Ed was pretty damn good. 

The day of Harry’s trial, Ed ended up swinging by very early in the morning. He’d apparently thought everyone might need something to start their day off right, so he’d decided to pop in early that morning, before almost everyone was awake. He sneaked upstairs to the parlor as quietly as he could, lingering only briefly outside the door of Regulus’s room before deciding it probably wouldn’t be respectful to go anywhere he wasn’t explicitly given permission to go, and then settled himself at the piano and started to play. This time, however, the tune was unfamiliar to everyone who heard it -- it played several times over, in slightly different keys and at different rhythms. 

Sirius hadn’t felt Chess get up. It was only when he slowly inched awake that he realized she wasn’t in bed with him, as she’d ended up the previous night. Frowning slightly, he brushed his hair out of his face and, pulling on a shirt and pants, opened the door out into the hall. He caught the sound of Ed’s singing voice several doors down, and he sidled down the hall toward it, rubbing his temple and eyes with one hand irritably. 

“...The world esteems perfection, dreams

Of dolls made of glass, brimming with class;

And society derides all those besides:

The oddballs and freaks and all the outcasts...

And yet here we are, my most precious star,

Two buds on a tree, strange as can be,

Hiding our flaws behind a set of claws...

For as beasts, we know we can never be free.”

Sirius didn’t recognize the song. It had a rather pop-like rhythm, but with nothing but the piano underneath, it made the lyrics take center stage more, making the tune more of a ballad, an ode. A love song. 

“Our blood makes a chain I can hardly explain,

Locking us down past all light and sound;

Silence is strong, but it doesn’t last long...

It’s far, far too late when we find that we’ve drowned.”

The rhythm seemed almost too light for the words being sung, to Sirius’s ears. It felt like such a sentiment should be melancholy, bitter, resentful -- and yet the words in Ed’s voice were thoughtful and oddly resilient. Wise, almost. 

“So hold me, oh hold me,

Hold me still tighter;

If I get killed, at least I’m fulfilled.

Hold me, oh hold me,

Closer, still closer;

If I’m Hell bound, at least I’m found.

Hold me...please hold me...

“And that’s all I’ve got so far,” Ed said. “I figured I could hash out the coda, once I let the others hear the first part and I’ve made any alterations.” 

His piano playing continued for several more stanzas, even though his singing had stopped.

Sirius’s eyebrows knit together. So this song was one of his, then. No wonder he hadn’t recognized it.

I suppose I’ll hear it on the WWN next, underneath a whole layer of sighing vocals and fluffy synthesizers, thought Sirius dryly. 

He had been ready to round the corner and say that, but what Chess said next made that thought disappear entirely.

“...It’s about Regulus, isn’t it?”

Sirius halted mid-step, just outside the door frame. Chess and Ed both had their backs to him, with Chess standing over Ed sitting in front of the piano. Her voice was soft, but she was smiling all the same. 

And as Sirius watched, little by little, Ed’s face slowly broke out into a tender, fond smile too. 

“...All of them are,” he said softly. 

His smile became a bit more of a fond grin as he closed his eyes and bowed his head almost bashfully. 

“Well, all the love songs, anyway...I did write a few about leaving home, as well...”

Chess gave his shoulder a supportive squeeze. “It’s really beautiful, Eddie...I know Reg would love it.”

Ed’s steel blue eyes glinted with a strange emotion as he reached up to squeeze Chess’s hand in return, leaning his head against her shoulder. 

“...Thanks, Kit.”

Recovering himself at last, Sirius backed up out of the room before either of them could turn around and see him. He stood in the hall, his gray eyes drifting away as his thoughts raced.

He’d heard the rumors at school, that Ed Rosier and his brother had something going on behind closed doors, of course he had. He’d known it was ridiculous, at least from the perspective of them having a sexual affair -- Regulus was “the good boy,” and Ed was cut from the same cloth, so they’d both have been too interested in doing whatever Mummy and Daddy said, rather than actually think for themselves about anything. But even so, Sirius remembered how inseparable Regulus and Ed had been -- it was part of the reason he was so distrustful of Ed in the first place. Regulus had been all gung-ho about blood purity until he’d gotten cold feet and died trying to leave the Death Eaters...if Ed was like Regulus, then how could Sirius be sure Ed wouldn’t chicken out of the Order when things got scary? How could he be sure Ed wouldn’t be like Peter and abandon the people who were relying on him to try to save his own skin? 

And yet...hearing Ed talk about Regulus, like this -- so fondly, so...gently -- and after so many years...it shook Sirius. 

Sirius returned to bed. Later that morning, Sirius approached Chess about it at breakfast. 

“Did Rosier mean that?” 

Chess frowned. “Mean what?”

“What he said to you this morning. About Regulus.”

Chess seemed to silently decide to skip asking how much he’d heard or why he’d been eavesdropping. Her face was very serious. 

“Every word,” she said solemnly. “Your brother meant the world to Ed, Sirius.”

This sentiment stuck with Sirius for the next several weeks. Ed wasn’t in as often, those last two weeks of summer, presumably because of schedule band gigs, so Molly had taken to keeping the radio on, to try to fill the house with music in Ed’s stead. But whenever one of Spellb🔮und’s songs came on now, Sirius didn’t scoff and roll his eyes: instead he listened more carefully to the words, buried underneath all that fluff and bubblegum editing...and sure enough...

“With you on my mind, you’ve become my key,

Opening each door, making it so easy…

With you in my heart, I’ve never been more free,

Chasing those dreams you once had for me!

I’m wild, alive, born again as a flame!

You can see sparks in my eyes…

From now on, this world will know my name…

Like a Phoenix, I shall rise.”

___

“Wish I may, wish I might,

For today, for tonight,

That though you’re far from my sight,

You’ll still somehow lead me right.”

___

“The way you hold your quill oh so correctly;

The way you bow to the masses so perfectly;

The way you always, completely respect me;

The way your eyes shine and somehow reflect me;

The way I will always, without fail, protect you;

These are the reasons I’ll never forget you.”

They were about Regulus. All of Spellb🔮und’s love songs that WWN played on repeat...they were all about his brother.

One day just before the Hogwarts school year was set to start, Chess came in for a visit. Tonks directed her to the drawing room, and Chess had entered prepared to greet Sirius with a hug and a smile -- only to find him instead slouched on the couch, his head resting on his arms, as he listened to the bright red radio set up on the side table. His gray eyes were very stormy as he stared intently at it, listening carefully. 

Chess approached carefully, her eyebrows knit together in concern -- when she got close enough to hear what was playing, though, understanding dawned on her. 

“Help me prove I’m more than I seem –

Though no one else can see your gleam…”

It was the first song Chess had heard by Spellb🔮und -- the one she’d instantly recognized as something Ed wrote. Her blue eyes softened sadly as she lowered herself onto the couch next to Sirius, bringing a hand down onto his shoulder. Sirius looked at her, his gray eyes rippling with something oddly melancholy. 

“...It...doesn’t sound like Reg,” he said lowly. “And yet...it does.”

Chess tilted her head. Sirius exhaled through his nose, his head lowering so that his arms obscured his mouth and nose. 

“The words about how he stands, and wrinkles his nose, and holds his quill ‘oh so correctly’ -- that sounds just like him. It’s so him, it’s almost stupid. But other parts...it’s almost too soft, too emotional, too...”

“Affectionate?” proposed Chess. 

Sirius straightened his back, raising a hand in a rather “exactly!”-like hand-gesture. 

“Like words out of one of those romance novels Lily used to read...where the romantic heroine sees this ‘handsome prince’ under this modest exterior...”

Something flickered in Sirius’s eyes as they drifted back down to his folded arms. 

“...I’ve...never heard anyone talk about Regulus like that before,” he admitted. “Sure, Mum and Dad used to gush about their precious baby boy, the son that would ‘uphold the Black family legacy’ and all that, but...they never said anything about how he ‘bowed to the masses’ or ‘hid his flaws,’ or ever acted like he was anything other than happy with how things were...”

Sirius’s eyes grew a bit smaller. 

“...It’s...strange.”

Chess gently rubbed the back of Sirius’s shoulder with her hand in something of a reassuring massage. 

“Love often can be, so I’ve heard,” she said gently. 

[wifeofkimtaehyungofbts]

Chapter 11

>> Pairing: Taehyung x Y/N, Taehyung x reader

>> Words: 2,379

>> Notes: I’m going to upload a new chapter whenever possible. Please bear with my hectic schedule! You may leave asks and let me know what you think of my writing (:

Synopsis: You run into a rather strange man one night. He seems terrified, as if fighting battles only he can see. He seems detached from the world, talking only to a voice inside his head. Oh, another strange fact: he keeps talking about angels. You discover later that you were the angel he was praying to.

>> Previous / Next

**

“Hey"

I jolted at the sudden voice echoing against the walls of the eerily quiet changing room of the McDonald’s.

Jungkook was leaning against the door. His apron was thrown over his shoulder and he cocked his head at me.

“Wanna go out tonight?”

“Huh?” I wasn’t quite sure I heard him right. Jeon Jungkook. The guy that hardly ever talks to anyone. The handsome guy who shies away from girls at the cashier trying to get his number. The guy who leaves work without sparing a second for an after-work chat with his colleagues. Wants to go out with me?

I continued to stare at him in shock. Instead of breaking the awkward silence between us, he stared back at me. His dark chocolate brown eyes looked deep. Not in the romantic sense. It almost seemed like there was an entirely different person behind them. If the person differed from the one who stood before me in a good way or a bad way, I couldn’t tell. But what I could tell was that if I didn’t reply fast, we'd be staring into each other for all of eternity.

“Don’t you have work?” I raised an eyebrow at him. “You are supposed to fill me in tonight because Felix had an emergency at his house and couldn’t make it”

“I got someone else to cover for me" he shrugged.

I wanted to know more but I figured it didn’t really matter as long as my shift was covered and he didn’t get into trouble either.

“Gimme a minute. I need to wash my face” I said turning my back on him.

As I busied myself removing my hair tie and gathering my hair in a bun, I felt someone lightly brush against my back.  I wanted to turn but it felt too cold.

“You look beautiful Y/N" Jungkook whispers, his warm breath blowing the hair at the top of my head.

In reflexive panic, I grabbed my bag pack and dashed to the girl’s bathroom. I couldn’t calm my racing heart as I tried to shake off the eerie coldness I felt a few seconds ago.

Why did Jungkook come onto me so suddenly? And what’s with the compliment? I mean sure, thank you but it felt so off. He didn’t sound sweet or shy when he said it. He sounded stern, like he was stating a matter of fact I better believe else.... else?

Else what, Y/N? He was going to kill you??

I slapped myself for overthinking and washed my face before hurrying to the front. My colleagues were busy with customers so I couldn’t wave them goodbye. I stepped outside to the chilly air, spotting Jungkook standing by the road. I walked up to him and smiled warmly.

He looked down at me and smiled back. “Do you like pizza?”

“Who doesn’t!” I giggled, already drooling at the mere idea of pizza.

He laughed as we started walking towards the Arthur’s Pizzeria around the corner.

**

We were seated by the window across from each other. The table was too big for just us two, but we were glad no one else attempted to sit with us. It was fine, just the two of us.

We ordered our pizzas and spoke about ourselves as we waited for the food.

I found out Jungkook is from Busan and he was studying music at the campus. He was in fact a top graduate from Busan Arts School along with some guy whose name Jungkook doesn’t remember. He likes to play video games and tries new activities every weekend. Last week he had attempted fishing with a friend of his and they ended up catching no fish but a cold so bad, Jungkook requested for an extension on his vocal exam. Oh, and he hates reading.

I told him about the time I submitted the wrong thesis paper for my semester end assignment and had to retake the whole module all over again in the next semester. He asked my favourite colour, movie and book. He judged me for being a book worm and laughed when I pouted at him in annoyance.

Our food arrived soon and we didn’t talk as we devoured the delicious, thin, saucy pizza. I caught him watching me from the corner of my eye but I made no attempt to eat decently. It’s not like I want to impress him or anything anyways.

Three girls seated at the table next to us wooow’ed at the sight of Jungkook. They turned their attention to me and stared on with disgust.

“What’s someone like him doing with someone like her?”

“God knows! See this is why we never get to experience anything good. Because the good guys are always after someone so random”

“It must be true love if he actually chose someone like her. I mean, look at her hair!”

I could even hear their eye rolls as loud as I heard their words. It pricked and I found myself slowing my eating. I suddenly couldn’t chew anymore. I felt restrained. Like someone had put handcuffs and a leash on me and I had to strain against them to take a bite of my pizza.

Growing up, I haven’t had the most stable family. My fatherless life had involved trying to work odd jobs since I was 13 and missing out mile stones other girls got to experience during their teen years. My first kiss wasn’t under a starry night with my first love, it was rushed and filled with greed at the car park of the local book store. And he cheated on me a week later with the girl who sat next to me at chemistry. The man I first shared a bed with was not looking for a long-term relationship and left me when he found a full time, high wage job at his uncle’s company in New York. My mother was crippling, losing a bit of herself every passing day until one day she came down the stairs to have her tea and I couldn’t even recognize her anymore. My sisters were still too young to understand life and I didn’t want them to see the world as I saw it. I wanted them to have a happy childhood and experience life as any growing child should. They were sent away to my uncle’s and although they were more than willing to also let me stay, I needed away. I left my mother as she screamed indecent words at me one night and took the subway train that led me here. The letter of acceptance from the university was the only good thing that has ever happened to me. I soon became best friends with my room mate who is the polar opposite of me but somehow, we spoke to the same stars and saw life in the same light. My life has always been rushed, difficult to comprehend and there was no easy way through. Having to hear the body that pulled me through those sleepless nights of putting my scared sisters to sleep and locking their doors so my alcoholic mother couldn’t hurt them with her drunk violence, the same body that has cried itself to sleep after carrying stack after stack of recycle paper up 7 flight of stairs for very little pay and a terrible neck and back ache, the same body that is still living and breathing and pushing through, is not good enough, is less, is devastating. It makes me want to cry.

I didn’t ask for such a difficult life. Additionally, my face is the only remainder of who my mom used to be; I am the spitting image of her. The her that was over flowing with positivity and had a heart of gold. The her that lovingly brought my sisters and I into this world and took us cycling and cooked our favourite pasta for our birthdays. To think this face, this remainder of what she looked like, who she was, is less makes my heart crinkle around the edges and burn in the deepest pits of its centre.

“All good?”

I look up to see Jungkook looking at me worriedly.

“Oh yes! I just.... should stop eating else I’ll throw up" I laughed awkwardly.

Jungkook continued to munch on his pizza as he stared at me. He was trying to read the worry in my eyes, the sad drop of the corners of my lips. I couldn’t hide my emotions on my face even if the world depended on it, so I wouldn’t be surprised if any minute now Jungkook presses me for answers and stories. Stories I’d rather keep hidden like I have all this time.

“Okay" Jungkook hums as he takes another slice of pizza. I look at him, grateful he dropped the subject. I watched on as he ate. He didn’t once lift his eyes to mine. He busied himself finishing up his own pizza and the remainder of mine. I wasn’t shocked he ate so much given the fact that he was full of muscle and stamina.

I looked out the window at the busy street. People walked by, carrying the weight of their lives on their shoulders. The lights from cars and street lights looked like stars on Earth from where I was seated. I felt a sudden sense of closure knowing I could disappear into the night, walk mindlessly around these people and no one would know who I am. I’d have no one to explain or compare myself to. Nobody would know what’s going on inside my head. Frankly, nobody would care enough to know. And it felt nice. To not be alive and surviving. I wanted to be light, float over the Earth and find my purpose at my own pace without trying to catch up with the rest of the world only to fall short of breath and lost.

“I don’t know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours, but I’ll listen if you share” Jungkook wipes the corner of his mouth with a tissue. He has cleaned the trays of pizza without leaving behind even a trace of any food being there. I smiled kindly at his words.

“Thank you Jungkook. But I’m not thinking about anything that needs concerning attention”

My smile doesn’t reach my eyes and I know he noticed it. He pays the bill entirely despite me fussing about wanting to split the bill. We make our way back to my house, the breeze a little colder and stronger than yesterday, reminding us of the oncoming winter.

**

I pace the living room painfully slow, waiting.

Waiting for her to come back home.

Daffodil.

I have been practising what I wanted to say as I give her the present over and over again in my head. I had wrapped it neatly in a brown paper bag and tied with an orange ribbon I found on her study table. The wrapping was not at all attractive, but it was neat and I hoped she would see the value of the gift that’s wrapped rather than the wrapping itself.

I look at the time. 09.19pm.

She was supposed to be back a long time ago. I heard her making arrangements yesterday to leave early from work today. I had cleaned the entire house; sweeping the wooden floor boards, removing cobwebs and brushing off the dust that had collected on top of the cupboards and TV.

I did not have a phone on me and even if I did, its not like I had her number anyway. I sighed loudly and slumped on the cold floor. My eyes kept fluttering, threatening to close for hours. My shoulders felt heavy and I couldn’t pull myself up off the floor. I rested my head on the floor and allowed my eyes to close. The coldness from the floor piercing my right cheek was the last thing I was aware of before I drifted off to a sleep full of nightmares.

**

I saw it again.

The playground.

The swing.

The boy.

I was playing in the park around the corner from school. I had sand in my old, torn shoes and my school tie was hanging loosely around my neck. My hair was a mess and sweat dripped off the ends of my bangs. I was having too much fun running around to stop. I sat at one of the swings and turned to face the boy seated in the other.

“Hey!” I waved brightly.

He did not respond, his head bent low and slowly swinging. He had dark brown hair and a piercing in his left ear. I could not see his face because it was surprisingly too dark on the side of the swing he was on. It was almost as if a dark cloud was looming over him, night fallen on the side of the Earth he was on.

I turned away and focused on swinging as high up as I can. However, my merry only lasted for a short while because I had swung a little too high and as I swung back, I was thrown off the seat and face first onto the dirty sand. I got up spitting sand out of my mouth. Any average person would have shrieked in disgust and run straight home for a good shower at what just happened. But I just laughed, almost choking on my spit as I attempted to spit sand out of my mouth.

“Pathetic”

The boy suddenly spoke. His voice was soft, melodic and had a boyish charm to it.

He’d make a great singer if he could sing, I thought to myself.

I turned to look at him, mirth sparkling in my eyes.

“Ha! So you can speak! I thought-” I began but had to stop at the sight before me.

My eyes grew wide in terror as the boy lifted his head to reveal a face with no features except for a gaping hole where his mouth should be. A dark liquid oozed out of his ears, supposed-mouth and where his eyes should’ve been.

My breath caught in my throat as I tried to scream again and again, but no sounds came out.

**

Tag list: @tae-n-u​

[89tczier]

People are talking

The other five chuckle at the two’s antics, and it’s only then that something dawns on Ben so quick he nearly chokes on his beer.

“Holy shit,” he splutters, because how the fuck did it take him this long to fucking realise.

read on AO3 

word count: 3.9k

7 days before

“–and keep an eye on Ben and Bev!” Richie shouts, “I don’t want my bed broke–” he’s cut off by a very exasperated Eddie.

“Can it, Trashmouth,” He snaps, pulling Richie the rest of the way through the door by the lapels of his jacket. For some reason, those two were being trusted to bring back some actual alcohol rather than the shit Richie’s always left with at the end of the month. They all know its gonna take them twice as long than if anyone competent was sent, but the others are frankly just too lazy to offer themselves.

The other five chuckle at the two’s antics, and it’s only then that something dawns on Ben so quick he nearly chokes on his beer.

“Holy shit,” he splutters, because how the fuck did it take him this long to fucking realise.

Bev’s quick to respond, patting his back and giggling in a way that makes Ben feel a little loopy, “jeez, babe, you alright?”

Ben nods, composing himself under the watch of his friends, clearly interested in what could have possibly caused this outburst. “Yeah, sorry, it’s just,” Ben casts a glance back at the door, “they’re like… totally in love, right?” He’s met with nothing but confused looks.

“Richie and Eddie?” Stan asks incredulously while perched in Mike’s lap.

“Richie and Eddie,” he confirms.

Bill, currently nestled under Mike’s arm, snorts like it’s one of Richie’s stupid jokes, “the f-fuck are you on about?”

Ben almost gawks like he didn’t just figure this out, but he did kind of expect the pieces to fall quickly into place once he pointed it out, “have you not seen the way they act? Textbook married couple.”

“They’ve always been like that though,” Bev shrugs, her brows furrowed as she appears to be trying to follow Ben’s logic (he loves her for trying).

He raises a finger. “My point still stands,” and goes on to explain, “they’re literally always together, hanging off each other… who’s the first person Richie asks for at a party? Who does Eddie always sit next to on movie night? They just– how can you guys not see it?”

“You’re talkin’ absolute bullshit, Benny,” Mike shakes his head, “Eddie’s close to ripping Rich’s head off half the time.”

“Oh come on, if he was really that annoyed he’d have said something about it. Eddie doesn’t stand for anything he doesn’t like.” Ben takes a pointed sip of his shitty beer to punctuate and this point seems to land, and Ben would be lying if he said he didn’t feel the least bit satisfied with himself. He’d always had an eye for this stuff, even if he was rather shitty at acting upon it himself (but hey, it worked out pretty well for him).

“Leave it to Trashmouth Tozier to flirt with someone by annoying the life out of them,” Bev smiles.

“And leave it to Eddie fuckin’ Kaspbrak to flirt back with threats and holy fuck Ben I think you’re right.” Mike’s face goes blank.

“See!”

Bill still seems like he’s considering it, “it would explain a l-lot, mainly how Eddie hasn’t actually k-k-killed him yet… a-nd the fu-fucking hammock!”

A chorus of ‘holy shit’s go around the circle. Then it all becomes clear.

“God, they’ve had this since high school?” Bev snorts.

“Why haven’t they said anything?” Mike asks, “It’s not like we’re gonna care, we’re one big lovey mess,” he squeezes both Stan and Bill for emphasis.

“I don’t think they’re dating, necessarily, they’re just… in love.” Ben shrugs.

Bill grins, “now that guh-gives me an idea…”

“You’re hot when you scheme,” Stan hums, resting his head against Mike’s.

“Tell me about it,” Mike agrees, and is poked gently by Bill.

“I think, and I s-say this only for the b-benefit and happiness of my two dumbest friends, we should… encourage them to get a fuh-fucking move on.”

Bev shuffles forward and straightens up, “like… goad them together?”

Bill raises his bottle, “exactly,” and takes a sip while Mike and Stan nod to each other in agreement.

“Smokin’ hot.”

Bill chokes, and laughter fills the room as he curses his boyfriends out.

“Sounds like we’re missing out on something, Eds, they’re officially kicking us out,” Richie pretends to mope as they enter Richie’s apartment again, a bottle in both of his hands. Eddie scoffs.

“Maybe you, asshole, you’re the one who got held up by some dog on the street,”

They all wait for it.

“And don’t fuckin’ call me Eds!”

Richie grins like he’s won a prize.

–

6 days before

Bev isn’t the least bit fucking surprised when she wakes up to see she’s been added to a group chat called “operation: let’s get our two losers together”. She smiles, shifting some in Ben’s arms. He stirs, letting out a warm breath against her skin that makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand straight.

“You see this?” She asks, turning the screen some so he can see. He squints and lets out a sleepy chuckle which makes Bev melt a little. She runs a hand over his forearm and locks their hands together, squeezing for good measure.

“God, this is either gonna go great or really terrible,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the skin where her neck meets her shoulders.

She hums, turning to face him, “I don’t know… I have a good feeling about this.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah… they seem meant for each other, I guess…” she pauses, smiles, and kisses him, “we all do.”

Ben smiles against her mouth and is about to return the favour when a string of texts floods both their phones.

put it away Benny Boy, we’ve got matchmaking to do ~ Big Bill, sent at 08:23

Meet us in our flat ~ Stan, sent at 08:23

guys, give em the chance to wake up, they had a long night ;) ~ Mikey, sent at 08:24

they need to hurry up and get a move on, we’ve been talkin all night and they need to get caught up ~ Big Bill, sent at 08:24

Well, not all night ~ Stan, sent at 08:25

…cease ~ Big Bill, sent at 08:25

“On second thought, this is the worst idea ever.”

She cackles, dragging both of them up and towards the bathroom. The boys could wait a little longer.

“Casa de Stan, recently co-owned by Bill and Mike too, speaking please?” This is always how he answers, the dope.

“Hey Mikey,” Ben says, voice still a little groggy from sleep. God, he’s hot, Bev thinks to herself, slotting a gloved hand into his.

“Hey guys!” The door clicks open, and they breeze up the first flight of stairs.

Bill greets them at the door, still in his sleep shirt. “Don’t,” he deadpans, right as Bev’s about to poke fun at the bruising around his neck and chest. She grins slyly at him, patting him on the back as she passes him.

“Benny! Bev! Get in here!” Mike calls from the den. Bill follows them in, taking a seat next to Mike and throwing his legs over his boyfriend’s lap. Stan’s stood hunched over the small stove on the other side of the room, scrambling some eggs which smell unfairly delicious to a moderately hung-over Beverly.

“You’ll get some in a minute,” he states, reading her mind.

“Always knew you were my favourite,” she said, which earns a ‘hey’ from both Mike and Bill.

Bill calls them all to sit down, explaining that they need to actually plan this out as quickly as possible. Richie and Eddie were the only ones with early classes that day and it would be suspicious (and mean) if they were told to keep at bay while the rest of them hung out.

They chow down on some scrambled eggs (which exceed expectations, Bev reminds herself to get the recipe off of Stan), and it ends up working out like this:

They’re going to pry for a few days, see if they can get a rise out of either of them, then at the end of the week they’re all going to meet up at Stan’s place. Using an excuse they haven’t though of yet, they’re going to try to get both Eddie and Richie into the bathroom at the same time and then block the door.

“N-nothing like a confined space and a l-little bit of drink to get the vibe g-going,” Bill grins.

“Speakin’ from experience there, Big Bill?” Beverly playfully chides, giggling as Bill’s ears go pink.

Ben hums quietly, “what if they don’t go for it?”

“They looked three seconds away from mauling each other last night, I think they’ll jump at any excuse they get,” Mike points out, and the plan is set.

They say their goodbyes afterwards, and as Bev fiddles with the key to their flat, Ben takes her wrist gently, turning her around and pulling her into him.

“I love you,” he says, and kisses her in that wonderful way he does that leaves her wanting so much more.

“I love you too,” She grins, draping her arms over his shoulders, “always will.”

–

4 days before

Richie is head over fucking heels, Bill decides.

The two of them offer to help Eddie study terms for a quiz at the end of the week, which fuck knows why they had any hope of that working.

They start off well, Richie and himself trading roles as Eddie nailed each piece of terminology about cognitive processes with detailed explanations to boot. It takes about ten minutes of their relaxed sprawling over Eddie’s floor for their resolve to break. It starts with Richie’s foot-tapping Eddie’s shin to the beat of whatever song he’s humming as Bill reads from the flashcards. Then it’s the complements, and holy fuck, how has Bill never caught this before.

“So smart, so cute!”

“Rich, if you don’t shut up, I’m trying to concentrate.”

“Can’t help it, I’m like a mama bird watching her baby take flight for the first time. Just wanna puke some worms into your mouth.”

“Richie! That’s fucking disgusting!” Eddie near screeches, pushing himself up and lunging forward, knocking Richie back onto the ground and pinning him down. Richie’s laughing like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen, and Eddie is too. He can’t believe these assholes are in college.

Okay, this is perfect, Bill thinks, as right on cue, Eddie leaves the room to grab his textbook.

“Got somethin’ on my face, Billy?” Richie asks once he catches the ‘care to explain?’ look Bill is giving him.

“Don’t w-worry about it,” Bill gives his best nonchalant shrug, “it’s just cute, that’s all.”

And he catches it, the signature ‘i’m fucking whipped’ look: the dopey smile, the avoidance of eye contact, the excepting laugh. Gotcha, bitch.

“Isn’t he just?”

–

2 days before

Stan’s starting to fret.

The text came through a few minutes ago, and Stan is reeling.

eddie said he met a guy last night??? went home w him and everythin??? ~ Bevvy, sent at 13:03

“A one night stand?” Mike asks, leaning over Bill’s shoulder to read with Bill’s glasses on because his own are fuck knows where.

“Fucking apparently?”

“Okay, this might not be as b-bad as it seems. They d-don’t know about the other l-liking them, yeah? Eddie’s p-probably, like, in denial or coping or som-something.” Bill slots his glasses off of Mike’s face.

Stan stops pacing and takes a breath, collapsing onto the arm chair opposite, “you’re right, probably just Eddie being stubborn.”

“‘Atta boy, Stan,” Mike grins, shifting to the side and stretching out his legs, resting them in Bill’s lap.

did eddie seem interested in the guy? ~ Big Bill, sent at 13:11

not really, didn’t really talk about him much ~ Bevvy, sent at 13:12

They all sighed.

“Why are we so invested in this again?” Stan mumbles.

“Because it’s gonna be entertaining as fuck if we pull it off.”

–

1 day before

Mike has more luck.

He, Bev and Eddie are browsing around the grocers, preparing for tomorrow when they hear a yelp from the isle next to them. Mike peeks around, seeing a very excited looking Richie pick Eddie up from behind, bouncing him around like he weighs nothing. Mike expects a slew of curses, but Eddie giggles like Mike’s never heard before.

“Put me down, you asshole! You’re gonna knock something over.”

“You’re the one flailing your limbs, Eds– Mike and Ikes! Fancy seeing you here!” He damn near drops Eddie, who’s flushed and breathless.

“We’re trying to shop, you asshole, can’t we have five minutes peace,” Eddie gives him a light shove.

“Oh I know, I’m on a last minute supply run.”

And Mike’s stupid enough to fall for it and ask, “why?”

“Pickin’ up Eddie’s mom, need condoms.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and they both laugh as Eddie goes ballistic.

“Get the fuck out of here, Trashmouth, before I commit a crime,” he shoots Richie daggers, and Rich gives him a salute.

“Sir yes sir,” he half-shouts, sprinting over to a very tired looking cashier.

Eddie’s still watching him, “asshole,” he says with so much fondness Mike thinks he might start floating.

“You don’t seem to mind,” He pokes at Eddie’s pinked cheeks, snorting as Eddie smacks it away from his face.

“Hey dipshits,” Bev calls, carrying a basket full of crisps and liquor, “did you get the chasers?”

Eddie sighs, turning on his heel and walking back to the fridge, which Mike’s guessing was where he was heading before Richie snatched him up.

“Will diet do?”

“Sure, go crazy.” Mike says, as he quickly types.

eddie’s absolutely gone for him, this is gonna go great ~ Mikey, sent 21:33

–

The night of

It’s a slow day for Eddie. His test has been eating away at him slowly and painfully (no matter how  many times Richie said he’d crush it) and while he left feeling confident, he knows he’s still gonna stress about it. It goes fine, but he’s still thinking about it during his shift and the worry hasn’t left him.

It’s just a stupid test, he thinks as his stomach continues to knot itself. Thank god he’s getting drunk tonight.

Eddie lives the furthest away from Stan’s (and Bill and Mike’s) and he really doesn’t wanna walk that far in the cold so he stops by Richie’s after class, knowing he probably has a couple of nice shirts left over there from nights where he’s really too drunk to go home, inevitably leaving the next morning in one of Richie’s shirts instead (huh, funny how that happens). He also knows that if he so much as catches sight of his roommate, he’ll fucking blow up.

He fishes Richie’s key from his pocket, lets himself in and thinks Christ, would it kill Rich to clean up a bit? He’s certain that the pillows from the couch are still there from last Friday. He steps over them after pushing off his shoes in the corner.

“Rich, You fuckin slob! Clean your apartment,” Eddie calls out in place of a hello.

“Afternoon to you too, Eddie!” He hears back. Eddie follows his voice through to the bedroom and finds himself lost for fucking words.

Richie’s standing in front of his bathroom mirror, shirtless, drying off his mess of curls with a towel. He doesn’t notice him for a moment, and Eddie takes that moment to curse the way those jeans hang from his hips. He lingers on Richie’s wiry frame for just a moment more than he probably should.

Damn, Tozier he huffs.

“You peeping on me, Eddie?” Richie’s dumb Southern Belle accent should drive Eddie up the wall, and Eddie does roll his eyes, though it’s really just for show. They both know that.

“Your den is a mess.”

“I like it that way,” Richie’s quick to reply, brushing past Eddie as he heads for his dresser.

“Tough shit, I don’t,” Eddie snaps back, now back in his rhythm as the blood returns to his brain.

Richie grins as he picks through his shirt, taking his sweet time with it and all Eddie can focus on is the hint of his happy trail poking out above the waistband of his jeans. He chooses one, and now Eddie can actually look away as Richie holds the tee up for his approval.

It’s his The Cure one, black, matching his nails and jeans, and easily Eddie’s favourite, both on Richie and to wear himself (it’s comfortable, and it definitely has nothing to do with the looks Richie gives him in it).

They kill time by fixing up Richie’s couch and watching weird ASMR videos on Richie’s laptop. Eddie’s sure the effect is lessened by only having one earbud, but it’s still uncomfortable but so worth hearing Richie snort each time Eddie cringes.

“Is it just me,” Richie says, hitting pause on a woman in cat ears about to pretend to ask them out, “or have the others been acting weird.”

“Right?” Eddie yanks the earbud out, “Bev’s been like… weirdly invasive… like more than she usually is.”

“They all have, what do you think it’s about?”

“I have a funny fucking feeling we’re gonna find out.”

–

There’s a weird fucking vibe in the place when he and Eddie arrive.

“We miss out on the world’s weirdest orgy or something?” Richie asks, mostly joking, as eyes fall on the two of them.

Stan makes an exaggerated gagging sound, and Bill’s face screws up. What a great audience he has.

“Shut up and sit down, Trashmouth, we’re doing shots,” Bev playfully snarls at him.

It gets a little less weird the more Richie has to drink, but he’s either going crazy or there’s something going on. He looks at Eddie, and Eddie shrugs right before he throws a shot back, and Richie gets to watch his Adam’s Apple bob and his eyes squeeze shut and his nose crinkle up because Eds–

“–cant fuckin stand tequila.”

God, he’s cute.

He meets Richie’s gaze, “what the fuck are you smirking about?”

He’s hot, too.

“You take every shot like it’s your fucking first, Eds,” he teases back and it’s huskier than he means it to come out, because he’s tipsy and can’t stop staring at that little drop of liquor running down Eddie’s chin.

Bill chokes, sending everything in the shot glass over his face. Mike cackles.

“Rich, can you go g-get me a f-fuckin washcloth.”

And it’s there that everything ramps up to fuckin’ eleven. Ben starts grinning, Stan’s got that fucking look on his face that can only mean trouble.

“Why the fuck do I have to do it?”

“C-cuz you m-made me spit every-w-where!”

Richie puts his hands up in mock defeat, “alright, alright, damn.” And he stands up, shuffling into the bathroom.

“Oh!” Stan calls after him, “my contacts too!”

“Aye aye!” Richie yells back, scanning the mirror cabinet for anything resembling a fucking contact case. Disinfectant, no, flavoured lube, nice but no… Richie’s squinting as if that’s gonna fucking help. “Can’t fuckin find ‘em, Stan!” He calls back out to them.

He hears a soft “Eddie, go help him,” from Mike.

“You’re going blind for real, fuckface, lemme see,” Eddie rolls his eyes at him, and tries shoving Richie out of the way with his side, but really just ends up pushed up against him. He’s warm and smells of spirits and vanilla, Richie doesn’t fight back, nor does he notice the others approaching the bathroom either.

He’s so focused on the way Eddie’s tongue pokes out of his mouth ever so slightly when he’s concentrating he’s a second too slow to realise.

“When did Stan start wearing contacts– oh shit, Eds, wait–” Richie’s barely gotten the words out before the bathroom door slams shut, making Eddie jump closer against him.

The other losers are whooping and hi-fiving from the other side of the door, and Eddie turns to stare at Richie as if to say what the fuck just happened???

“Beats me.”

“Admit it and we’ll let you out!” Bev says in what Richie assumes is a terrible Terminator impression.

It takes a second (again, because liquor and Eddie) to realise, and he flashes Eddie the biggest grin he can muster.

“Golly gee, Eds, I think they figured it out!”

He’s not being loud, but the others can apparently hear him, because they’re gloating stops in an instant.

Eddie matches his grin, “fucking finally,”

“Wait, what?” Mike sounds confused.

The door opens, and the others are staring at them like their fucking martians.

“Wait what the fuh-fuck?”

Hm, that’s interesting.“I have a feeling there’s been a big misunderstanding,” Richie starts, still grinning.

“Did you guys do it already?”

Eddie snorts, Richie scratches the back of his neck, “uh, gonna have to ask you to be a bit more specific, Benny.”

“Confess. Did we not hear it?”

Eddie frowns, “confess to what?”

“Don’t be difficult, Kaspbrak,” Stan groans, “that you’ve been secretly pining for each other for fuckin’ ages?”

“Is that what you shut us in there for?” Richie asked, his voice creeping up an octave because oh, this was delicious.

The five of them answer simultaneously “yes!”

Richie looks down at Eddie, who holds his gaze for all of one second before they dissolve back into shit eating grins.

“God we really gave you guys too much credit.”

“Stop being coy, trashmouth!”

“We’ve literally been dating for three months, holy shit, guys.” Eddie rubs his face like he’s exasperated.

“What?” Ben nearly yells.

“Here we are thinking you dumbfucks finally figured it out–”

“In fairness, Rich, they got halfway there.”

“When the fuck were you planning on telling us?” Stan demands, keeping a hold of Mike’s arm for balance.

Eddie volunteers to explain. “Well, it took a few weeks to kinda… figure stuff out, and we were gonna tell you then but then Rich wondered how long it would take you guys to figure it out on your own–”

“So you guys kept this shit on for three months?”

There's a mixture of confusion and amusement around the room. Richie had been kind of worried that they’d be angry that the two of them had kept this for so long, but upon learning that they’d also been scheming themselves for the past week, Richie feels pretty fuckin justified now.

Eddie gives his best ‘are you fucking joking’ face, “you guys never said anything! And as much as we wanted to just get over with, it was so fucking funny to see how much shit you guys would let us get away with.”

“Such as?”

“The fact that you, Beverly, bought “I needed a shirt after my ‘walk of shame’” as a reasonable excuse as to why I was standing in Richie’s kitchen, wearing one of his dumb band tees, absolutely covered in hickeys.”

The other four turned to look at Bev, who pursed her lips and mumbled, “understandable,” as Stan whisper yelled “how the fuck did you miss that?”

“Stan you literally walked in on us mid makeout!”

“What? When?” He demands.

“You burst into my flat, mid-rant…”

There’s a good five minutes of the two of them listing all the times there beautiful, supportive, oblivious as all fuck friends had missed what was so clearly in front of them. The energy shifted into something warm and jovial.

“So,” Richie takes Eddie’s hand, “which one of you started this.”

Everyone answers “Ben.”

Eddie grins up at him, and Richie swears he’ll die right there, “told ya so.”

[vino-and-doggos]

Cheers to the New Year

Read on AO3  |  Written for @lilbreadbun

Rated: G

Words: 2201

Summary: Just returned from active duty, Roy Mustang is bartending his Aunt Chris's karaoke holiday party at the bar. A beautiful blonde takes the stage and her voice puts Roy under a spell. If only it weren't too good to be true.

Happy holidays, @lilbreadbun, from your Secret Santa!! This is something that I’ve wanted to write for a very long time, so thank you for giving me the opportunity to write it! I hope you enjoy <3

~

Bah humbug, Roy thought to himself. Half his mind was joking, but the other half was dead serious. 

It wasn’t that he hated Christmas — he used to love the holiday, in fact. It was more that he couldn’t enjoy the holiday anymore. Fake trees and pre-packaged holiday sweets reminded him too much of Maes, a man for whom even Ebenezer Scrooge would have emptied his coffers in pursuit of the perfect Christmas present. He sighed and put down another dry glass on the rubber mat behind the bar.

Roy looked at the dark wooden interior surrounding him and had to stop himself just short of rolling his eyes at the tacky — yet festive, his sisters assured him — decorations that littered the bar. Tinsel trees shoved into corners and ornaments hung from the ceiling left remnants of glitter on every flat surface. Lights were strung everywhere, casting the bar in an odd, multicolored glow.

Because of course, a bar called Christmas Cheers had to go out for the holiday of its namesake, right?

The biggest problem was, in Roy’s opinion, that it attracted the now-college age people that he went to high school with who were home on winter break. It was cute and kitschy and Instagrammable or Snapchattable. Life was not designed to be lived through the screen of a smartphone or viewed through filters. And those that desired to do so did nothing but grate on Roy’s last nerve. 

There was a reason Roy lost contact with his friends from high school when he joined the military, and frankly, he had no interest in trying to reconnect. He would take the group chat with the friends he made while deployed over the flesh and blood frenemies who dropped him for enlisting any day.

Glancing at the clock, he let out a groan. Only half an hour until they opened.

“I don’t wanna hear that, Roy-Boy,” he heard a gravelly voice say from around the corner. 

Roy really did roll his eyes this time, but now it was a gesture in quasi prayer to Someone-he-wasn’t-even-sure-existed to grant him patience. Because if he was given strength, he surely was going to hurt someone before the night was over.

“I’m sorry, Aunt Chris. I’m just really not looking forward to this. I can usually handle normal nights, but karaoke? It’s going to bring in every screeching college girl in the tri-county area. You’re lucky that you’re friends with the DA and that the cops don’t police this place for underage drinking, because this stunt is going to -”

“Cut it out, Roy,” Chris said exasperatedly. “Your melodrama isn’t going to help you get through the night. Yes, there will most likely be underage college kids here trying to drink tonight. Luckily, though, I have a really good bartender,” she emphasized while motioning to him, “who knows how to properly check IDs.”

He grumbled, “That doesn’t stop their of-age friends from buying drinks for them.”

“Seriously. If you’re going to be like this all night, go and wallow in your room, Roy. I understand you’re grieving, and you’re working through your tour overseas. I want to support you the best I can, but this is also my business. If you’re not going to be full of Christmas Cheer tonight -” Roy rolled his eyes again - “then I’ll ask one of your sisters to bartend.”

“No,” he replied, a tone of longing edging into his voice, almost as though he wanted her to do just that. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

He turned back to the bar and began prepping lemons, limes, and oranges, but he couldn’t help but smile when he heard his aunt mumble, “Who knows. Maybe you’ll meet someone tonight.”

Roy had to admire her optimism, if nothing else.

~

“Hey man, can I get two beers?” a kid with jet-black hair pulled back into a ponytail shouted over the music. Behind him stood a short blond with long hair who had a smug grin on his face. 

“Just need to see some ID first,” Roy said back over the dulcet tones of a curvy brunette with pouty red lips murdering “Total Eclipse of the Heart.”

Who the hell sings this at karaoke? Roy pondered.

“Aww, come on, we’re legal,” the blond said, his voice lilting with the cadence of someone trying to convince another of what they’re saying. And failing, miserably.

“I’m sure you are,” smiled Roy, “but I’m sorry, I have to see some ID for anyone who looks younger than 40.” He hesitated for a moment. “For both of you.”

“Oh, well, Ed. We tried!” the first kid laughed.

“Ling! You just busted us!” the one apparently named Ed yelled, smacking his friend on the shoulder. 

“Listen,” Roy started, “I’m feeling especially festive tonight, so I’ll let you stay and drink any non-alcoholic drink you want for free.”

The boys weighed their options by silently exchanging looks before Ling turned back to Roy.

“We’ll take two cokes — but can you put them in lowball glasses with drink stirrers?” Ling asked with an air of conspiracy.

“Sure thing, kid,” he chuckled, pulling out the soda gun. 

Right before he handed the drinks over, he stuck a lime on the rim of the glass. As he handed them over, the boys nodded in solidarity and thanks. Roy just smiled in return.

He turned to the far end of the bar, the end closest to the stage, to check on the patrons seated there. A few indicated refills, so Roy pulled out new glasses and started pouring. As he was pouring the perfect mug of beer, he heard the tell-tale clicks of a song with an a capella opening.

“Shot through the heart, and you’re to blame, darlin’ you give love a bad name!”

Huh. This chick wasn’t bad.

Roy walked the beer to the end of the bar, taking a moment to catch a glimpse of the small stage through the crowd. What he saw caused his jaw to drop.

A stunning blonde in a deliciously tight, yet simple, black t-shirt and a pair of jeans that looked as though they were painted on danced about the stage. Her loose hair fell just past her shoulders and swung around her rhythmically as she whirled around. She danced in a way that made it obvious that alcohol flowed through her system, but Roy didn’t remember serving her. The impressive part is that she actually was on-key and hitting the marks without staring at the screen. Bon Jovi’s melody blasted through the speakers, and the audience was eating it up.

“Ohhh, you’re a loaded gun…”

Damn. Roy shook his head and went back to refilling drinks. She was a siren, and he was not immune to her call. Over everything else, he continued hearing her voice singing the upbeat rock tune. He had to ask another patron what their order was three times before he finally understood what they were asking for.

The song ended with raucous applause and cheering. Mostly male, Roy noted, but many females sounding out their appreciation, as well. The DJ had to shout the name of the next singer repeatedly through the system before they approached the booth to grab the microphone. It was the wildest the bar had gotten all night.

However, the excitement was short-lived. The next singer (Roy thinks he heard the DJ call him Alex?) decided to sing Eric Clapton’s “Tears in Heaven.” Why can’t this crowd — with the exception of one — pick karaoke songs that are worth a damn?

Despite the current song filling the bar, Roy couldn’t get her out of his head. Her song rattled around in his brain, her voice continuing to envelop him in strains of familiar melody. Just then, he heard a female voice from behind him.

“Hey!” it exclaimed brightly.

He knew that voice.

Roy turned on his heel to meet the amber eyes of the best Bon Jovi impersonator he’d ever seen or heard waving at him with a sweet smile on her face. Her beautiful blonde hair was now tied back in a low ponytail, bangs still draped across her forehead; it was darker than he originally thought it was, more of a honeyed blonde. He decided to play it cool and nodded his head in acknowledgment.

“What can I get for you?” he asked, trying to make sure he was heard over the music, but also making sure his voice sounded smooth and rich.

“Just a water, please,” she responded, eyes shining in the incandescent holiday lights.

Roy chuckled deeply as he reached for a glass. “Singing take it out of you?”

“It always does,” she nodded, laughing in return.

“Always?” Roy questioned, barely registering that he had even spoken it aloud. “I’m sorry,” he started, waving his left hand and placing her water glass down with his right. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“Nah, thanks though,” she winked.

He followed the head of blonde hair through the sea of people and sighed. 

She was so out of his league.

~

Hours later, the crowd was winding down. Only a few were left, and hardly anyone left was singing. The DJ announced last call for songs and the bar, wishing all a happy holiday season.

Roy had already started to clean as best he could behind the bar — bottles in their proper place, the beginnings of labels for the cooler — when he heard that voice again.

“Hey!” that same exclamation; that same intonation. He smiled as he faced her.

“I’m surprised I didn’t see you again,” he said, smirking.

“I had someone grab me water when they came up for their drinks,” she explained.

Huh. So that’s why he didn’t see her for the rest of the night. Wait a minute.

“You got up there and sang and danced like that completely sober?” he questioned.

His tone was light and teasing but with an underlying tone of awe and surprise.She laughed in response. Roy could have sworn that she made the room brighter. 

“Yup. My mother used to say that I’m a natural-born performer.”

“She was right,” he affirmed. “I’m Roy, by the way.”

“Riza,” she offered, extending her hand across the bar.

He took her hand, so soft and warm in his cold, calloused palm, and shook.

“I just wanted to say thanks for the fantastic service tonight. Many lesser bartenders would have lost their cool with the number of people in here, but we never waited long for drinks.” Riza smirked as she pulled a $20 bill out of her back pocket and slid it into the fishbowl that was acting as a tip jar.

“That’s way too generous; I can’t accept that,” Roy protested weakly. “You said just had water all night -”

“Don’t worry about it,” Riza interrupted, waving him off.

“Listen…” Roy started. “We have an event here on New Year’s Eve, too… Same kind of stuff as tonight, karaoke and drinks, but there’s also going to be a buffet with food… If you’re interested?” he trailed off hopefully.

“Oh, that sounds fun! I think I’ll still be in town then, but I’ll have to double-check. Will you be working?”

This was it. Take the chance, Roy.

“I was scheduled to, but I’m thinking about taking the evening off to enjoy the party.” Do it, Roy. Shoot your shot. “Would you be interested in coming with me?”

“Oh!” Riza said, a blush dusting across the bridge of her nose. “I - well, I’m - not really - um -”

The shot missed the target completely.

It was Roy’s turn to turn red. 

“Forget I said anything, I was just thinking that maybe we could... Oh my god, please, I’m sorry, just -” 

“Roy, stop, it’s fine,” Riza cut off his rambling. “I just didn’t quite know how to say…” She paused and inhaled. “I’m in a relationship.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said, and this much was true, in more ways than one. “I didn’t know.” Roy hoped that the earth would open up and swallow him. Right then.

“How could you?” she chuckled. “We just met.”

“Babe? Are you ready to go?” a voice sounded to Roy’s right. A decidedly feminine voice. 

He whipped around to see another blonde with waist-length hair the color of cornsilk. She stood by the door with a group of four or five others.

“Riza?” she prompted.

“Sorry, Liv, I’ll be right there,” Riza smiled before turning back to Roy. She extended her hand to him once more. “Friends?”

Smiling, he agreed. “Friends.”

Riza walked to the door and grabbed her coat from Liv. As she was walking out the door, she shouted over her shoulder, “See you on New Year’s Eve, Roy!”

Friends. He could do friends.

He smiled and started humming. He was almost to the chorus before he realized the tune was “Auld Lang Syne.”

He might have been shot down, but at least he wasn’t shot through the heart as Riza’s song might have suggested. There was an odd sense of hopefulness about him, though; a new year was coming. Sparing the whole “new year, new me” nonsense, Roy truly felt like the next year would bring about healing, hope, and friendship.

Bring it on.

[walkineternity]

Day 3: Delirium

(The Umbrella Academy x Sandman)

Klaus knew he was in trouble.

He had overdosed again. He tried to stay clean, for Ben and Vanya, for his other siblings, and for Dave. He so very much wanted to see Dave.

 But. He tried, okay. Tried so very fucking hard, and everyone was so focussed on Vanya that his efforts weren’t exactly…supported. Ben, of course, knew. And Klaus was grateful to have him. And he didn’t really blame everyone for not paying attention to him. They never really did that in the first place, unless he was causing trouble. And this time, it was because Vanya had nearly ended the world and he got that. He really did. He was trying to be there for them.

 But. He was an addict, okay. He can admit that. And…it was so hard to stay clean. He was so fucking high right now. He was so fucking sick right now. And Ben was yelling at him again.

 “Fuck! I can’t do this again, Klaus! You were doing so well! Fuck! I can’t even pick up the phone to call the ambulance can I! No! You are going to die in this alleyway and then I’m going to have nobody to talk to and, and, and you can’t leave me alone! Please, Klaus, please! Shit, okay, I’m going to try and get help, okay? I’m going to try.”

 Klaus felt himself drift. Ben was still talking, but then suddenly everything was quiet. He didn’t really get how he could still hear Ben with all the drugs in his system, but the other spirits had quieted down. And now, finally, Ben was gone too. He was going to die alone. Like he fucking deserved. His eyes shut, closing over tears that never fell and let the fog take him…

 Next thing he knew there was something licking his face. Okay, still alive. Still dying. Probably. He opened his eyes.

 Well. Where was he? This wasn’t the alleyway anymore. Maybe he wasn’t dying and he was already dead. But this wasn’t heaven. This was…he wasn’t sure. There were explosions of colours and shapes twisting in and out of existence and he felt simultaneously the highest he’s ever been and stone cold sober. He felt like he was awake and dreaming at the same time.

 And in the midst of all this madness, there was a rather ordinary looking dog, who was licking his face.

 “Well, hey there, boy. You wouldn’t happen to know the way back to reality now, would you?”

 He didn’t know what to expect at this point. And yet it still startled him when the dog stopped licking his face and spoke back. “Ah. You’re awake. Good. You don’t taste very good.”

 Klaus frowned. “Actually, I’m a snack. A delicious- wait. I’m…awake.” He sits up and looks around. Nothing was solid. There was no up and no down and he had no clue what he was sitting on because reality kept changing. Okay, he was definitely going crazy. “I don’t think I’m awake.”

 “Hm. Well. In a manner of speaking. And in another, you’re dead.”

 “Huh.”

 “You don’t sound surprised.”

 “Well, I’ve been dead before. And really, I was asking for it anyways.”

 The dog tilted its head, considering him, “I should be more specific. You’re only mostly dead, this time. This isn’t Death’s realm, but her sister’s.”

 “…mostly dead? What am I? The man in black now?” Klaus hadn’t seen the movie until his teens, when he was homeless and couch-surfing. Or rather bed-surfing. And old lover had the movie on VHS.

 “I don’t know what that means.” The dog huffed and then said, “I’m Barnabas, by the way. Not that you asked.”

 “Aw, what an adorable name!” Klaus tried to pet him, but Barnabas looked mildly offended and ducked his head away. He looked like he was about to say something snippy when a bunch of brightly coloured fish swam past his head. Klaus had been trying to ignore his surroundings for the sake of his own sanity, but this caught his attention.

 And then the…strangest voice followed after. “Ohhh, fishies! Come back here! …Hi, Barnabas!” He couldn’t really describe it. He could understand it, and for the most part it sounded like a young women’s voice, but something was distinctly…otherworldly. The voice sounded how this world looked. Chaotic, ever-changing, pitches and stresses in all the wrong places. It would have been called musical, if it wasn’t so discordant.

 And then a figure stepped out of the swirls of colours and then he realised that nothing was ever going to make sense in here. She was colourful herself. Rainbow hair cut in an odd style. Two different coloured eyes and the oddest combination of clothes.

 Though, honestly, he couldn’t say anything about his clothes. Currently, he was sporting the same outfit he wore in the real world and, frankly, wasn’t to off from this figure’s choice of clothes.

 Well, at least they had something in common. “Nice shoes,” he tries.

 The woman (girl? Young lady?) was talking to the dog and the fish, but turned to him at the sound of his voice. She drifted closer and peered down at him.

 “Well, hello there, traveler. You seem a little lost.”

 Klaus shrugged. She giggled. “Welllll, I suppose that’s, uh, that’s what you call life, now, isn’t it? Just a little bit lost and a lot bit lost! Go-ing on Forever!”

 Barnabas came a bit closer to her, to sit beside her, not quite touching, but close. Like he meant to offer her comfort. She absentmindedly scratched his ears, but still didn’t look away from Klaus. Oh, was he supposed to offer a reply?

“Well, I’m hoping that’s not the case. I’ve been trying, lately, you see, to settle down a bit. Stay clean and, y’know, be there for my family. Try to…have a home, a proper one.” His voice grew more unsure as he continued to speak.

 She was staring at him as he spoke, but not in his eyes. Just looking there briefly and then looking at his shirt and then his hair. Listening, but just couldn’t keep completely still. As she did, her nail polish changed colour and her ears changed shape and the rainbow in her hair shifted. This whole place was topsy-turvy. Strange how a talking dog named Barnabas was the sanest thing in here.

 She looked back up briefly into his eyes and then down at her feet. “It’s Nice to do things for fa-mi-ly. I have many Siblings too. I like to help them sometimes. You said I have nice shoes. Would you like to wear them? We can trade!”

 “Um.” Klaus wasn’t really sure what to say. “I don’t think our feet are the same size?”

 She frowned. “Oh, what does that matter? Its just for fuunnn. C’mon!” And she proceeded to take off her shoes. Which, were just as colourful as her hair. Rainbow boots that had really neat buckles shaped like the fish that swam around their heads.

 His were a solid black heel, stolen from Allison. They pinched his toes, not being the proper size, but they made his legs look gorgeous.

 Allison probably wasn’t going to be happy to learn her shoes were traded away, but then again, she probably wasn’t going to be happy with him either way. If he ever made it back, that is.

 He decided he should probably say all that out loud, and then he did, because they really weren’t his shoes, but the girl in front of him just sat down to better take of her shoes. “Oh, you’ll get out of Here eventu-ally. I like you, but you’re not mine to keep.” She finally managed to pull off both her boots. She was wearing mismatched socks, but those seemed to vanish. “And your family is just worried about you. If your sssister is mad, it’s only because she cares. You should ask them for help.”

 He shrugged and easily kicked off his own shoes, accidently kicking it too close to Barnabas. The dog just looked long-suffering.

 “They just think I’m useless and crazy. Well, maybe not Ben, but I’m not exactly doing my best there, y’know? He deserves to follow someone else around. Someone who won’t disappoint him again.”

 The girl hummed. “They say I’m crazzzzy too. But that’s alright. Mad-ness isn’t always a Bad thing….it helps when I know too much. Sometimes its nice to have a break from san-i-ty.” Here she started to slip on the heels and gestured at the boots, so Klaus grabbed one and put it on, stamping a little to get his heel in. Huh. Perfect fit. She continued, “And just because I’m mad, doesn’t mean my siblings don’t care about me. Doesn’t mean I don’t care about them. We aallll make mistakes, even Beings such as us, even little ones such as you, and we…oh, shoot, Barnabas! What’s the word? The- the Big one.”

 She glanced around as if the word she was looking for would suddenly appear. “You know. When the butterflies are iiiinn your body instead of outside them. Like stepping off the edge of a cliff, but knowing there is Someone to catch you, or for you to catch them.”

 Barnabas opened his mouth to say something, but she snapped her fingers (which made Klaus do a doubletake when the snap sound created visual shockwaves of colour, like they were in some sort of comic book), and then said, “Oh! Love! It’s lo-ve. We all love each other the same. They loved me when I was Delight, and they still love me as Delirium. I mean, look at Bar-na-bas!” She gestured with a heel in her hand. The dog sat a little straighter. “He was a gift to me from one of my bro-thers, to care and look afterrr me, and we’ve become such good friends! Destruction cares in his own way, and I know your siblings do too. You just got-ta….gotta ask, okay?”

 Barnabas smiled slightly. It looked a bit weird on a dog, but it seemed gentle. “I think we are the very best friends, my dear Delirium.”

 She put the other heel on and bounced up onto them, smiling at them both, at the world around them, at the tiny fish swimming above her head. The black of the heels swirled with spots of colour, but mostly stayed the same.

 Klaus finished doing up the buckles on both shoes and stood up too. He reached a hand up and the fish swam through his fingers and around his arm. The rainbow shoes felt warm and comfortable on his feet. He felt a bit giddy. He gave her a big grin and said, “Yeah. Okay. Sure. If I ever manage to get out of here, I’ll ask. Why not!”

 She gave him a grin in return. To match. Though hers stretched a little too far on her face. Still friendly, but not exactly a human smile. Her eyes changed colours too, but never the same colours at the same time. A fish swam in front of her face and this distracted her from him.

 “Well, how do I get out of here anyways? Not that I don’t mind your company, I should be getting back to the real world.”

 She looked back at him and seemed to startle a little bit. “Ohhhh, what were we talking about?”

 He blinked and looked at her and then looked at Barnabas, who said to her, in a reassuring manner, “It wasn’t important. Klaus was leaving soon anyways.”

 “Hm. My he-ad hurts. Was I talking Rightly again? That always Hurts.”

 “Yes, Delirium, but you don’t have to anymore. Why don’t we help Klaus go home and then play with the fish?”

 Klaus frowned at Barnabas in confusion. Delirium laughed joyfully and said, “Well, hell yeah! There’s only a few swimming around, buuuut I can make more!” She proceeded to spin around and do exactly that.

 Barnabas sidled closer to Klaus and said, “She does that, sometimes.”

 “What? Forgets?”

 “No. Remembers. The advice she gave you? How coherent she spoke? Does not happen often. You should take heed. The knowledge she has…is vast. So vast that it seems to…hurt her. Now, it’s time for you to go.” He didn’t say this roughly, but there was a sadness when he spoke.

 “Thanks,” Klaus said, heartfelt. “And thank her for me, too, even if she doesn’t remember.”

 Delirium wandered back over with a great many more fish swimming around, some bigger than others. Some so small he could barely see in the swirl of colours and shapes. “Oh yes! You!” She tapped him firmly on the forehead and said, “Say the magic words!”

 “Um, please-”

 “Wrong, so wrong. Try again.” And here she clicked her new heels three times.

 Klaus couldn’t help it. He laughed. He saw that movie too. And then he copied her action and said the “magic” words, “There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home. There’s no pla-”

 And then he was in an ambulance, the paramedic’s expression triumphant and relieved. Ben, hovering over him on the other side, looked similar.

 “Klaus, don’t ever do that to me again. You are so lucky there was this goth lady around. Apparently, you aren’t the only one that can speak to the dead. She was pretty Zen about the whole thing. Said it wasn’t your time and managed to find a nearby payphone. She didn’t even ask why I couldn’t call the ambulance myself!”

 Ben sounded a bit hysterical. The paramedic seemed to be chattering away as he checked Klaus’ vitals. Klaus felt himself tearing up. He could still feel the drugs in his system. “I’m so sorry, Ben. I can’t do this-”

 “C’mon, Klaus! I know you’re stronger- what about Dave-”

 “No, shit, Ben, just- I can’t do this alone, okay? I-I really need. I need help. I want to stay clean. Please. I just- please. I can’t do this alone.”

 The paramedic wasn’t paying attention to his babble, too focussed on actually keeping him alive, but Ben was listening intently. He tried to lay his hand on Klaus’ shoulder, but his hand passed through. Klaus shivered. Ben looked disappointed, but not surprised. He settled for leaning over, close to Klaus’ face, and said, “Never, Klaus. I’m here, okay. And the others…we’ll ask for help from them too. We’re all trying to be a family, right? And….and whatever you need.”

 Klaus felt tears in his eyes and with a rough voice he said, “Thank you, Ben. I always knew you were my favourite brother.”

 Ben rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged the corner of his lips. “Oh, please. I’ll remember that next time you say that to any of our other siblings.”

 “Why would Allison or Vanya be my favourite brother?”

 “Fuck off, you know what I meant.” Okay, definitely a smile now.

 And then Ben happened to glance at his feet. “Klaus, where the hell did you get those?”

 Klaus looked at his feet and saw that he wasn’t wearing Allison’s heels, but rainbow boots. Huh. So not a drug-induced dream.

 “Klaus?”

 “I’ve been thinking, Ben.”

 “Oh no. I didn’t know you could do that.” He gestured at the boots. “Are you not going to answer?”

 Klaus ignored him and stared at the boots. “I’ve been wondering if they might allow aquariums in rehab.”

 Ben stared at him a little. But he was also long used to Klaus saying weird stuff. “Well. If we manage to use some of dad’s fortune for rehab, they’ll allow us as many fish as we want. If…if that’s what you wanted the aquarium for.”

 It was…so fucking nice to hear Ben using “us” and “we” like that. He knew Ben was stuck with him, but it felt…. like he wasn’t alone. That Ben meant it. That he was going to have help this time, from the whole family. And if they used dear old dad’s money…well. That would be icing on the cake. Petty? Yes. Deserved, even beyond the grave? Hell yes. He’s glad that he didn’t have another visit from him. He doesn’t think he could stand anymore revelations or disappointment from him. He’d take a bizarre realm of multi-coloured girls and fish and talking dogs any day.

 Though, he really didn’t want to go back any time soon. Being mostly dead was exhausting.

 “Yeah, Ben, fish. Lots of colourful fish.” His voice sounded further away, like hearing himself through a long tunnel. Klaus could feel his eyes droop closed.

 Ben laughed softly. “Anything you need, Klaus. Have some nice dreams for me, will you?” Klaus’ eyes were closed, but for a flash, he thought he saw someone above him. He couldn’t see features, just a strange helmet and black robes. A pale hand sprinkled shining dust onto him. Onto his closed eyes. And then the figure was gone.

  And he swore, right before he drifted off to sleep, that he felt Ben’s hand on his shoulder. But then again, it could have just been his imagination.

[sextonsharpwinhalstead]

Chicago Med Review 3x13 Best Laid Plans

Man, oh man. Is it like a new rule? Every other episode has to be good, so they don’t lose viewers? Cause last week was meh and this was WOW! What’s strange is I have seen a few reviews that feel like this episode was just meh, and I can’t disagree more with that assessment. I’m a person who enjoys full, hearty dialogue, or incredibly brilliant, simplistic style of speaking (think The Fall with Jamie Dornan and Gillian Anderson). Chicago Med usually tries for the latter and fails (at least in my humble opinion) so when we get episodes where every single interaction and bit of dialogue moves each scene and builds from the previous episode I applaud it. Med has been known for either writing emotions, and situations off of a cliff or chasing their tail with development. This episode doesn’t let them off the hook for those past sins but it’s a step in the right direction.

It begins with Ava and Connor. Still able to work around each other after Ava swerved him and after they spent the night together. They are performing a transplant, and everything appears to be going well until the heart turns into a blue jelly-bean and Ava is forced to put in an artificial heart because she is not a fan of ECMO, as we know, mostly because it keeps the patient from enjoying any type of life.

*If you haven’t noticed this is not the first time we have heard Ava discuss the negatives of bedridden patients missing out on life and feeling disillusioned from all the procedures and recovery. See people, there is a sensitive side to Ava, one we are let in on from her warm bedside manner with the unconscious patient. One would have to wonder as Connor sees her favorably so does the audience, or maybe it’s because he’s rubbing off on her.

However, if Connor is rubbing off on Ava then Ava is definitely rubbing off on Connor. No matter how you view the outcome of the situation what Connor did was shady. He hung in the shadows undermining Ava’s every move. Ava had EVERY right to be angry with him and I liked the fact that she wouldn’t allow him to go all sanctimonious Connor-hero-mode and thank god cause I didn’t want to hear it either. We know what the reasons are for why he did it and frankly, they can’t really be argued, but the ethics and underhandedness is really what she’s arguing.

He won’t be apologizing any time soon because his patient is alive and can be there another day for his family and very young daughter who still very much need him, and Ava’s patient can sustain with the artificial heart for a few months until another one is available.

Which could be any day considering Noah Sexton is still working in the ED (I know I’m shady) … anyhoo I absolutely loved this case because those veteran actors made the entire story so much fun! You may recognize Tessa (Julie White) as Shia Lebouf’s mother from the first Transformers movies. She doesn’t miss a comedic beat in this story and she plays off of a very confused Reed Birney (Greg) exceptionally well. When she threw up on Noah it was more karmic justice from the gods and I was for sure he was fucking up a diagnosis for a heart attack but a baby?! I didn’t see that coming! I loved it too! This was a good balance of much needed comedy and lightheartedness done right that is often missing from Chicago Med or usually just comes across corny/cheesy when they try to execute it.

It was good Noah knew he had to change after being vomited on because he and April got to cut a rug at their cousins 15th birthday party. He looked nice, Ethan looked handsome even though that tie he was wearing looked like it came from Dollar General or a special Father’s Day catalogue of Chicos. Emily on the other hand is a sexpot and I swear I do not remember Ms. Arden having all that chest. But none looked quite like April. I was almost wondering whose party it was. Ethan spotted her whipping and nay-naying with the kids and all that Diana Ross hair and Bob Mackey gown slit to the high heavens to reveal those enviable legs! I have to wonder who fought to get whose clothes off first…April? Or Ethan? Did they even make it home? Did it happen in the car? I’ll see my way to the dumpster, good day sir.

I haven’t mentioned much about Ethan’s patient cause frankly it was the weak side of the episode, but kudos to Ethan for not eavesdropping on Rachel and Jacob. The rest of these damn folks need to learn a thing or two about privacy. This story did welcome back Stohl who I would’ve traded Abrams for because I am a one-woman fan club for that man. I enjoy the uppity, comedic sign of Stohl, but I like him better when he’s being pranked.

Sarah’s dad was back and lurking about deliciously. Why Daniel tipped his hand is anyone’s wonder, but I think he was desperate to get Sarah out of a potentially devastating financial situation. Because otherwise how in the world did someone with the psychiatric knowledge like Dr. Charles think he could finesse a man like Robert Haywood who also has a doctorate and is extremely brilliant and oh yeah…a psychopath. I don’t know when or where we will see Robert again, but I hope this isn’t the last of him. He is a guilty pleasure and the villain I’ve been waiting for from Chicago Med.

And now last but certainly not least is Natalie and Will. Man, oh Manstead. They are getting there but I want more of this because they have way more past to hash out and Torrey hinted in an earlier interview that it’s supposed to go there. I don’t necessarily want to see them never break-up, but I think Will has a lot he needs to atone for. All cannot be completely forgotten. I can’t wait to see what Med has planned.

[grayson-dolans-dangly-earring]

CEO Ethan

Here it is kids! The long awaited Daddy-Dom CEO Ethan fic i promised you all a while ago! Let me know what you think! Enjoy!

@dangly-feather-earring-dolan @scuteedolans @pinksnapbackbullshit

I was furiously typing when the phone on my desk started to ring. I lifted the receiver and was immediately bombarded with the gruff angry voice of my boss. I rolled my eyes and interrupted his rambling with “Good evening Mr. Dolan. What can I do for you?” I could hear him sigh on the other end. “I’m sorry Y/N. I’m always so rude to you when I’ve had a shit day. I apologize.” He replied. “It’s quite alright, sir. What can I help you with?” I asked. “If you really want to know, I would very much appreciate you coming to my office and letting me have my way with you.” I could hear the wicked smirk in his voice.

Ethan Dolan was an excellent boss. One of those people who sees what they want and nothing will stop them until they get it. This attitude made him a wonderful business man with an impressive work ethic, and an extremely wealthy individual. The only problem was, once his sites were set on something, he never gave up. And his sites were set on me.

The day I started as Mr. Dolan’s secretary, I knew I was a goner. He was so put together and beautiful, I don’t know how anyone could work around him without falling in love with him. He’s always made it very clear that he was attracted to me and he was making it a mission to whittle away at me until I finally would break and give in to him and his charm. Everyday was a struggle not to, trust me.

I giggled into the receiver. “Mr. Dolan you know that’s not going to happen.” I said, knowing my resolve was very close to crumbling. “Y/N, my day has been awful-“ He started and I cut him off saying “I know it has. I schedule your days remember?” Ethan chuckled before replying. “Yes I know you know. So, if you won’t let me show you how fun I really can be, will you at least have a drink with me?”

“If people see me drinking with you in public sir, they might get the wrong idea about our relationship.” I reminded him. “No not in public, in my office. I need to unwind and the last place I want to do that is in a noisy bar. Just come to my office. Please?” He was practically begging at this point and I felt bad for the guy. “Fine. Give me five minutes to finish this report. And NO funny business, Mr. Dolan.” I huffed and disconnected the phone call.

I continued typing and finished my report in a few minutes. Once the document was saved, I grabbed my purse and coat and walked down the hall to Mr. Dolan’s office. Why was I so nervous? He’s just my boss. That’s it. I most certainly am NOT attracted to him. I can’t be.

I stopped walking when I was face to face with the heavy wooden door to Mr. Dolan’s office. I took a deep breath and knocked on the door. A deep voice from the other side told me to come in and I shivered slightly as I turned the brass knob and stepped into his office.

I had been in this office hundreds of times but in that moment everything felt different. As I crossed the threshold I could feel the electricity in the air. The lights were lower than usual and gave the room a soft glow. I could hear Mr. Dolan’s stereo playing softly in the background and I began to feel a bit more relaxed. I made my way further into the office and set my things down in one of the two chairs on the opposite side of his desk. On his side, Mr. Dolan sat with his feet propped up on the desk, a glass of amber liquid swishing around in his left hand. God he was beautiful.

I sat in the chair beside the one containing my purse and coat. I quietly folded my hands in my lap and looked down at my feet. What was I doing here?! This was wildly inappropriate! My mother would kill me if she knew what I was doing! Mr. Dolan cleared his throat and I looked up.

“Y/N would you like a drink?” He asked smiling softly. “Yes, sir. Thank you.” I replied. He froze for a moment and then continued moving like nothing had happened, bringing me a glass identical to his own. I downed the entire drink in one go, due mostly to my nerves about this whole situation, not thinking of how fast the alcohol would affect me.

****

A half an hour later, I was feeling much better than when the night had started. My limbs were heavy and warm and Mr. Dolan had been making me laugh much more than I had anticipated. I was currently perched cross legged on his desk going on and on about everything from books to movies to music.

“And that, Mr. Dolan, is why I love the Transformers movies so much.” I said. “Mr. Dolan, there is something I want to do.” I said locking eyes with the beautiful man. His eyes were so beautiful and I could see a fire in them as he gazed back at me.

“You can call me Ethan, you know.” He said with a grin. “Well, Ethan, I want to do something.” I said slipping off of his desk. “And what would that be Y/N?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest and smirking.

“I want you to teach me how to dance.” I said making my way towards the empty space near the couch in his office. “And what makes you think I know how to dance?” He questioned with a cocked eyebrow, rising from his chair.

“Oh come on Ethan. I’ve scheduled you for multiple formal gatherings that most certainly included dancing.” I said with an eye roll. Ethan crossed the room with a few broad steps, took my hand in his, and put his other hand on my hip. “If you knew what was good for you, you wouldn’t roll your eyes at me sweetheart.” He whispered hot against my ear. I could feel a shudder course through my body at his words.

The music switched to “Kiss Me” by Ed Sheeran and we began to sway around the room. His arms held me tight and I followed his footsteps. His hand that had been on my hip slowly traveled further to rest on my ass. I sucked in a deep breath and that’s when I knew. If I looked this man dead in the eye right at this very moment, I wouldn’t be able to say no. I wouldn’t be able to resist Ethan and if we were being honest, I wouldn’t want to. I fell deeply and hopelessly in love with him a long time ago but I refused to believe it.

I tipped my head up to look at Ethan to find him already gazing down at me, his eyes sparkling. We were still dancing as the song changed to “Or Nah” by Somo and I started laughing as Ethans jaw dropped. “Oh my god this is so unprofessional.” He said as he reached for his stereo to turn it off. I sat on the couch and waited.

When he was finished fiddling with the stereo, he joined me on the couch and now with the lack of music all that could be heard was our breathing and possibly my insanely fast heartbeat. Before I knew what I was doing I leaned into Ethan’s personal space, and kissed him. His lips didn’t move and I quickly pulled back, completely appalled at my own behavior.

“Oh. Oh my god. I am so sorry Mr. Dolan. I should never have done that. I should go.” I stuttered as I ran to grab my things. As soon as my purse and coat were in my hand I ran to the door and yanked it open. Before I could rush out of the room a large hand slammed the door shut. I was breathing so heavily that it almost didn’t register how close Ethan was to me. “Mr. Dolan, please let me go. I’ve embarrassed myself enough for tonight.” I pleaded quietly. All of a sudden, I felt his teeth graze my earlobe. “I told you to call me Ethan. Mr. Dolan is too formal. But if Ethan doesn’t work, you could always call me Daddy.” He whispered with a dark chuckle. My sharp intake of breath gave me away and he continued spewing this delicious filth into my ear.

He spun me around and pressed my back to the door. Looking down at me he said “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this. I didn’t kiss you back because quite frankly I was in shock. I never in all my life would have thought you would take interest in me. But I’m going to fix that kiss.”

Ethan leaned in and crushed his lips to mine. I dropped my coat and purse as his hands roamed my body. His left hand grazed my breast and my nipple hardened under his touch. He tweaked it with his fingers causing me to gasp and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into my mouth.

I dug my fingers into his hair and brought my leg up to hook it over his hip. His large hand ran up my thigh and under my dress. My body was already warm from the liquor and Ethan’s touch was doing nothing to cool me down. All he was doing was stoking the fire within me.

He pulled away from the kiss and I let out an involuntary whine. He grinned at me before his lips began their assault on my neck and chest. Ethan’s hands felt like they were everywhere all at once. The hand on my thigh made its way up into the nape of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair. He tugged sharply and my back arched as my head tipped back. I could feel his teeth on my neck before he spoke. “Y/N I have something I need to tell you before this goes any further.” He said softly, releasing my hair and pulling back to look me in the eyes.

“I have very specific tastes and the things I like to do in bed might be a tad different than you’re used to, and I hope that won’t scare you away.” He whispered. “Tell me Ethan. Tell me what you need. I’ll give you anything you want.” I pleaded desperately. “Oh sweetheart, there are so many things I want from you, but right now, I would very much like to tie your hands behind your back and fuck you over my desk Y/N. I want to see myself sliding in and out of you while your screams hang in the air. I want to hear your melodic voice begging for your Daddy as I watch you on your knees. I want to feel you around me as you cum. I want to bite every inch of your beautiful skin and leave my marks for everyone to see. Most importantly, I want you to want that all too.” He said breathing heavily.

By now my panties were soaked. This man had just described everything I didn’t know I needed. I rose from the couch and slipped my dress off my shoulders, letting it pool at my feet before stepping out of it and removing my panties. I folded the fabric neatly and put it on his desk. I could feel his eyes stalking my every move and it made me feel so powerful. I walked around his massive wooden desk and stood with my legs apart. I bent forward, bracing myself on his desk with my forearms.

I looked over at Ethan, still sitting on the couch. “Well? What are you waiting for, Daddy?” I asked with a smirk. He shot off the couch and was behind me in an instant “God damn it you have no idea how bad I want this.” He growled as his hand came cracking down on my ass. I yelped from the sudden sting and the jolts of pleasure it caused. “Come on sweetheart, spread your legs for Daddy. I wanna see that pretty pussy.” He said while gently pushing my thighs further apart. I was trying so hard not to whimper as I readjusted my legs.

Silently he crouched behind me and I could feel his breath on my slick folds. “So pretty baby. Like a flower.” That was all he said before he dove face-first into my heat. His tongue swept over my clit just enough to make me whimper. I needed more but I never wanted him to stop. He dragged his tongue through my folds a few more times before unexpectedly plunging his tongue into my opening. I screamed at the sudden intrusion, but it felt so damn good.

When his mouth left my sex I cried out at feeling so empty. I could hear Ethan undressing behind me and I was shivering with anticipation. A second later I felt him press up against me and gently tug my hands behind my back and I rested my cheek on the cool wood. I felt him wind his silk tie around my wrists and secure it in place with a tight knot.

“Tell me what you want Y/N.” He spoke, finally breaking his silence. “You! Please Daddy, I need you inside me! I cant take it anymore! I feel like my body is on fire!” I shrieked beneath him, a tear sliding down my cheek. His hand slid over my back and wound into my hair.

“Shh little one. Don’t cry. Daddy will give you what you need okay?” Ethan said softly before driving his cock into me so hard the desk moved. An animalistic sound punched out of me as he continued to thrust into me. “FUCK. Yes! Just like that! Oh my god Ethan please don’t stop!” I shouted.

He leaned forward and draped himself over my back, his mouth hovering near my ear. “Do you like that? Do you like how my cock feels inside you? FUCK Y/N. You’re so god damn tight. Like a fucking virgin I swear to god. Feels so good around me.” He ground out between his teeth.

Ethan’s hand reached down to rub furiously at my clit. I yelped in surprise but that yelp was soon followed by a loud groan. “Daddy please! Can I cum? I need it so bad!” I cried. The hand he had in my hair wound tighter and he yanked my head up.

“Come on baby. Cum on my dick. Do it! I wanna feel that tight pussy squeezing me. Cum NOW!” Ethan shouted and my body responded. I came all over him, my body spasming wildly as he continued thrusting at his punishing pace

An unintelligible groan ripped from his throat as his thrusts began to stutter. “Come on Daddy. Cum for me.” I whispered and that was all he needed, spilling his seed inside me before collapsing on my back.

“Um Mr. Dolan? You’re crushing my hands.” I giggled. He sighed on top of me and said “Please don’t make me move Y/N. I think my soul just left my body through my dick and I don’t think my legs work anymore.” He said chuckling. “Aw that’s too bad. I was gonna suggest a round two but I need my hands for what I want to do to you. Eh, maybe next time.” I said shrugging. “Oh shit, okay!” Ethan leapt off of me in .2 seconds after hearing that, his nimble fingers freeing my hands. This was gonna be a long night.

[agirlwithtoomanythoughts-blog1]

roman reigns { first meetings }

NOTE: Okay, so while I was writing the Spiders one shots, I started brainstorming and got lost in the writing prompts tags here on Tumblr and on google search. Stumbled across this little gem of a page here… And I figured why not? I can take the prompts I like best and put my own spin on them? So, this is how things are gonna work.. The one shots are all going to have the same theme but different twists? If you get what I'm trying to say? Anyway, first up for this series is…

Haha, you gotta keep reading to find out. But the prompt is first meeting and the setting is a fitness center.. Reader is in the dance studio there and our mystery wrestler is working out in the gym down the hall, obviously.. And here we go! -- Love Amber.

TAGGING: as per usual, the amazing @alexablss and @believe-that-001 because they’re rad and I luff them. Also tagging @fan-fiction-galore and @xfirespritex and @littledeadrottinghood and @writergrrrl29 because they’re sweethearts and they asked to be tagged.

WARNINGS: Nothing but cute and flirty fluff. Seriously, that's it.. Oh wait, I lied.. There's always the presence of my potty mouth. Because I swear and I can't control it and that comes out in the writing for whatever reason.

Whenever I'm dancing, it's like the outside world just disappears. Seriously, I shut everything out but the music and my movements, the way the music makes me feel. I had huge auditions in a few weeks, so you can bet your ass I'd been practically living in the studio day and night..

So had the guy in the gym down the hall, I noticed. I saw him coming in a time or two when I was taking a time out and drinking some water. I don't think he saw me, but anyway… Yeah, it's hard not to notice a giant specimen of walking sex on legs.. Especially when you're single and quite frankly, it's been a while. My best guess is he's one of the thousands who flock to Florida, they opened some wrestling school here or something.. Anyway, with his body, I'd imagine he was a fighter..

Again, not that I noticed.

Where was I? Oh yeah… So I've told you that when I dance, everything and everyone outside of the dance floor disappears.. I'd probably been working on my latest routine for an upcoming audition for almost an hour when the music stopped.

I stopped in mid leap to turn and see what the hell happened and the guy from the gym down the hallway was leaning in the doorway, sweat stained t shirt draped around his neck, just watching me with this curious look in his eyes.

"What the hell?" "It was making me lose count." he stepped into the room and right away, I noticed that his presence seemed to just… it dominated the space. My eyes roamed over well built tattooed biceps and fore arms and I bit down on my lip, tearing my eyes off of his delicious body to look him dead in the eye and deadpan, "So? Shut the fucking door."

"I tried that." he was moving a little closer and I found myself doing the same. It was kind of like we were sizing each other up. I got this feeling.. The music being too loud was most likely an excuse. And I smirked a little as I boldly met his gaze and dragged my fingers slowly through messy and sweat dampened hair, tilting my head up to look at him.

"So? Try harder. Look, I have auditions in a week, buddy. And I fully intend on getting an invite to join this dance troupe. I'm sure whatever it is you're doing is just…"I trailed off as his body and my body brushed and I felt this almost electric pop in the air around us.

"Just as important as whatever it is you're down here trying to do.. It's my livelihood, actually." the guy spoke with this deep and almost seductive growl and I felt myself getting wetter with each movement he made, each time his eyes left mine and slowly moved over my body in an almost predatory way, each time he gave me the smirk he was giving me and god help me, with every single word he spoke.

But, it didn't stop my sass. I was distracted, yeah.. But not enough that I was going to just let the guy walk in and cut my fucking music. Like he owns this fucking fitness center.

Newsflash, he does not..

"So you are a fighter?" I blurted it out before I gave it any thought and he eyed me before bursting into laughter. "Professional wrestler. Fighter can cover any number of things, baby girl."

"I wouldn't know. It's violent, so I don't watch." I mouthed off, and when he moved closer, the air conditioning kicked on, the vent overhead blasting cool air down on both of us, lightly ruffling long black hair that frankly, made him look like he belonged on the cover of some erotic biker novel or in a shampoo ad for men. I licked my lips and swallowed hard when he gave a soft chuckle. "I honestly wasn't trying to be a dick.. I just.. There's this thing happening next weekend and it's huge for me. And I need to focus.. Not be distracted by whatever it is you call this." he gestured to me in my leotard and the thin silky black skirt I'd been dancing in.

"This audition, sir.. It could change my entire life. It gets tiresome, eating Ramen and praying to God you get a part in the chorus line down at the club." I managed to mutter the words without ever breaking his intent gaze. When he bit his lip, I bit back a whimper and he chuckled.

"You're not gonna get anywhere if you don't loosen up, baby girl." he turned, he started to walk towards the door and I fumed, mouth opening and closing. Was he being arrogant or helpful, I found myself wondering and naturally, I caught up to him, tapping his shoulder. He turned around, leaning in the doorway, looking down at me with this smile on his face that would have definitely charmed my panties right off if our encounter hadn't been so…

Irritating.

I could kind of sense that the attitude on his part was just because he was nervous.. And he was determined and that served to make him tense for whatever reason. "You won't win your big fight, sir, if you keep overdoing it.. You go in there, you spend hours training and sparring and come next weekend, you'll be burnt out." I shot back and he chuckled.

"Whatever you think." "Yeah, well, right back to you. I'm not stiff." "Well you're definitely not loose. And it makes it look robotic." his eyes flicked back to mine after lingering a few seconds on my lips.

"Okay, fine.. I'm doing what I know at least one of the judges will like, I'm playing it safe… Since you know so much about dancing, sir.."

"It's Roman." he cut off, flashing me a smile as he added, "Can we just start over? We got off on the wrong foot."

I nodded and introduced myself and he nodded. "I don't know much about dancing.. But I know dancers are supposed to be passionate.. Kind of like fighters?" he chuckled and then admitted, "That's what someone told me once."

"Show me what you mean." I demanded, flashing a smirk, giving him a challenge. I was at least ninety percent sure he'd walk out of the room laughing, to my surprise, he chuckled. "You challengin me, baby girl? Because I don't back down… From anything."

"Less talking, Roman.. Pick a song. Show me what I'm doing wrong. And then maybe I'll come down and spot you or whatever." I offered, a bold look in my eyes as his eyes met mine again. He chuckled and I raised a brow when the new Ed Sheeran song started to play, upbeat and a little faster than what I'd been going for. It relaxed me and it was only then that maybe, this entire first meeting was slightly a disaster at the begin because I'd been tensed up?

I mean he's a giant and he's a little intimidating with the muscles and the cocky smirk and the way he can stare you down and it's like his eyes pierce your soul somehow while also managing to maintain this air of complete and total lack of interest.

He snickered a little and pulled me against him, immediately going for a dip and when he bought me back up, our eyes locked on each other's lips. I gave a soft laugh and he twirled me beneath my arm. When we stopped dancing a few minutes later, I eyed him and he asked me with a shrug, "What's that look for?"

"I'm surprised.. And impressed? You didn't stomp my toes, try to play grab ass or anything.. And then when I showed you what I originally wanted to do, you actually managed to not drop me on my fat ass when we did the lift?"

"You are not fat, baby girl." his eyes roamed my body and he bit his lip and I felt my skin heating all over. I knew it might be construed as rude but I had to know… Had he planned this?

"Did you plan all this?" I blurted it out before I could refrain from asking and he chuckled, not saying anything for a second and finally, he waved his hands in the air a little. "You caught me.. I've seen you down here, day after day this week, bustin your ass and getting increasingly more frustrated.. And you had me curious."

"Likewise." I admitted, laughing softly. "So.. I'm done workin out and you need a break from this." he gestured to the dance studio as he flashed this sexy sort of half grin and half smirk at me and then asked, "I was wonderin if maybe you wanted to go get food with me?"

"I'd love that, Roman."

[bertrcndarchive-blog]

667 Dark Avenue interviews Daniel Handler

Post by Trouble on Jun 15, 2016 at 3:05am

EDIT: Below are Handler's responses. I hope you will enjoy reading over them and thanks once again to everyone who participated. Go team! A mysterious photograph was also enclosed with the email:

--- I can now present a final copy of the questions which I have just sent to Daniel Handler's representative. Once again, thank you to all of you who took time to write a submission; I really enjoyed reading through them and was very impressed with the quality of questions submitted. Thanks also to all those who helped this become possible behind the scenes, reviewed drafts or gave opinions on questions- you all know who you are. You might have some questions about the format of the final interview, and I shall attempt to address some of them here. The interview consists of 21 questions, as a call back to the original interview from 2007.. You'll notice the questions are split into 4 categories (roughly 'general', 'writing', 'All the Wrong Questions and A series of unfortunate events' and netflix). These sections contain respectively 6, 6, 7 and 2 questions as it is 667's 2nd interview conducted with Daniel Handler. Each section has a title that is a play on the title of one or more of Handler's works (something, I should mention, that is Dante's brainchild, not mine). If you have any more questions about the selection process or about specific questions, then feel free to post and discuss them here. I'll do my best to answer them, though I'm going away in two days and won't be online as much from then until July 8th. So, without further ado, here is the final cut: --- Dear Sir, Permit us to extend our best wishes to you and gratitude at once again being able to get in touch. Despite becoming established over thirteen years ago - longer than some of our youngest members were even alive - our organisation still finds new points of discussion regarding the minutiae of your lifestyle and works. Every day, our members unearth more and more questions, each burning, like a fire in the mind, with more urgency than the last and each opening up a myriad of new ideas, mysteries and yet more wrong questions. It is with a mixture of pride, anticipation, excitement and trepidation that I enclose, nine years after our first interview, another 21 questions from the members of 667 Dark Avenue. We can only hope that you may find the time to turn away from the production of a certain television show in order to review them. With all due respect, The 667ers. *** The Basic Six thedoctororwell: First of all... how dare you? Handler: With fluctuating trepdiation. Bee: Knowing what you do now, what advice would you give to your almost 13-year old self? What about Mr. Snicket? Handler: Being given so much advice is one of the hardships of being 13, and I'm not sure what I do know now.  I suppose I could warn myself away from certain individuals, but exploring wickedness is one of the hardships--and the pleasures--of that age as well. Tryina Denouement: How should you behave at a party where everyone ignores you no matter how much you try to make them notice you? Handler: Wandering unnoticed is my favorite way to attend a party, but if you prefer to be surrounded, take notes and write a gossip column.  At all subsequent gatherings, you will be the center of several interesting orbits. Groge: If you had to lose a limb which one would it be? Handler: Someone else's.  I could get more specific only in whispers. Charlie: How does it make you feel to know that you are responsible for creating some of the most meaningful relationships of my life, and the lives of many others on 667? Additionally, how do you feel meeting 667ers? Handler: All of my most meaningful relationships have been born out of literature, which is why it is a world of which I have always wanted to be a part.  If other people have found such engagement and solace, then I have taken steps toward repaying the debt I owe the authors I admire.  Furthermore, whenever I've met a 667er--or someone posing as one--they've seemed charming. Lemona Snicket and BSam: We hope you liked your visit to Australia last year, but being obliged to make it into a question, we shall ask: How did you like Australia? Handler: Very much, as always.  I have a particular fondness for Hobart with its blustery and delicious curiousities. *** How To Write For Every Occasion Terry Craig and Tryina Denouement: Which methods can you recommend when it comes to practising writing prose? Do you set deadlines when writing, and how do you motivate yourself to follow them? Handler: I don't believe in deadlines but I believe in a regimen.  If you want to write you have to read.  You have to read far and wide.  You have to read across genre and nationality and structure.  You have to reread what moves you most, over and over, to see how it works.  And then of course you have to write, for as many hours as you can spare.  The writing of good prose requires the writing of bad prose, lots of it, and so it is best to get going with the bad prose as early and as often as possible.  As far as motivation, my motivation is that I like doing it.  If you do not like writing you should not write.  The world is full of writers who learned too late that they do not like it, and speaking of avoiding people at parties, those are they. Zortegus: As a native Spanish speaker who followed A Series of Unfortunate Events since the very beginning, I suffered because the series' translations were incomplete and difficult to find, and I felt that much was lost in the translation. As a Literature student and wannabe translator, my questions are: Are you consulted or involved in the translation of your books? Do you speak another language? Are you conscious of the hardships to translate your books due your particular style, full of elaborate linguistic jokes and excellent use of the English language? Handler: I am hopelessly monolingual, and it breaks my heart that I must read so much literature in translation, knowing that so much has been lost.  I try not to think about it with my own work and its translations.  Every so often a translator asks me a question about a book of mine, and I realize that the question has never been asked of me previously, despite previous translations of the work.  It is a sad thought.  My hat is off to all wannabe translators for tackling what, is, essentially, a hopeless task.  But then, so is literature. ryantrimble457: I know, originally, the publishers only ordered four books in A Series of Unfortunate Events. Did you always have thirteen planned out and hoped you'd get the chance to write them, or did your plans for the plot change after the number of books you were to write was increased? I'm very interested in anything you can tell us about the series' early development! Handler:I immediately had thirteen books in mind, and even a rough structure, although there were many, many details to be filled in later.  Then I bided my time, hoping against hope that a miracle would happen.  Very soon they asked me for four more.  I asked for nine more.  They said no, and I bided my time again, and then quite soon they said, it seems we are as crazy as you are. Hermes: Adverbs includes a story which links it with The Basic Eight, and some of us have seen an allusion in We Are Pirates as well. Why We Broke Up seems in some ways to recall the works of Lemony Snicket - the general form of the story reminds us of the letter Beatrice sent to Lemony, and there is also a scene where Ed and Min steal a dispenser of sugar. Is Why We Broke Up related to Mr Snicket’s books? And are all Daniel Handler's adult works set in the same world? Handler:I don't mean to be rude or obtuse, but this is the sort of question I never quite understand.  Nabokov famously said that "reality" is the only word that is only meaningful when it is surrounded by quotation marks, and I think I agree.  I do find it interesting to place in my work items of interest to the careful rereader.  What one does with those items is frankly none of my business. Charlie and Comet: Do you have any regrets regarding A Series of Unfortunate Events, and can you tell us about any ideas for books you’ve had to scrap? Handler:I have countless regrets about all of my work and would not want to be the sort of writer who does not.  The best comfort I can offer myself is that I did the best I could have done at the time.  And I've scrapped countless ideas for books, but they are only permanently scrapped if I realize that the book in my head is a book someone else has already written splendidly.  The other ideas, no matter how hopeless, sit on bulletin boards and in drawers, waiting for a tap on the shoulder. E.F.: What, in your mind, makes a piece of writing terribly wonderful or wonderfully terrible? Handler:The sort of phrase "terribly wonderful or wonderfully terrible"--or any other bit of trickery that makes one's eyes and brain scan backward for a second--is what good literature is made of.  If the reader is a passenger on a train, it's not a good voyage unless one has blinked in surprise and turned one's head to see what that was in the passing landscape. *** A Series of Unfortunately Wrong Questions Handler:I think I should preface this section by expressing my deep appreciation for such careful and imaginative reads from you.  I hope such flattery will forgive my rather evasive answers. Teleram and thedoctororwell: Did Mr. Snicket ever return to Stain'd by the Sea? Did he ever hear from the town’s inhabitants again, or ask his sister what became of Ms. Feint? Handler:Mr. Snicket's story is not done being chronicled, but suffice to say that when he stepped into the Clusterous Forest he was not out of the woods. Dante and thedoctororwell: Having instantly recognised the young Mr. Snicket's tattoo, when did Ellington Feint first learn about V.F.D.? Did Armstrong Feint cross paths with V.F.D. before he came to Stain'd-by-the-Sea? Handler:One should remember that the Baudelaires' experience with V.F.D. occurred when the organization was in a much more fragmentary state than it was at the time of All The Wrong Questions. I prefer to think that Ellington, in her search for her father, brushed up against other young people on desperate searches. Hermes: In reading All the Wrong Questions, some of us have wondered about how it relates to what we already know of Lemony's youth from The Beatrice Letters. Lemony, though not yet thirteen, says 'My schooldays are over', and later gives up his apprenticeship. Does this mean that everything we know of his education comes before this - in particular the trip to the mountains mentioned in LS to BB #2? And were Lemony and Beatrice already sweethearts at the time of All the Wrong Questions? Handler:I suppose it depends what you mean by "schooldays."  I think of the term as referring to very traditional educational structures during one's early childhood.  Similarly, I think that one can't really be sweethearts until one's early childhood has passed by. Emerald Snicket: Can you reveal anything about Mr. Snicket's 'Kind Editor', or any other kind editors you yourself have known? Handler:Being an editor is largely a thankless business, but I try to thank Susan Rich as often as I can. Olivine and lorelai: Did Kit and Olaf break up due to obvious conflicting circumstances, or was it another, less noticeable reason? Did Olaf become a villain and betray V.F.D. before or after the deaths of his parents? Handler: As with so many villains, isn't the real mystery not why their sweethearts broke up with them, but why they had sweethearts in the first place? Liam R. Findlay: Your books make some progressive suggestions towards combating misogyny, gender stereotypes and homophobia. I know that LGBT readers find inspiration and confidence in characters like themselves - did you consciously write any LGBT characters into Snicket's world and if so, which ones? In regards to this topic, some perceive the ambiguously-gendered henchperson's gender as frightening and uncomfortable to the Baudelaires; did you consider this reading when writing the series, and what reflections do you have on it now? Handler:I grew up in an environment of queerness of every stripe, and I'd like to believe my work reflects such a world, even if the romantic and sexual lives and preferences of many of my characters are not explicit, as they aren't in life.  (After all, we don't know what Sir and Charles do when we're not around, as we don't know, and thank goodness, with many friends; my new forthcoming YA novel has already ruffled the feathers of both queer and straight readers for scenes portraying certain flexibilities.) As for Henchperson of Indeterminate Gender, I was always aware of the differences between androgyny and transgenderism, although I can see some readers might think the Baudelaires were frightened of this person because of their ambiguity rather than, say, their violence and evil intentions.  In casting the part for Netflix, it was refreshing to see queer and/or trans actors relish the role, and to hear from some of them that they'd found solace in the books' visibilities when they were younger.  One never knows where one might find oneself. Agathological: Please, please, please, let us know: What does the S in 'S. Theodora Markson' stand for? Handler:Oh, but it's right there in the text.  Don't you want to find it for yourself? *** Hurry Up and Televise MisterM and Anka: How do you feel about the pressures of the Netflix adaptation, having to meet the expectations of book nerds like us whilst also appealing to the casual viewer? Handler:The adaptation process has frankly been very difficult, and at various times I was asked to leave various rooms when such decisions were being made, and we're still many miles from the finished product.  But just days ago I walked into an enormous lumbermill, constructed solely for the purposes of this production, and it was impossible not to be thrilled.  ("Leaking" materials from a production-in-progress is strictly forbidden; incidentally, I have no idea where the enclosed photograph came from.)  I have never been good at predicting what will delight whom, but isn't it often as fun to sit and roll one's eyes as it is to be breathlessly rapt? Antenora and Dante: Will the TV adaptation show us a side of the Baudelaire case which the books didn't? Do any original elements from your draft scripts for the Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events movie return in your scripts for the Netflix series, and could you tell us about any ideas which aren't returning? Handler:Some liberties have been taken and some little subplots added, and my scripts, as for the movie, have been tinkered with by other hired hands.  As one says while falling down an elevator shaft, we will see where we land.

[rollinscarisi]

Shape of You

So I heard Ed Sheeran’s new song and my brain immedietely thought of Owen and Amelia. Oh well...

If you haven’t heard the song, please do, it’s amazing!

Anyway, hope you like this! 💖

He was at a birthday party and his friends kept messing with him, telling him he was distracted, again. And he was. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the petite brunette woman sitting at the bar. He noticed her when she walked in and found himself glancing her way every few minutes.

Lowering his glance from her face, he noticed she was fidgeting with her fingers. He also realized there was still no drink in front of her. She hadn’t ordered anything. He saw the bartender approach her once again, probably asking if she was ready to order yet, and she just shook her head.

After some encouragement from his friends, he decided to give it a shot and go talk to this girl.

“Hi.”

She looked at him sideways, but said nothing.

Tough crowd… - he thought.

“I noticed you haven’t ordered anything. Can I get you something?”

“No.”

He tilted his head, silently wondering why her voice sounded so sad. Feeling like he wasn’t getting anywhere and also knowing it wasn’t his place to be bothering her, he sort of nodded his head once in surrender and turned around to go back to his friends.

Her voice stopped him though.

“Wanna dance?”

The club isn't the best place to find a lover So the bar is where I go Me and my friends at the table doing shots Drinking fast and then we talk slow Come over and start up a conversation with just me And trust me I'll give it a chance now Take my hand, stop, put Van The Man on the jukebox And then we start to dance, and now I'm singing like

Was this happening?

She said two words to him and he instantly found her hand on his, leading him to the dance floor.

He knew music was playing in the background, but quite frankly his brain wasn’t registering it.

All he could focus on was the warmth of her curves under his hands.

The way her hair swayed as she moved side to side. Is it as silky as it looks?

He noticed she moved a little closer to him grabbed both his hands, intertwined their fingers and dragged them a little lower on her waist, making him feel every curve.

Now up close to her, he could see her eyes. Those eyes were bluer than blue and had a subtle provocative sparkle to them which, for some unknown reason to him, forced him to lower his gaze to her lips. She didn’t have full lips but they definitely looked deliciously kissable.

Next thing he knew she turned around, and her back was now pressed firmly to his front. She wrapped his arms around her and intertwined their fingers again. The suggestively sexy way her hips were moving against his body was driving him completely crazy.

“Maybe we should stop…”

“Are you sure?” – she pressed her hips harder against his and looked up at him “Because it doesn’t feel like you want to stop.”

Girl, you know I want your love Your love was handmade for somebody like me Come on now, follow my lead I may be crazy, don't mind me Say, boy, let's not talk too much Grab on my waist and put that body on me Come on now, follow my lead Come, come on now, follow my lead

He wasn’t really sure how they had gotten out of the bar and were now at his place. More precisely, he was pinning her against his living room wall.

“You don’t know my name.”

“Does it matter?”

“It does. If we’re really gonna do this you should know what name you’re gonna be moaning tonight.”

She laughed at his smart-ass response, kissed him hard again and started running her hands under his t-shirt, exploring his abs. The small moan she released made him be sure she approved of whatever was under that piece of clothing and wasted no time yanking it over his head. This girl wasn’t playing around. She knew what she wanted and she was going to take it.

Feeling like he was letting her have all the fun and control, he swiftly picked her up, forcing her to wrap her legs around his waist.

He then carried her to his room, and wasted no time laying her on his bed. On the way she had lost her clothes and was now laying there only in a lace bra and thong.

Damn, what a view…

She provocatively spread her legs a little and started running her right foot up and down his chest. The lust in her eyes was daring him to make a move. That was his breaking point. He pounced and attacked.

Getting rid of any piece of clothing left, they quickly got to business and started exploring each other’s bodies.

He kissed every inch of silky sin he could find, although always avoiding the place where she wanted him the most, barely hovering over it, and it was driving her completely crazy, he could tell.

“Stop teasing and get to it!”

“I can’t. You still don’t know my name.”

“Ugh, it doesn’t matter.” She groaned in clear frustration.

He chuckled at her impatience and expertly flipped her around so that she was lying on her stomach. He covered her body with his, his front to her back, and spread kisses and bites along her spine while widening her legs apart, just enough to make room for his body.

Once he reached her face, he placed a gentle kiss on her cheek, then moved a little, bit her ear lobe and whispered in her ear. “It’s Owen.”

And he finally joined their bodies.

I'm in love with the shape of you We push and pull like a magnet do Although my heart is falling too I'm in love with your body And last night you were in my room And now my bedsheets smell like you Every day discovering something brand new I'm in love with your body Oh—I—oh—I—oh—I—oh—I I'm in love with your body Oh—I—oh—I—oh—I—oh—I I'm in love with your body Oh—I—oh—I—oh—I—oh—I I'm in love with your body Every day discovering something brand new I'm in love with the shape of you

Owen had never been that guy. The guy who goes out with his friends and goes back home with a stranger. Not that he was complaining. This was a very attractive, very sexy stranger. And he enjoyed every second of their time together to be honest.

Being rudely wakened by the sunlight coming in from outside, he decided to turn around in his bed with every intention of wrapping his arm around the alluring woman he spent the night with.

Only, she wasn’t there. And his small apartment was clearly empty. He huffed. Of course she had left without saying anything. She hadn’t even told him her name.

He stretches his body along the spacious bed, rests his head on ‘her’ pillow and inhales. Vanilla, red fruits and cinnamon.

Under the pillow his finds a small piece of paper with a phone number written under ‘thanks for the night ;)’

And a week later he calls her.

“Hello?”

Besides not being the guy that gets the girl at the end of the night he also wasn’t the type of guy that believed in love at first sight or got completely obsessed with someone he barely met. But for some reason he couldn’t help but briefly close his eyes at the sound of her husky voice.

“Hey, it’s Owen.”

“Owen?”

“You know, from last week, we danced at the bar, I took you home and you screamed my name like 3 times…”

“Oh that Owen! You took your time calling me.”

By the tone of her voice he could tell she was smiling. And he wondered if she has been thinking about their night together as much as he had.

“I would’ve called sooner, but work kept me busy.” A bit of a white lie, but he wasn’t about to tell her he kept finding himself thinking of her throughout the week and was afraid of hearing a no.

“It’s fine.”

There was a pause – not an awkward one, more like they were listening to each other breathing.

“So I was wondering if I could take you on a date and maybe learn your name by the end of the night.”

“Or I could tell you my name right now.”

“Is that a no on going on a date with me?”

“I didn’t say that…”

“So that’s a yes?”

It was in fact a yes, because the next day they found themselves sitting across from each other at a cheap burger place.

They make small talk, get more comfortable, flirt a little, talk for hours about their childhood and their families, the good and the bad and then flirt some more.

Nearing the end of the night he decided to be a gentleman and take her home. She had other plans and was now straddling him in the back of a taxi, and was hungrily leaving red marks on his neck. His hands were very busy cupping her butt cheeks, enjoying the feel of her toned muscles.

She started biting his ear lobe and he could feel her tongue coming out to play. Suddenly her husky voice filled his brain.

“It’s Amelia.”

One week in we let the story begin We're going out on our first date You and me are thrifty, so go all you can eat Fill up your bag and I fill up a plate We talk for hours and hours about the sweet and the sour And how your family is doing okay Leave and get in a taxi, then kiss in the backseat Tell the driver make the radio play, and I'm singing like

Date one led to date two, and date two turned into 5 more.

Suddenly they had been dating for 7 months and Amelia started spending more time at Owen’s place than at hers.

They often found themselves holding hands and watching movies, sitting on benches beneath old oak trees. She often made him laugh throughout the day because to her it was the best sound in the world. He loved catching her genuine smile, like when she smiled at small ordinary things and the sparkle in her eyes would shine brighter than the sun and her single dimple came out to play.

They could talk about anything, everything or nothing and they they’d still be happiest they had ever been.

And the sex was amazing. Sometimes it was about satisfying a primal need, others it was about getting in touch with each other’s souls and surrounding themselves in their intimacy, or simply a stress reliever.

Girl, you know I want your love Your love was handmade for somebody like me Every day discovering something brand new I'm in love with the shape of you

[arazialotis]

A Pinch of Nutmeg

Pairing: Jensen × Reader

Word Count: 6500

Summary: The reader is a young and upcoming chef who takes up an opportunity in Vancouver where she by chance befriends Jensen. 

Obviously I intend no hate or ill wishes to him or his family. This is purely just for writing and wasting my time.

Welp, I did it again. Again, this is purely for a hobby and my enjoyment. Maybe some of you will enjoy it too. I am by no means a writer so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or grammatical/spelling errors. 

—

After taking a break between high school and college, you enrolled at local university to simply appease your parents’ desires. But your true passion belonged to your part-time job. You were plainly a line cook at a restaurant which was joined with a brewery yet the chef valued your opinions and even featured some of your creations on a seasonal rotating menu.

You had countless arguments with your parents about pursuing this venture further and applying for culinary school but their disapproval was clear. They didn’t think it held a future or would put on too much stress. They thought you should enroll in college for a ‘real career’ as they put it. You just felt they never understood your passion. Neither of them drank alcohol, your dad never touched a vegetable, and your mom was too overwhelmed from your younger siblings to even try to cook something that was not prepackaged and frozen. You had considered applications for culinary schools but never took that final step. It was the last argument you had with them that pushed you to register at least for some gen eds.

At the present moment, your classes were the furthest thing from your mind. It was ‘Restaurant Week’ in your city which encouraged people to dine out, try new foods, and for chefs to create weekly specials offered at a reduced cost. One of your dishes was featured for the week. Poutine with breaded fried chicken livers and a maple, mustard gravy. Yes, livers did not sound appetizing, but done right, they were extremely savory and delicious, so much so it was sinful. And you wanted to show your town that. You even invited your parents to come try it, proud one of your items was featured but they had yet to show.

Currently the dining room had a 45-minute wait to be seated and orders were flying in nonstop. But it fueled you, thriving under the pressure. You were focused on your station and were even helping others pick up the slack.

“Y/N!” Chef Jefferies yelled.

“Yes, Chef!” You barked in automatic response never removing any attention from your task.

“Office now, Gary, take over for Y/N.” He ordered.

You were annoyed and finished up a plate and responded in the uniform ‘Yes, Chef.’

On your way to his office, which was in the back of the kitchen, you tried to compose yourself by straightening your apron and wiping the sweat from your brow on your sleeve.

Before entering and analyzing the situation, you started venting to Jefferies. “Pardon me Chef, but we are backed up enough as it is, now isn’t the time…”

Jefferies cut you off. “Y/N, you know Chef Scott Coste.” He gestured over to the well-built gingered man in the chair.

Your frustration and annoyance melted as you became completely star struck. “Yes, yes of course.”

You reached out your hand to greet him and fighting not to be utterly immobilized by his presence. Scott Coste was a celebrity in your eyes. He regularly wrote articles and recipes for your favorite food magazine and frequently appeared as a judge on a cable food show.

“Pleasure,” He simply said shaking your hand.

“Chef Coste was impressed with our poutine and I couldn’t take credit for it.” Jefferies explained.

“Oh, that’s very flattering.” You laughed nervously.

“Your Chef and I have discussed your work, you are only part time?” Coste questioned confused.

“Yeah, for now, I am taking a few classes as well.” You explained.

“At a culinary school?” He asked.

“No, no just some generic classes until I figure out what I want to do with myself,” You scoffed.

A whiff of smoke caught everyone’s attention followed by shouting coming for the kitchen.

Jefferies ran out. “I’ll leave you two to it.” He said grabbing his hat and apron on his way out.

You smiled to yourself hearing him yell at someone in the distance.

“Please, sit down.” He directed towards you.

You scampered down and stared at him not sure if you should speak or if he was going to continue.

You broke the brief silence, “You in town for Restaurant Week?” “Yeah, this city has been getting some recent press, thought I would come scope it out.” He responded. “So, the poutine idea was yours?” “Um, yes, I prepare most of the components as well. I also have a few other items on our regular menu.”  You rambled.

“Yes, your chef was explaining your work to me.” He reviewed the menu in his head. “Have you ever thought of becoming full time?” He questioned.

“Yes, all the time,” You started. “But I assume it’s hard to make a living off of and get started on your own.” You explained some of your parents’ reasoning.

“What if you started under an already established name?” He questioned.

“I guess that would uncomplicate things.” You bounced around the idea in your head.

“Well, I am branching out in Vancouver and looking for new, young talent to join me.” He continued trying to make his proposition more obvious.

It took a few minutes for it to sink in. “Are you offering me a job?” You asked in complete shock.

“I’m offering you an opportunity.” Coste explained. “I’d like you to come to Denver and spend a week in my restaurant. If you can prove yourself, I’ll offer you a position in Vancouver. You could continue working in Denver until your immigration documents are approved.”

“Wow, this is just so unimaginable, I don’t know what to say.” You pondered the situation.

“I can only manage to give you a week to think it over, and that’s quite generous for the position I am in.” He frankly stated. He got up and gave you a business card. “If the answer is yes, call this number. If no, I wish you all the luck in the world.” He grabbed his jacket and scarf.

He paused before leaving. “I hope the answer is yes.”

—–

Accepting Scott’s offer had been the biggest yet best risk of your life. It had only taken you two days to decide and you told your parents after you had already arrived in Denver. It was challenging to proof yourself but you put in your greatest effort. And much to your surprise, Scott had offered you the sous chef position in Vancouver. He was tough and demanding in the kitchen, and was always addressed as Chef or Chef Coste. He made you want to pull out your hair most days and left you emotionally drained. However, outside the kitchen, he was always Scott and never Chef. He was a mentor to you and more importantly a great friend. You often would experiment new dishes together and peruse the markets looking for fun or exotic ingredients.

You had rekindled the relationship with your parents, they were skeptical at first but became proud of your accomplishments. They would even venture out to Vancouver twice a year to visit you and the restaurant.

Though you loved your life there, it was quite expensive. You lived on your own and eventually had to pick up a second job to keep up with your finer food and wine habits. You worked in the mornings as a barista at a local cafe, one where they did pour over and espresso to appease Vancouver elite. You would run to lunch at home and then head to the restaurant to start prep and worked until close. Your only full day off was Monday and Tuesday morning you had off from the cafe as well to prepare family meals. The family meal was something the restaurant crew did every week to review the menu, make changes, and propose new ideas. Sometimes you would bring a simple spaghetti in tomato sauce but more regularly you were fiddling with ingredients and trying to westernize exotic flavors.

On slow days in the cafe, after the equipment was cleaned, shelves restocked, and counters wiped down, you would create and modify recipes in your journal. You were currently working on a berbere spiced leg of lamb when he walked in. You stared at the most gorgeous man your eyes had ever beheld from behind the espresso machine. He walked over to the counter where Megan was taking his order. You could tell he had a muscular build under his gray wool parka. He was tall too with sandy hair you just wanted to run your fingers through. His 5 o'clock shadow was just as alluring.

As Megan handed you the order you blushed realizing you had completely got lost in a day dream all the while staring at him. After playing it off, you glanced back his way. It seemed he hadn’t noticed you staring but looking back at him you only caught more features, like his thin yet still luscious lips.

‘Oh my God, get yourself together’ you thought to yourself as you tampered the grounds for his drink.

As you now brewed the drink he was mostly looking at his phone. After completing the latte, you wrote ‘Jay’ in cursive and added a little heart. ‘Crap’ would he noticed if you pitched it and started over. Surely a little heart wouldn’t be too embarrassing or noticed.

You mustered up your voice and it cracked a bit. “Jay!”

Typically, you wouldn’t have lingered and gone back to work on something else but you wanted a better look. Up close his features stood out even more and you were met with the most perfect gold flecked green eyes.

You were embarrassed again for staring, “One double shot latte.” You shyly stated as you handed him his order.

“Thanks,” He replied as lifted the cap to add some toppings.

“I always recommend a tap of nutmeg, leaves you guessing, in a good way,” you suggested avoiding eye contact as you cleaned the steamer.

He smiled as he took your suggestion over his usually preference. “Your American?” He observed picking up on your accent.

“Is it that obvious?” you laughed to yourself.

“What got you out here?” He questioned.

“Work,” you briefly stated.

“Must be one hell of a gig, didn’t realize cafes paid so well.” He commented coming off more snobbish than intended.

“Actually, this is my fun money job, I work full time at Maison De Coste.” You explained trying not to take offense from his statement.

“Busy girl,” Jay remarked.

“Mhmm,” You simply hummed looking for something else to clean. Even after a few moments you could still feel his gaze on you. “So, this your first time here?”

“Yeah, usually work has it ready but I had a few extra minutes.” He spoke taking a sip of the latte. “The nutmeg is awesome… you make a mean latte.”

“If you ever have an extra few minutes to spare again, I make a meaner cortado.” You purposed.

“I’ll have to take you up on that,” He checked his watch for the time. “Well, it was nice to meet you…” he looked at your nametag. “Y/N.”

“You as well Jay.” You said, your face buried back in your journal as he turned to leave, but your eyes shot a glance at his sculpted backside. As soon as he was out of site, you slid down the counter sitting on floor.

“What on earth was that?” Megan squealed throwing a dishrag your way.

“Excellent customer service,” you lightly scoffed.

“Girl, there was way more than that going on.” She continued to tease.

“A guy like that, either he is taken, gay, way out of my league or all three.” You doubted.

“I don’t know Y/N, I think you might see him around again.” She thought as you silently pleaded to the universe to make it so.

—–

Two weeks came and went with Jay not returning. You slowly lost hope and eventually stopped looking at the door every time it chimed. Megan tried to keep your spirits up but you played off your disappointment. So, when the last order of a rush came with the name ‘Jay’ your heart practically skipped a beat. He had even ordered a cortado remembering your last encounter. You looked up, seeing your mystery man in a longhorn’s ball cap and sunglasses, but you could recognize his features anywhere.

“Mornin’ Y/N” He smiled.

You blushed for a moment but focused back on the order. “Good Morning,” you replied abruptly.

“Had to come back and try this drink you spoke so highly of.” He explained trying to further the conversation.

You simply hummed showing your acknowledgement.

“Even swung by last Monday but they said you were off and thought it wouldn’t be the same if you weren’t the one who was making it.” He continued leaning against the counter.

You stood silent trying to hide your feelings of infatuation and pushed the drink his way. He continued to stare at you as you reached into your pocket for your whole nutmeg and grated a bit over the top causing him to softly chuckle.

“Fresh is always better. What do you think?” You said stepping back to wipe down the counter stopping to analyze him as he took his first sip. You wished he would take off his glasses to see his full reaction and to catch a glance of those green eyes but he didn’t.

He pondered the drink for a few moments before answering. “The boldness of an espresso but easier to drink. A touch of sweetness too?”

You nodded yes, “A bit of honey.”

He took another sip. “Well of course it’s delicious.”

Another worker yelled your name directing your attention away from him. You started to see another list of orders piling up. You quickly started to work again but Jay stood at the counter.

“So, are you American too, or just a fan of our sports?” You asked running around ignoring the gentleman who rolled his eyes at your question.

He laughed lightly, “Texan, born and raised.”

“Work’s got you up here too then?” You asked before shouting out another customer’s name.

“Mmhmm,” he confirmed.

“Well, what’s good enough to leave the warmth and sunshine for the bitter cold of Canada?” You inquired.

“I work on a TV show.” He answered vaguely.

“Anything I’d know?” You asked again.

He hesitated looking around. “It’s called Supernatural.”

You racked your brain trying to recall if you had ever seen it. “Oh, yes!” You exclaimed. “I watched like half an episode a few years back but had to turn it off and still couldn’t sleep for like a week straight.”

He laughed, realizing you had no clue he was one of the actors and he did not want to reveal it as it often changed people’s perception of him. “It’s not that scary.”

“I can’t even sit through a horror movie trailer without covering my eyes,” you explained completely oblivious to who he was.

“I am sure you could handle it.” He pressured.

You gave him a doubtful look. “Maybe if you become a regular I would, so that we would have more to talk about.” You challenged and then calling out two more orders.

“Call it a deal.” He looked at his watch and frowned. “I gotta get going, see you around Y/N.”

“Bye Jay.” You said softly as he walked away, you gave yourself a moment to watch him before diving back into work.

—

You had now been friends for at least two years even though you never fulfilled your end of the deal. It started with Jensen coming by the coffee shop at least weekly. He would try to time it just right so you had enough time to catch up and chat a little. He always seemed to wear a hat around but you never asked why. He gave you crap about never watching the show, probably because he wanted you to figure it out on your own without him telling you.

You began to hang out with him on Tuesday mornings. Not every week but at least once a month. You would walk in the park, go shopping in stores, or hang out at each other’s apartments. Even on the show’s breaks you would call or skype with each other while he was back home just to stay in touch. You had a continual crush on him but never showed your feelings to him not wanting to ruin what you had.

You eventually found out that he was an actor and not just a crew member when he and other members of the cast came by the restaurant. Scott had personally attended to them wanting to make a good impression. Scott came running into the kitchen screaming your name out of delight. He hugged you tightly and lifted you off the ground.

“Y/N! You are so brilliant!” He applauded you.

“Thank you Chef, but may I advise you to contain your excitement around sharp objects.” You tapped the dull end of your knife gently at his side still squished in his arms.

“Yes, of course,” He put you back on the ground and you placed your knife on the counter.

“Now, what’s got you so excited, I have worked for you for at least four years and have never received such a compliment during a dinner rush?” You inquired.

“The cast of Supernatural is here, think of the publicity we are going to get. I overheard Jensen Ackles say this place was going to be amazing because he has had your cooking before. I didn’t realize you had such high connections.” Scott rambled.

“Oh, Jensen’s here too?” You said thinking Scott had just meant the cast.

“Of course, he and the other actors, Jared, Misha, some other people. Anyways, I am going to prepare their meal specially. I need you to run the rest of the house.” He explained putting you in charge of the rest of the orders.

“Yes, Chef.” You uniformly responded trying to understand what he said. Was Jensen an actor of the show? You had never taken the time to look back into it. After your shift, you went home and found Supernatural on Netflix and ran part of the first episode. You were in such shock that you immediately called Jensen.

“Hey Y/N” He answered.

“You never told me you were an actor?” You asked over exaggerated.

He simply laughed. “It took you long enough to find out.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You continued pausing the show.

“I didn’t want you to think of me any differently.” He admitted.

“Do I come across as that shallow?” You said, now in a more serious tone.

“No, I’m sorry Y/N, I’ve just had all the experiences you could imagine, and I didn’t want to ruin what we had.” He explained.

“What we have.” You corrected “If you’re not going to let ruin it, then neither am I. Except I totally think you are a liar now.”

“I am not a liar, I just hide certain truths as do we all.” He paused almost waiting for you to speak. “How about I make it up to you? Ice cream for breakfast, Tuesday morning.”

“Yes!” You exclaimed. “I have this new recipe I want you to try before I run it by Scott. Can I come over Tuesday morning and have you try it?”

He laughed. “Always back to business with you Y/N. I meant let’s go out for ice cream, but I am sure yours would be just wonderful.”

“It has to be more than wonderful if Scott is going to approve of it.” You complained.

“Okay, I will test it with you, Tuesday at 10, sound good?”

“Yeah, see you then.” You hung up the phone.

You were completely in shock until you hung up the phone. Then an overwhelming wave of sadness hit you. Surely, you were never going to end up with him you told yourself. Especially now, he was this gorgeous actor, which you should have put together from the beginning. He would not be into a girl like you. Average, plain, not a size negative double zero or whatever the new Hollywood standard was. You swallowed the lump in your throat trying not to tear up. That’s probably why he never showed any interest in you. Sure, you gave him caffeine and food which was enough to keep you around as a friend but nothing more. You were dispensable and replaceable. But it’s all for the best, you thought and tried to convince yourself. You were from two different worlds that didn’t cross but you were still friends. You would hold onto that for all the time you could.

That conversation had sparked a new ritual. Every Tuesday morning you would go to Jensen’s apartment and cook with him. Experimenting with flavors and ingredients and finalizing ideas before you would present them to Scott. It became so much a ritual that he eventually gave you a key to his apartment so that you could let yourself in during the morning. He would text you the night before if something came up and needed to cancel. He also asked you to watch the apartment when he was gone for months at a time.

As he saw you were unphased by his profession, he started inviting you to sets. You became friends with Jared and Misha as well but never as close to them as you were to Jensen. Jared would beg that you quit your job and cater for the set but settled for you bringing in treats time to time. On special occasions you were even allowed to watch them shooting scenes. Jensen seemed more distracted and bashful if he knew you were watching rather than if you just snuck on set.

You were the most content you had ever been. You had a good job, great friends, and lived in a beautiful and diverse city. You were at peace with your family, aside from the occasionally poke from mom to set you up. Well, that was all true until she showed up. A new character joined the show, specifically a very attractive love interest for Dean. You saw the way she clung to him around set. You couldn’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy. No matter how much you tried to convince yourself you were just friends with Jensen, it became more and more painful to watch them film together onset. Jensen never really opened up to you about her. You would try to subtly inquire but never got too far.

Your visits to the set became infrequent but your Tuesday tradition with Jensen held. You were still best friends spending all your free time together. Sometimes even Jensen would show up at your work to pester you causing Scott to become annoyed. You often had to shoo him away from grazing at the ingredients in the kitchen. He only gave in if you agreed to catch a show with him after your shift was done.

It was a Tuesday morning and as usual you were heading over to Jensen’s place to experiment. You had nailed down a recipe for blue cheese stuffed dates wrapped in bacon but they needed something more. Perhaps a sauce or to be paired with a protein. You brought ingredients for a pepper jelly type sauce and a piece of duck to see if they would go well together. You stopped to chat with the doorman and explained what you were making, always saving a bite for him when you left. You entered the apartment which was quieter than usual. Usually Jensen was up and about at this point and immediately snooping at what you brought. You preheated the oven to start on the dates and then would figure out where to go from there.

Jensen came out of his bedroom, obviously still waking up rubbing his eyes and sitting down at the island.

“Hey Jay,” You chirped.

And then she came out, the actress from the show, in just one of his T-Shirts and her polka dotted panties. Her hair was in a messy bun and she had obviously had put on some make-up.

“Oh, I didn’t know you had a personal chef.” She taunted you.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry,” You quivered. “I should have called.” You grabbed your bag leaving most of your stuff behind hurrying out the door.

“Y/N” Jensen softly called.

“Uh, is that her? She is completely suffocating you.” She said loud enough so that you could hear on your way out.

“Disaster at work,” You explained to the doorman practically running to your car.

You couldn’t cry, not over him, you begged yourself. ‘Don’t cry, don’t cry,’ you repeated in your head. You held your composure you whole way to work but ran into the kitchen hoping no one would be there to see you so flustered. Much to your dismay, Scott was preparing something for the family meal. You started to break when you saw him. He had been such a support to you, perhaps the only one who you trusted more than Jay. Perhaps the only one who never broke your heart.

“Y/N,” He approached you with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I have been offered another job,” You said trying to take your mind somewhere else. “I have been sitting on it for a few weeks and I think I am going to take it.” You irrationally decided.

“What, aren’t you happy here?” He inquired worried.

“Of course I am, which is why it’s such a tough decision but I would have my own kitchen and my own crew.” You tried to explain but tears started rolling down your eyes thinking of what she had said.

Scott embraced you for comfort as you cried on his shoulder. “What’s really going on Y/N?”

“I’m a stupid girl, just a stupid girl,” You sobbed.

Scott had always known your true feelings towards Jensen, the way you light up when you talked about him and how highly you thought of his opinions. No one else phased you that way. He simply held you until you calmed down a bit.

“Y/N, you are so precious, and bright, and amazing, anyone who doesn’t see that or want that is a complete fool.” He tried to encourage you.

“I’m sorry Scott, but I just can’t stay here anymore. I have to put in my two weeks.” You sniffled.

“We are going to be at such a lost without you, what if I transferred you to one of my other restaurants.” He suggested.

“No, I need a clean break, and my own kitchen with my own rules. As much as I love you Scott, sometimes you can be downright unbearable” You laughed wiping away your tears. He could tell you were just trying to stuff down your emotions.

“There will always be a place for you with me, but if you are decided, I am not going to stop you.” He smiled.

“I’ll be about three hours from Chicago, I’ll come a visit your place when you’re in town. Not mention, you can see how I run my place and tell me everything I am doing wrong.” You chuckled.

“You are going to be brilliant, Y/N” He encouraged.

It was one of the hardest weeks of your life. You ignored all the texts and calls from Jensen. When you said a clean break, you meant it. You quit your job at the cafe without giving them notice assuming that Jensen may come around, besides they could easily find someone to replace you. You had only gone to your apartment when you knew Jensen would be filming, not wanting to find him there either. Scott and some other guys from the kitchen helped you pack up a Uhaul and you were on your way.

—-

Four years had gone by and you never reached full contemptment. You had switched phones, email addresses, shut down your social media, all to have a fresh start. But really you just meant to cut ties with Jensen. Of course, you gave Scott your updated contact information begging him not to tell Jay. Scott did come visit and you would occasionally meet up in Chicago ensuring you would stay close. He playfully would mock your small gastropub and the pub’s brew master as you called him.

During these years, you kept tabs on Jay through the tabloids even though you knew it was bad for you. You drank yourself to sleep the night you found out he was engaged. Whoever she was, she was beautiful, graceful, and famous, everything he deserved. You continued to drink heavily every night that week. Not a year later, they announced they were expecting a child. You tried so hard to be happy for him but it cut into your heart more and more. So, as you did best, you stuffed your feelings and buried yourself in your work. You eventually almost convinced yourself you were over him.

You were in and out of relationships but never really settled down with anyone. You were committed to having fun but as soon as things turned serious you ended it. Your cat kept you the most company and filled you with the most joy. The brewer from your pub often joked you were the crazy cat lady and you joked right back that if you didn’t pay him, he would still be a hermit in the West Virginia hills.

One night, while casually surfing the internet, you stumbled upon Creation Entertainment. You blamed the wine when you had bought an admission pass and photo op ticket with Jensen when they were scheduled to be in Chicago. When you sobered up you debated for days if you should secondhand sell the ticket. Even if you had tried to contact him now, he probably had changed his phone number and would be impossible to reach through social media. You were nervously anxious for the months leading up to the event. You decided you would make a weekend out of it. Scott was planning to be out during the week so you would visit with him, go shopping, sightseeing, and catching up on some of the upcoming food trends that always hit big cities first.

The week of the event you became so nervous to the point of constant nausea. He probably won’t even remember you, you tried to convince yourself. You’re just another fan who simply wants a picture.

The day of, you didn’t participate in any of the other events, you sat in your hotel room psyching yourself up and convincing yourself not to back down. You just wanted to see he one more time. You wore a simple outfit not wanting to stand out. A plain black blouse, jeans, and red converse. In line, you felt as nervous as everyone else and by how fast the line moved, you assumed you would not get much time with him.

Entering the room, you lost your breath. He was just as gorgeous as the day you met him. He would stick out of a crowd anywhere. You were nervously wringing your ticket until you got to the last couple of places. He politely smiled and thanked the girl in front of you and turned your direction. His eyes immediately dilated and they seemed more sandy brown than the bright, vivid green you remembered so well.

“Hey,” You shyly said, assuming he recognized you or was on some kind of drugs but he remained speechless. You went in for a hug shot and lingered a few seconds longer. You lightly rubbed his back but walked off without looking back. Instead of waiting to pick up your picture, you immediately went back to your hotel room to stunned of what to think. It had been nothing like you expected. What did you think, he would stop the whole event just to catch up.

No, this was it. Your last hurrah. Sure, you could drive home today but you had one more night reserved at the hotel. Tonight, you were going to get over him permanently. Shopping yesterday, you had spotted a lacey dark sapphire cocktail dress that you had said no to. But tonight, it would be perfect for a night out on the town. You went and tried it on and to your surprise it flattered you. It hugged you in the right spots and accented your chest, revealing enough for interest but concealing as well to allure mystery. The sleeves dropped off your shoulders and you couldn’t say no another time. You also found a pair of cork wedges colored with a cream canvas. You spent a few hours in your room going over making tutorials and trying to put each hair into place. You practiced walking around on your heels as not to embarrass yourself at the clubs. As soon as you were satisfied and decided you were going to get drunk enough not to care anyways, you were ready to leave.

Your night was filled with bouncing around to different clubs, ordering drinks that costs too much, and meeting strangers on the dance floor. After two margaritas, three cosmos, three glasses of pinot grigio, and a few more other drinks that contained either gin or vodka, you had forgotten almost everything aside from your name. You let strangers get handsy on the dance floor and for one night you were the life of the party. A man whose details you could not recall led you to a cab and opened the door for you. As he walked around to the other side, the cab pulled off but you still had a smile on your face.

“Trust me sweetheart,” the old cab driver gruffed “You’ll thank me in the morning.”

You laughed assuming he was making a joke.

“Where you staying?” He questioned.

“A hotel, I think.” You said dancing to a tune in your head.

“You got a purse?” You handed your clutch up without question. “Thank your stars I am honest.”

He dug through finding your hotel card key and his estimated fare handing the clutch back to you. He sat patiently with you as you danced, laughed, and asked random questions. He pulled up to your hotel and the valet opened the door.

“You get yourself a good night’s rest,” He explained, “And take one of these in the morning,” He handed back harmless pill. You reached up and kissed him on the cheek.

The valet helped you out of the car but you waved him off as you tried to walk to the lobby. You decided to take off your heels and slung your them over your shoulders, the heels dangling only by a few fingers. The lobby was quite empty, a few people in the bar to your right and a couple people still in the lounge.

“What I’m really needing now, is double shot of crown, chase that disco ball around, til I don’t remember.” You sang softly and danced through the lobby on your way to the elevator.

“Y/N,” You heard a plea and the voice you would recognize anywhere causing you to immediately feel sober.

You turned around in shock. “What are you doing here?” You smiled.

“I’m here for the convention,” He almost scoffed recognizing you were drunk. “Remember, you took a picture with me.” He took a piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it.

You examined it. You were smiling as best you could but Jensen had a restrained face, you could almost see hurt or anger in his eyes. You gave it back to him.

“Not our best photo,” You whispered.

‘Y/N, what happened?” He demanded.

You tried to think straight and came to the assumption he was not talking about recent events but why you left. You processed your thoughts as best you could but feared you wouldn’t be able to filter yourself. Instead you turned and headed straight for the elevator.

He quickly caught up with you and grabbed your bare arm following you in.

“You owe me an answer,” He insisted as he pushed the number to his floor.

“I owe you nothing,” You said hurt remembering the way you had found him.

“Y/N, please talk to me,” He pleaded.

“Jay, I…” You stopped yourself as the elevator halted and he started leading you down the hall. “A great opportunity came up for me in the states. By the time I was settled and tried to contact you I had lost our connections. I didn’t know how to reach you.”

He opened his room and led you both in. “Don’t lie to me.” He begged.

“What do you want me to say?” You hushly whimpered almost on the verge of tears.

“Why did you leave Vancouver, why did you leave me?” He snapped.

“Because I loved you, Jay!” You confessed with all your strength. “And seeing you with her killed me okay?” Hoping he was satisfied.

His brow furrowed as he tried to recall your friendship “You never implied?” “Look at me! How could someone like this be with someone like you?” You cried revealing the true reason you never opened up to him, your insecurities that had held you back for so long.

“Y/N, if I had known.” He whispered moving closer to you.

“It wouldn’t have changed anything,” you pouted.

“It would have changed everything.” He corrected pinning you against the wall.    

His soft hands caressed your cheek, his thumb wiping away a tear that had spilled from your eye. He cooed your name before his lips met yours. You closed your eyes taking in the crash of him against you. As your lips continued to explore each other’s, Jensen’s hands moved to your waist mesmerized with the shape of your body. Your hands found his hair. The hair you had wanted to run your fingers through since day one. It fulfilled every desire you had until an overwhelming sense of guilt hit your stomach like a ton of bricks as he inched you closer to the bedroom.

As you broke the kiss, you cradled his face in your hands trying to memorize his features his eyes now shining vividly as you remembered. He came in for another kiss but you stopped him.

“Jensen,” you moaned as he took your interruption as an opportunity to kiss your neck. “I can’t, this is wrong…” you stated thinking of his wife and child.

You could tell he was hurt, unsure from your words or the guilt he may be feeling as well. He remained completely silent. You didn’t know if you could stay this brave, so you nudged him away now that you had the chance, fully intending to walk out on him all over again. As you opened the door, you thought you heard something slam in his room. All you could do was to start running down the hall to keep you from going back.  You bumped into Jared as he exited the elevator completely stunning him. But you kept running towards the stairs needing to escape it all.

-----

Click For More - Part 2!

[robertkstone]

Crowning a Singular Champion: Behind the Scenes at 2018 Motor Trend Car of the Year

The 2018 Motor Trend Car of the Year program started out as so many of them have for the past seven years: with me stopping off to grab three bottles of good whiskey—to be consumed in the evenings once our cast and crew were safely ensconced at our hotel, naturally. As James Joyce wrote in Ulysses, “The bards must drink and junket.” To put it in the parlance of our times, we had 46 cars to test and evaluate in two weeks of intense Mojave Desert heat and wind. Do you know how much bickering that could entail? A good stiff drink or two is essential for inspired debate.

Before the editors arrived to judge the field subjectively, our hard-bitten advance team of testing director Kim Reynolds, road test editor Chris Walton, and associate road test editor Erick Ayapana spent a week at the Hyundai Kia Proving Grounds. These guys ran our field through endless 0–60 dashes, 60–0 halts, quarter-mile blasts, dizzying figure eights, and anything else that could place a quantifiable number to the relative performance of our field. To say this trio (along with number cruncher Alan Lau) looked spent is an understatement. Now it was the judges’ turn to take the wheel. Kim and Chris joined the panel to be sure the empirical data was fairly included in our deliberations.

After a small delay due to air travel, the 11 judges were assembled at the vast blackness of the proving grounds’ vehicle dynamics area, better known as the VDA. At this point we do our walkarounds based on comprehensive notes explaining why each particular new car is at Car of the Year, what’s new if it’s a refresh, and what it competes against. Unlike what comes later on (the fighting!), our walkarounds are lighthearted and, frankly, fun. You can usually find international bureau chief Angus MacKenzie huddled up with our legendary guest judges Tom Gale and Chris Theodore guffawing about some mangled attempt at an A-pillar, me talking over everyone else, and editor-in-chief Ed Loh screaming at us to stay on target because we’re running out of daylight.

Walkarounds are a little bit of shoptalk, a little bit of design critique, and whole lot of tire kicking. This year’s greatest moment occurred when features editor Christian Seabaugh decided to remove the hood from one of the Smart Fortwo EDs. The hood, which I think would be better referred to as a “quote hood,” is not hinged or even permanently attached to the Smart. It’s cabled to it, like a leash on a surfboard. I guess if it flies off in a crash, you won’t have to walk far to find it. I mention this because it took us about five minutes to figure out how to reattach the “hood.” The best part was that it baffled Chris Theodore, the former head of engineering for both Chrysler and Ford. There we were, standing around, trying to figure out a way to get it reconnected. Hot tip: do not remove.

With walkarounds complete and our collective brains stuffed chock-full of new knowledge, it was time to make the 35-mile schlepp to our hotel in the high-desert hamlet of Tehachapi. Christian and I volunteered to take the Tesla Model 3—even though that meant getting up 30 minutes before everyone else the next day so we could hook it up to the Supercharger in Mojave. Like all Teslas, the newest one is loaded with Easter eggs. Click down four times on the cruise control lever, and you enter Rainbow Road, which shows a moving rainbow on the instrument cluster and plays the audio from the “More Cowbell” skit from Saturday Night Live. There are a few other options to play around with, as well. There’s Mars Rover mode, which turns the nav screen into the Martian surface and the directional arrow into what I guess is Tesla’s Mars rover. Because, you know, Elon Musk wants to go to Mars. There’s also an egg that changes the central screen to a doodle pad. I’m not going to tell you what NSFW things Christian and I drew on the Tesla’s screen, but we laughed for 20 minutes straight.

Heading to the Supercharger in the morning, we happened to pass a massive gas station under construction on Tehachapi’s main drag. Driving past it in the Model 3 left me with an incongruous feeling. Who’s out of touch? Tesla or the coming-soon petrol palace? Heading down Highway 58 and seeing what must be thousands and thousands of electricity-generating windmills, you get the feeling that Tesla knows something others don’t. That said, after more than an hour of charging, the Model 3’s battery still wasn’t full, and we were forced to call in the cavalry (visual assets czar and COTY whisperer Brian Vance) because we couldn’t be late to the morning briefing. It seemed to us that the baby Tesla doesn’t supercharge nearly as quickly as the Model S and X.

After some procedural words from the fine folks at Hyundai Kia and a warning from executive editor Mark Rechtin to keep the notes regarding our 46 cars short and pithy (we tend to overwrite), it was time to begin the monumental task of hacking our massive field of contenders down to a more reasonable, manageable group of finalists. Motor Trend’s Car of the Year is the hardest two weeks of work within the auto industry. I’m going to put in a plug for our process. Unlike our main competitor, which quits when it gets to the point we reach after two initial days (they hand out some sort of participation trophy/everyone’s-a-winner award), after we’ve identified the top candidates, we keep on going before declaring an actual Car of the Year. It sure ain’t easy. But the reward for our due diligence, at least on the first day, was tacos.

As is often the case, there’s a contest within a contest, a race within a race. At Car of the Year, the secret competition is who can eat the most of Wantacos’ delicious creations. First thing that needs to be said is that Ed cheats every year. See, real tacos have two soft corn tortilla shells (if you’re not from California, I’m sorry to break this news to you). But every year, Ed asks for his tacos with only one shell. Blasphemous gringo? Absolutely, but he’s also into being thin. Weirdo. Whatever his motivation, the result is just straight-up cheating. Who actually wins isn’t a matter for public record, but the industry as a whole might be shocked to learn that the photo and video crew routinely out-eats the editors. That’s because while the editors are driving in air-conditioned splendor, the visual assets crew is running around in the desert scrub, seeking out the just-right vantage point to shoot their art while hot-footing it past some of nature’s nastier creatures. Tacos ingested, we head back out for more of the same. The first day concludes with all 11 judges having driven somewhere between 20 and 25 cars. The photographers are cashed out. Useless zombies, we eat some pizza and pass out. The whiskey stays sealed.

Morning brings the highlight of the entire event: Tom’s design showcase. We could charge money for this. We should. Tom is the former head of design for Chrysler during a golden era and the person behind the first-generation Dodge Viper. What more do you need to know? Every year Tom lines up all the contenders in a specific nonrepeating order then analyzes them one by one, explaining what it is we’re actually looking at. Tom—and to a large, though secondary, degree, Chris Theodore—hits us with all the industry speak we can handle. Gesture, grain and gloss, surfacing, horizon lines—they don’t talk down to us, but those two are way over all our heads. Anyhow, Tom is very careful not to tell us what to think but rather to explain how a design works. Why we like what we like or dislike what we dislike. “Whoever designed this should be arrested,” barked Tom as we walked up to the new Honda Odyssey. In Tom’s defense, he’s right.

After a day spent sprinting to track-test the rest of the field, it’s 4 p.m. and time to start cutting down the field. All 11 judges pack into a room, guzzle enough La Croix and Gatorade to fill a hot tub, and start eliminating the cars we don’t think have a snowball’s chance in the Mojave of being Car of the Year. This isn’t a pretty process even when we’re in agreement. When the Smart ED was dismissed for having only a 58-mile range, technical director Frank Markus said, “Thank God. Could you imagine spending 300 miles in one? That should be against the Geneva Convention!” It got cruel from there. “This is as far from the ultimate driving machine as they’ve gone,” said Chris Theodore about the BMW 5 Series. After Detroit editor Alisa Priddle explained how much she enjoyed the “More Cowbell” in the Model 3, Angus weighed in with his feelings: “I hate f—ing cowbell.” When we got to the Lincoln Continental, a person who shall remain anonymous began defending the car. “There’s a lot of money to be made from this level of tastelessness.” At one point, things got so heated that Mark sardonically blurted out, “Let’s just piss off every automaker, shall we?”

However, one large theme emerged after the “discussion.” The Korean car industry is on the ascent. Two Kias made the final cut—the surprisingly good Rio and the impressive Stinger, making up 25 percent of the finalists—and the Hyundai Elantra GT Sport was our bubble car, meaning it almost came along for the final two days. “Good value, good warranty? No! Good cars,” Chris Walton said of the Korean entries. Angus said if he were Japan, he’d be worried. The room agreed.

Speaking of Japan, we took an unusual step with the Honda Civic Type R, electing to not only bring it along as a finalist but also to separate it out from its lesser brethren, specifically the Si. See, the Civic itself was actually new two years ago and was a finalist in our 2016 competition. We dig that car. In fact, the Civic went on to win one of our Big Tests, straight-up beating every other car in its class. We view the Civic Si as a variant of the Civic we already know and love and therefore not Car of the Year material. The Civic Type R? An entirely different animal.

I’ve rarely witnessed so many people so impressed by a performance car. Angus crowed it’s the most impressive car from Honda since the original NSX. I kept asking the question, “What if the new NSX was this good? Hell, half this good?” Using the excuse/insider knowledge that the Type R is actually designed and built by a crew in the U.K., as opposed to Ohio, we took the unusual, probably unprecedented step of bringing the Type R along as a stand-alone finalist.

Anyhow, we had our Elite Eight.

That night we finally broke into the liquor and even a couple of cigars.  If Tom’s design showcase is the part of Car of the Year evaluations we could profit from, then knocking back a couple while talking shop about the car industry is the part that would cost us. Tales and truths are told. Boardroom dramas revealed. Due to the possibility of personal defamation lawsuits, perhaps the less said here, the better.

The Finalists

The next morning began our standard finalist drive loops. Because we had gotten our high-speed thrills out of our system at the proving grounds, for the most part the loops were uneventful. (I got pulled over by a friendly Tehachapi officer for something or another but was let go with a warning.)

The talk at lunch was mostly about how good all the finalists are and how the argument the next day should be a knock-down, drag-out type of affair. I developed some sort of flu and headed back to my room as soon as the loops were done. Everyone else went off on a photo shoot and then dinner.

A pounding on my door woke me up at around 9:30 p.m. It was Ed and Frank. They wanted the whiskey. I handed over three bottles. Two of them came back the next day.

We had four loops left the following morning, then lunch, and then the main event. Of the eight finalists we brought along, seven were deemed competent enough to take home the Golden Calipers. After shining on the test track, the Lexus LC 500h had failed to impress us out in the real world. We probably should have brought along the V-8, but the thinking was that because Toyota has built its rep as the leader in hybrid tech, bringing along the gas/electric LC 500h was the smart play. Turned out we brought the right car, but only because it made our decision-making process easier. With such stiff competition you’d think that the deliberations would be testy. For the most part, though, they weren’t, with several cars being billed as “great car, just not Car of the Year.”

If there was a single car I think most judges would have stolen, it was the Porsche Panamera Turbo. Yes, sure, of course, it starts at $147,950, but have you driven it? Forget about straight-line speed (0–60 in 3.0 seconds, quarter mile in 11.4 seconds at 121.2 mph), on the winding track the 550-horsepower, 4,662-pound big-dog Turbo cornered so hard that the windshield wiper fluid sloshed out of its container and across the windshield. It happened to me! That said, the “little” 4,498-pound twin-turbo V-6 4S Panamera was pretty sweet in its own right.

Although either Porsche constitutes a legitimate finalist, the decision was made to bring the 4S—not the Turbo—along. I gotta tell you, I was against this. However, most people felt the Turbo constituted “too much.” I’m not s from PerformanceJunk WP Feed 3 http://ift.tt/2BjR3IP via IFTTT