#and like one of my jobs is right in front of a kids playground so I am constantly hearing kids screaming

[kozidraws]

Between my two jobs I'm working 17 days straight. I'm on day 9 and I'm already struggling haha.

[mynameisjag]

Prompt by: @shiwalkers-ineffability

DpxDc snarky danny lives in Gotham and is just trying to get a degree but keeps almost getting adopted by various members of the Justice League

“Listen, I’m not like 12 or whatever age you think I am, I am an adult that is going to his class at college, I am near graduation and would like to focus more on that then whatever issue it is you have with me.”

To be fair to Dick, the guy in front of him really did look like a middle schooler…a middle schooler that just came out of a package store with a bag filled with various types of alcohol.

The face glaring up at him still had baby fat, voice still at that young age, a little on the too thin side but not unhealthy yet…he looked like he just got back from the playground. How and why did the store owner sell him alcohol?

“I can see it in your face, it’s the same one all those other heroes had when they ran into me, I have an I.D., I have a job, I fucking pay taxes, I do not need help or supervision. Fuck off.”

And the guy was moving, short legs stomping away.

“Wait, hold on, I still have questions!”

There was a sigh and the kid turned around to stare at him, “What? I do not need the furry brigade busting into my apartment, so get what you want to ask out of the way. Fucking worse then red underwear guy back in Metropolis.”

“You mean Superman?”

“I don’t care what his name is, he thought I was a lost kid and took me to the precinct to call my parents. Got laughed at is all what happened.”

“What’s with all the alcohol?”

“College student, just aced an extremely hard and taxing test and me and some friends are celebrating and it was my turn to do the alcohol run and before you continue on with this, yes, the guy checked my ID, I’m old enough by several years. Just do your weird stalker thing and look me up.”

“Right, ‘weird stalker thing?,’”

“You are not and won’t be the last “hero” to make this mistake.”

Nightwing just smiled and tapped on his communicator, “Hey, Oracle-“

“-Tell Danny I said hi and leave him alone, this is a Babydoll situation.”

“Oh, um, Oracle says hi…”

“Glad she remembers me from the last couple of times, so tell her hello and goodbye, I’m on a schedule.”, and with that Danny was storming off.

“Oof, this happen a lot, O?”

“You have no idea.”

[gallusrostromegalus]

Speaking of public health. What was the soul society reaction to the eradication of small pox like?

"You notice there's a lot less dead babies these days?" Iba asked in the middle of one morning's office work.

"Fewer dead babies." Komamura corrected without thinking. "Less is for things you measure by volume, fewer for things you count. We do not measure dead babies by volume."

"Oh. right." Iba nodded. "Yeah, that wouldn't be right."

After a moment, what his lieutenant actually said caught up with him. "Sorry- force of habit from living with a Librarian." Komamura shook his head and looked up from the monthly intake statistics analysis report, peering at Tetsuzaemon Iba through the narrow gap of his helmet. "What do you mean, fewer dead babies?"

"I dunno, it just occurred to me. When I started the academy in the 40's- right after the catastrophe- we did a student tour of the 7th division's recently deceased souls intake queue, remember?" Iba waved his hand leaning back in his chair, apparently uncertain of where he was going with this either, but articulating his thoughts.

"I believe so. I had just taken over from Captain Kotsubaki." Komamura nodded, patient. Chikane Iba was an excellent shinigami and had done a magnificent job running the third division, but she had a tendency to talk over and bulldoze her son, so Komamura had learned to be patient when the young man when he felt like he should share a thought.

"Yeah, yeah- Not gonna lie Boss, you scared the crap out of me back then." Tetsuzaemon laughed. "-But the thing that stuck out to me that day was just. The sheer number of Infants and little kids in the line. the guy giving us the tour- I think it was Old Ito, actually- He said that one in five babies in the living world didn't live to see their fifth birthday."

"An improvement even back then- it was one in three children when back when I started in the 1840s." Komamura nodded. "It's funny that I frightened you- Captain Aikawa apparently headhunted me for the 7th because Kaname told him about how the children at the library used to use me as playground equipment."

"Good grief." Iba blanched. "So, what, he threw you in the deep end with all the dead kids?"

"In Captain Aikawa's defense, I did volunteer to handle children's cases. As sad as a frightened infant is, it's infinitely preferable than dealing with the deceased who are angry."

Iba frowned, opened his mouth like he was about to object, reconsidered, closed it, considered further, rocking his head from side to side, and then nodded. "I- yeah, Yeah, that tracks."

"You were saying though?" Komamura laced his fingers in front of him, leaning forward to listen.

"Oh! Well- not as much these days but back then, every family had like seven and eight kids, you know? And I realized that, well- almost everyone I know has a dead sibling or two? Almost every mother lost a child- Gods know my mother's a basket case but even getting a cold could send her into fits. If something had happened to me when I was a tyke- I don't think she would have pulled through."

Komamura nodded enough for Iba to see his helmet tilt to indicate he as still listening.

"I- I don't actually know where I was going with this, but I was reading that report earlier and there's a note from Shita-san at the end that this is the first month we haven't had a kid under the age of five in the intake queue. Ever."

Komamura flipped though the pages of the report to read the hand-written note at the end. "That is excellent news!"

"Oh! Yeah! It's great!" Iba nodded enthusiastically. "It just- I don't know, I guess it just snuck up on me and I'm so used to hearing something went wrong I guess I don't quite know what to do with good news?" he shrugged.

Komamura pondered this for a moment. "Hm. Well. Take heart, to start. But I see what you mean- it's a tremendous achievement, but not one we contributed to, and a "No Dead Babies This Month" office party feels in poor taste at best."

"Oof, yeah- especially if next month there's an accident or something and there's a whole bunch in the queue." Iba nodded. He considered things for a moment.

"-What happened that there are le- fewer dead babies, actually?" Iba frowned. "-Whoever it is, it would be appropriate to toast them and make an offering in their name to the Gods of Good Fortune, I think. Also do more of whatever they did."

"That IS a good idea!" Komamura smiled under his helmet. Perhaps it was his training as a priest, but he did enjoy an offering of goodwill ceremony. Also, nobody would ask him to drink- just pour any alcohol he was offered on the statue of the relevant deity. "I think- It's probably in our statistics, if the tenth division doesn't have an idea already. Can you collect the cause of death data for young children for the last-"

He was interrupted by the thunderous footsteps of someone sprinting towards the office, immediately followed by a tall young woman with short white hair throwing the door open, red-faced and winded.

"THEY DID IT! THE MAD BASTARDS THEY DID IT!" She shouted with wild excitement.

"Isane-? Uh, Miss Kotetsu?" Iba flustered.

"Please keep your voice down-" Komamura said through gritted teeth, trying not to growl at being suddenly shouted at. "Who has-?"

He was interrupted by Miss Kotetsu bolting right up to his desk and shoving a newspaper into his face hard enough to actually wrap around his helmet in excitement.

"SMALLPOX! IT'S GONE!!" She shrieked with joy.

"-gone?" Iba asked, bewildered as Komamura gently took the newspaper from her and pulled it back to actually read it. It was a newspaper from the living world, dated that morning- someone had gone through some pains to get it back to the Seireitei at speed, but the news was worth it:

SMALLPOX IS DEAD!

"TOTALLY ERADICATED! EXTINCT! KAPUT! IT HAS CEASED TO BE!" She bounced excitedly. "IT IS AN EX-PANDEMIC!"

"So like. Nobody has it this year?" Iba tried.

"Nobody has it this year, or will ever have it again, if I'm reading this right." Komamura muttered in awe. "Thanks to an aggressive worldwide vaccination and disease protocol program, there have been no human cases of the disease for several years. Since there are no people infected, there is no way for the disease to come back..."

Both men stared into space, the news almost unbelievable.

"Well. That does explain the Less Dead Babies thing." Iba nodded.

"Fewer Dead Babies." Komamura and Isane corrected in unison.

"I mean yeah that sure is part of it because Smallpox was the number one killer of infants in the living world for a long time there, but there's a whole bunch of stuff that's really cut down on infant mortality in the last few decades in particular." Isane nodded.

"We were JUST Talking about that!" Iba said, excitedly. "-Good to know you guys in the fourth are keeping track of that, It was gonna take forever to pull out that data..."

"Oh, could you pull it out anyway Tetsu-kun?" She asked. "-That's most of why I came over- I mean, to share the good news first, but Unohana-Taicho is planning on using this to really push a widespread vaccination program in the Rukongai and having the numbers to back us up would be really helpful!"

"Oh! Uh, sure!" Iba blushed.

"...You know this young lady, Tetsu-Kun?" Komamura lightly teased.

Both of the young people twitched and bowed to him, pointing at each other and speaking at once.

"Oh! I'm sorry Sir, I'm fourth division third seat Isane Kotetsu, i just know Iba because we were in the same class at the academy-" She babbled.

"-this is Isane Kotetsu, she's the smartest person I know and she saved my life from a lizard one time!" He waved excitedly.

"...That lizard was not going to kill you." She sighed, covering her face in embarrassment. "-I mean, if you developed a sepsis infection from the contaminated wound it might have made you very ill but that would take weeks and we have antibiotics for that, the lizard itself wasn't all that dangerous."

"It was INSIDE my LEG!" Iba gestured to his right thigh.

Komamura slowly tilted his whole torso sideways at Iba, hoping that sentence might make more sense at a forty-five degree angle. "...How?"

"I. Uh." Iba stopped, realizing his story was maybe not one he should be telling his boss. "I was. um. Out camping with the lads back when I was in the 11th, and a lizard climbed into my cot and I was. not totally awake and thought someone was trying to cop a feel and well you know, that's behavior you respond to with force so I rolled over and tried to stab the intruder's hand and. Uh. Missed."

Komamura continued to stare at him blankly.

"There was. screaming. lotta flailing, blood, general mayhem sort of thing. And in the confusion the Lizard.... climbed. inside the hole. In my leg. Sir." Iba explained, slowly crumpling behind his desk.

Komamura sighed deeply.

"-but Miss Isane was right there and actually kicked Ikkaku halfway across the camp because he was trying to lure it out with a Banana and generally being useless and she just grabbed that sucker and ripped him right outta there and had the wound packed and sealed in less than a minute and I even got to finish doing boot camp!" He rallied, cheerfully waving at Isane in hopes of distracting his captain with how cool she was.

"...What happened to the lizard?" Komamura asked, warily eyeing her through the gap in his helmet.

"Oh! He was really, really human acclimated and sneaked into my medkit rather than go back into the wild, so Harry lives a very spoiled lizard life in a terrarium in my room at home! Though it's actually my sister's room now but he still gets all the mango and smashed beetles he can eat!" Isane nodded cheerfully.

"You named a lizard. Harry?" Komamura asked slowly.

"...Iba-san named him, actually." She blushed.

"Ironically!" Iba protested. "I'm only mostly stupid, sir."

Komamura sighed deeply and once again regretted that his disguise would not let him rub his face as needed. "Alright. Thank you for the announcement, Miss Kotetsu. We will get that data to you in a timely manner- was there anything else you needed"

"Oh gosh, there was something else, what was it-?" She tapped her chin, trying to remember.

There was the distant sound of explosives, and all three of them turned to see what looked like midday fireworks going off at the 4th.

"Oh Right! Unohana-taicho requests your presence at the 4th as. Um. 'Designated Non-Drinker and Unarmed Combat Specialist' because the party was getting kind of wild when I left actually-"

Komamura sighed, and picked up Tenken from his stand and started tying the zanpaktou to his belt anyway.

---

The following morning, a small party arrived at the local shrines to The Gods Of Good Fortune, bearing offerings on behalf of the living world's World Health Organization and the handful of names they'd been able to glean from the living world newspapers, and nursing varying degrees of of hangover.

Komamura lead the party, having gotten them up at a slightly malicious 5AM to be there first thing in the morning. Tetsuzaemon and his friends from the 11th he insisted come along and 'suffer with me, as my sworn brothers' were quite pained but doing their best to hold it together.

Shunsui was a veteran of this nonsense and was hiding the pain very well behind his longtime party companions, Ukitake and Unohana, who seemed so extraordinarily cheerful that Komamura had to conclude that they were both still significantly chemically altered. He couldn't fault Unohana- they were faint and only visible on the rare occasions she let her hair down, but just below her left ear there was still the faint divot scars from surviving her own infection.

Isane had celebrated just as hard as the 11th Division lads, but had also had the good sense to alternate beer and water and take both aspirin and some sort of horrible pink goop that apparently relieved nausea before passing out under a table and had woken up only slightly groggy.

Komamura's new friend Harry the Lizard- a remarkably loquacious and quick-witted reptile -had taken up residence inside his helmet, lightly intoxicated on the cocktail fruits people had kept feeding him, and was politely nestled in the thick fur of his neck to ward off the morning cold.

The rituals of gratitude for this miracle, and asking the Gods to bless those who had worked so hard went smoothly, and Komamura couldn't help but notice when he turned around that Miss Kotetsu had opted to lean on the shoulder of 'Tetsu-kun'.

It was not often Komamura started the day with the feeling that everything would turn out alright, but as he watched Tetsuzaemon cautiously but gracelessly take Isane's hand and her squeeze it back on the way back down from the shrine, he felt like the feeling might stay this time.

[ofshatterededges2]

Breaking my short-lived ‘ Only Here for RP ‘ streak to propose…

TASM!Peter Parker x Best Friend!Reader.

I imagine you guys met when you were 6.

Aunt May worked with your (single) mom who held down multiple jobs and didn’t always have time to care for you.

Aunt May and Uncle Ben, also having custody of a 6 yo who was dealing with the loss of his parents, thought that introducing Peter to a new friend would be a nice idea and that was it.

It took a few play dates, but you two became best friends quickly enough.

Kids on the playground quickly learned that they couldn’t do anything to Peter without you being right behind him, ready to play bodyguard, and the fights that you guys had about that often ended with the two of you giggling in a pillow fort in the living room at night.

Speaking of, you were CONSTANTLY over at the Parker residence. To the point that you dreaded facing Aunt May and Uncle Ben even more than your own mom whenever you got in trouble at school.

During one of those aforementioned fights at school, I picture some jerky kid said something to Peter and you punched him. Just why-I-oughta’d him right there. Aunt May took you back to their place and was like, ‘You can’t hit somebody just because they said something about Peter‘ and you looked at her with a deadpan expression like, ‘Yes, I can. I love him. We’re gonna get married.’

Of course, as a kid, you just didn’t know how to express how MUCH you loved Peter with anything other than marriage (and Aunt May and Uncle Ben loved each other so much that they lived together from your childish perspective), but that was when she knew that she was in trouble. It’s the moment that she cites jokingly even years later as the first time that she realized something more than friendship was going to happen.

Peter is VERY obsessive about being there for you, even being so young. If you have an event, he’s dressed and begging his aunt and uncle minimum two hours beforehand to get dressed and go, too. At the event, he’s in the front row and thinking that you’re the best. You could be acting opposite Meryl Streep and he’d still think that you’re the best.

You guys absolutely somehow convinced Uncle Ben to let you have a sleepover at your house next door when you were 13 while Aunt May was out of town and you guys ABSOLUTELY bolted back over to him in the middle of the night after you almost burned the house down aka tried and failed to microwave ramen noodles for dinner.

You guys have always been very physically affectionate. Arm around the shoulder while walking and cheek kisses and all of that cute nonsense.

At first, it was very casual, friends-touching-friends stuff. Then, sometime after 13, one of you started catching feelings and they were contagious. Naturally, it wasn’t that easy, though.

Should I continue? I have a lot of ideas for this.

[garbinge]

Library Daycare (2)

Angel Reyes x OC Isabeth ‘Izzy’ Flores 30 Day Fic Challenge (14/30)

Word Count: 3k A/N: I feel like I say this for a majority of my fics but this post-canon world I've thought up for Angel and Maverick is my favorite, I think about it everyday, I just, want him to be happy even tho most of my ideas for this are angsty HAHA.

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. Light angst.

Mayans Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @narcolini @danzer8705 @keyweegirlie @kmc1989 Previous fic for reference.

Angel stepped into the library, Maverick in his arms and was staring at the bulletin board. His eyes were scanning over each flyer and business card that was pinned to it. The list of jobs that Angel felt capable of was slim. There were a lot of options, prep cook, lab assistant, front desk organizer, medical assistants, nurses, but none of those were things that Angel had any experience with. That’s when his eyes landed on the business card that was pinned to the flyer that said Farm Hand needed, the business card on top reading Rancho de Valle - Este. His free hand reached up to grab the information from the pin so he could get a closer look. 

Farm hand, operating and maintaining machinery, harvesting and planting crops, repairs, occasional livestock caring. Full time, housing on premise provided if desired, hourly pay, overtime opportunities, and medical insurance. 

“El Ranchitos.” A voice sounded behind him. 

He turned around immediately, a little startled by the voice while Maverick on the other hand cooed in excitement as he saw who was behind them. 

“Sorry I did not mean to scare you.” Izzy smiled at Angel and turned her gaze onto Maverick. Her hand quickly reached out to grab his foot. “Hi, you. I missed you.” Her voice was soft now, she didn’t want to scary anyone again. 

“You caught me deep in thought, that’s all.” Angel laughed as he adjusted Maverick in his arms. 

“Yes, El Ranchitos.” She repeated again pointing to the papers again. 

Angel looked down not seeing El Ranchitos anywhere on the forms and looked back at the woman he had brief conversations with over the last few months. “You’re familiar with them?” 

“De Valle’s are very well known in this town. They own all of El Ranchitos, de Valle Este is the one closest to the city that is a harvesting ranch, they have others in the city but they’re more like resorts, they had to adapt with the change of the world.” Izzy explained. “They’re good people, kind, understanding. I think de Valle Este is like 10 minutes from here by car.” 

“Thanks, yea I think I’m going to apply. Everything else is a bit out of my range.” Angel laughed awkwardly. “Just gotta figure out what I’m gonna do with him while I’m working, maybe I could hire someone to watch him if I take them up on this on premise housing.” He was thinking outloud now, but it was just a symptom of having no one above the age of 2 to talk with here. 

Izzy was leaning over in front of him now, reaching for something on the bulletin board. Her hand began searching around until she found what she was looking for and pulled it from the pin. “It isn’t a nanny, but we watch the kids all day, feed them, read to them, use the playground outside on good weather days, it’s a small group too.” 

“We?” Angel questioned his eyes moving from the library daycare flier to Izzy’s face.

“Okay, I, it’s my initiative. We did a trial run this summer with a handful of kids and it went pretty well. We have about 8 kids right now signed up for the school year, all local, have room for 10, I think Maverick would be a great addition.” Izzy grinned again, now looking at Maverick who giggled and brought his hands out to her in hope to be held by her. 

“How was I around like all summer and didn’t notice this?” Angel laughed and happily gave the child over to Izzy. 

These last few months he had gotten extremely comfortable with the woman and honestly safe with her, Angel as well. These last few months have consisted of Angel coming to most of the library events because not only did Maverick enjoy them but because they offered him peace around people which he didn’t have much of since leaving Santo Padre. There was a constant fear, a persistence to always look over his shoulder, double guess everyone he met, everyone who walked too close to him on the street, but at the library it was like that fear was nonexistent. He had made a friend in Izzy, which was exactly what he needed right now. 

“I have two other people that help out, it allows one of us to take off, or be more flexible around the library.” She answered as she bounced Maverick up and down in her arms. “They’re actually running daycare now, if you want to check it out.” Her eyes moved back to Angel as Maverick’s little hands picked up her I.D. that was draped around her neck with a lanyard. “No pressure.” She let out an awkward laugh. 

“No, yea.” Angel spoke up which earned him a confused look from the woman holding his child across from him. He smiled realizing how confusing his statement was. “I just meant we’d love to check it out.” 

Izzy nodded and brought them both to the children’s area of the library and opened up the decent size circular room that currently had a group of kids of a variety of ages drawing on tables. 

“Sticker drawing. Helps them with open ended exploration, we let the older kids come up with a story based on their drawings and the younger ones like it too.” She was placing Maverick down on the ground and he was quick to find himself at the small table grabbing a sheet of his own. 

“How big is the age range?” Angel wasn’t sure why he was asking questions, he knew this was the best place for Maverick if he was to get this job. 

“Right now 1 through 5. This group is a bit older because it’s the summer.” She put her hands over her chest as she watched over the kids. 

 Before Angel could answer there was a little girl who was about 4 walking up to Izzy holding out her sheet of paper towards her. 

“Wow, that’s beautiful.” The little girl was being brought up into her arms and instantly throwing her own around Izzy’s neck. 

“Well the kids sure love you.” Angel smiled. 

“I hope this one does.” Izzy rocked from side to side similarly to how she was with Maverick just minutes earlier, but this time she looked at the girl in her arms and kissed the side of her head. “This one’s mine.” 

Angel found himself at a loss of words at that statement. He didn’t expect it. It automatically made him think about his friendship with Izzy, this was something huge that she so easily went without mentioning. Then again, it wasn’t like she knew everything about his life, but she knew a lot about his current life, and this felt very much like her current life. Between not knowing about the daycare and now her child, he felt like he needed to take a major step back. 

“Are you okay?” She interrupted Angel’s thoughts. 

“Yea, sorry. Just didn’t realize you had a kid.” Angel wanted to rewind the last 10 seconds so he never said those words. 

Izzy’s face dropped a little and she looked back down at her daughter and placed her back on the ground and stayed at her level for a moment. “Go back with your friends, Abrielle.” 

As she stood up she turned to Angel, and nodded towards the door. For a moment he hesitated and looked at Maverick. “You can take him, but Olivia doesn’t mind watching him.” She pointed to the woman with the lanyard similar to her own that was at the smaller kids table. With a nod, Angel was walking out of the room and standing awkwardly in front of Izzy. 

“I know you understand the need for privacy, Angel. The need to keep things to yourself. If I recall the first time I met you, I put my own address in for your library card because you were two nervous to give out information.” It felt scolding almost the way she was speaking. 

“I–” Angel went to speak but she cut him off by holding up her finger and speaking over him. 

“I don’t need a reason to make a choice regarding my child, Angel.” Her accent came out strong when she said his name. “You out of all people should get that.” 

“I do, I’m sorry. I just thought we were friends.” Again, Angel was wishing he would just keep his mouth shut. 

Izzy sighed, her guard immediately falling down and with a shake of her head she spoke. “We are friends, Angel. I just need to be cautious with her.” 

“I get that.” He nodded. “I didn’t mean to do whatever this is.” He waved his hand around and laughed awkwardly. “If anything, I’m glad you felt comfortable to tell me, it’s cool, having a parent friend. Haven’t had many of those really.” 

“Well if you do the daycare thing, you’ll make more during pickup and dropoff.” She matched his humorous tone. 

“Don’t know if I want that.” He chuckled nervously.

“Why do you think I don’t tell many people I have a child.” Her eyebrows raised and her mouth curled into a smile. 

Angel laughed. “Well then I’m honored to be accepted amongst the few.” He looked through the window of the daycare door and saw Maverick laughing at something and he turned back to Izzy. “I’d like to sign him up, even if I don’t get this job, this is the right place for him.” 

Izzy smiled at that comment, she went to say something but bit her tongue immediately. Her desire to say that this is the best place for Maverick and him was high but she held back and simply nodded. 

“Let’s get you two signed up then.” 

[sadhours]

ABSENTEE - 1

next chapter • masterlist • my requests are open!!

my new series!!! i promise the finale to wicked sensations is coming soon but in the mean time, enjoy this :) it’ll be mostly Billy centric, not terribly romantic and it takes place before he moves to hawkins

content warnings: minors dni 18+, violence, child abuse (physical and verbal), homophobic slur, cannabis use, smut, unprotected sex, p in v, blow job

word count: 6k+

///.

The rooftop is his favorite place to be. It’s calm, though you can hear the sounds of the city below you. Billy likes the whooshing of the cars on the highway and the drunken chatter of college kids bar hopping. Soothing. Happy sounds. Not like the ones he hears at home. The second he’s through the door, Neil’s berating him for whatever he’s stewed on while Billy was gone. So suffice to say, Billy stays out of the house most days and nights. The grace period from having Max and Susan is over and Neil isn’t hiding who he truly is anymore. As Billy rolls his spliff, he remembers Susan’s reaction the first time his dad had smacked him upside the head in front of her. It was unmoving, her face stoic and a look in her eye like Billy deserved it. He can’t even remember what prompted it, but that was the glorious thing about Neil’s fists, they didn’t need a reason. Billy could have moved the dish soap in the kitchen a centimeter and that would be enough to set his dad off. So why the hell would he be home when he could be anywhere else?

Absent. That’s what Max called him this morning. Just like his mother, he thought. It was true. Billy was numb to it all. He could be there but not really. Auto pilot, doing what’s expected but without reason behind it. He’s floating through life without real meaning to it. Billy hopes he’ll find something worth living for. Shit, most sixteen year olds have no true passion for life but no other kids have Neil as a father. He’s pulled out of his thoughts when his buddy, Reggie changes the cassette in the boombox. He’s supposed to be having a good time, he reminds himself, not thinking about how bad he doesn’t want to be at home. Billy licks up the side of the paper to seal the spliff, reaching for his zippo and lighting it up. He inhales deeply, letting his eyelids close with the motion as the sharp smoke fills his lungs and immediately relaxes him. Fuck, weeds awesome. Reggie’s been on this New Wave kick and Billy can’t stand it, unless he’s stoned. When he’s stoned, all music is pretty rad. So the Joy Division cassette isn’t the worst he’s heard. It fits Billy’s mood pretty well. He won’t admit it, the goddamn hopelessness of the lyrics hit him square in the chest and make him feel a little less alone.

“The girls are taking forever,” Reggie complains and Billy agrees. He could really use a beer, cotton mouth kicking in far too quick for his liking.

With a shrug, Billy peers over the edge to see if he can get a glimpse of you guys. You’ve been dating a couple months at this point, but you’ve been friends for years. Right after Billy’s mom left and Neil uprooted him from the house they shared to an apartment in the heart of the city. Billy misses that house and that apartment. You lived in the complex and he’d met you while he was graffitiing the apartments playground slide with a sharpie. He thinks he was drawing a crude pair of tits but he can’t remember, knows for sure he’d scribbled his favorite swear words at the time all over it. You guys were eleven years old. You came up to him and asked if you could draw something. You drew a cartoonish dick and right then, Billy decided you were gonna be friends.

Then Neil met Susan a few years later when he was fourteen. They moved quick and got married a month after meeting. He hates moving, so he wasn’t thrilled when Neil and Susan insisted on finding a three bedroom house closer to Max’s school. Luckily, Billy didn’t have to change schools but the house was in a cookie cutter suburb instead of the city. Plus, you weren’t a two minute walk away anymore and Neil got to keep him on a shorter leash.

“Beeeer!!!” you and Cindy, Reggie’s girlfriend cheer in unison as you climb up onto the roof through the fire escape.

“Finally,” Reggie grunts, snatching the spliff from Billy’s fingers and extends his opposite hand for a beer.

“Why are you listening to this depressing shit?” Cindy complains as she hands him an Old Milwaukee, “We’re supposed to be partying.”

“Eh, it’s not so bad,” Billy shrugs as you nestle yourself next to him on the edge of the roof, he wraps his arm around you and accepts the beer you offer.

Cindy gapes, “You’re the last person I’d expect that from.”

Billy doesn’t respond. Instead, he cracks his beer open and looks over the edge of the roof again. He sees a handful of girls stumbling beneath and he wonders if he hawked a loogie down could he hit them and what would they do. Saliva fills his mouth in anticipation but he decides against it. They’re pretty and their reactions probably won’t be all that exciting. He’s confident about his aim, though, figures he could land it on one particular girls’ cleavage. He smirks to himself as he brings the can to his lips and averts his eyes to his friends, looking for the spliff. It’s in Reggie’s hands again so Billy leans over and snatches it.

“Stop bogarting, asshat,” he snaps.

“Relax,” Reggie mumbles, “we tried passing it but you’re too busy checking out the chicks on the street.”

“I wasn’t checking them out,” Billy defends himself.

“Sure,” you sigh next to him before standing up and making your way to sit on the torn up couch Reggie and Cindy are lounging on.

Billy rolls his eyes, taking a hit off the spliff before looking down at his watch. The football game is probably almost over and Neil’s most likely dozing to sleep, drunk off a twelve pack. But Billy doesn’t intend to go home for a while, well after midnight. It’s summer after all. He could probably crash at Reggie’s tonight. It’s a good excuse to spend time with him because usually, Billy has to steer clear of him during the school year. Neil would kill him if he’d seen Billy hanging around a black kid. He’d probably kill Reggie too. In the summer it’s safe, but during the school year, his curfew is strict and Neil would rather Billy hang out at home. He brings friends around sometimes, but never Reggie.

You keep giving Billy an angry look. Max’s words this morning ring in his ears. Absent. Billy knows that’s why you’re mad at him too. You’d had the conversation a hundred times this summer alone. He doesn’t put enough effort into the relationship, you told him. Asked him if he wanted to go back to being just friends. But Billy assured you that he didn’t, promised to do better. He’s always being told he isn’t good enough. By everyone in his life. So much so that he’s gone numb to that too. Figures the least he can do is accept that he’s never going to be what people want him to be. It’s easier that way, anyways. Hard to let it get to him if he just doesn’t give a shit anymore.

The thing is, Billy just turned 16 and Neil’s expecting him to work this summer so you’ll just have to deal. He’s excited to get a job, excited to save up his money so he can get a car. He got his license the day after his birthday, figures by the end of August he should have enough to buy a beater car. Something he can fix up real nice. Something that’s his, proof he can accomplish a goal, proof he’s not such a goddamn waste.

He was supposed to be job hunting today but he didn’t. He got up early enough to surf, got home and showered, put on his fanciest button up that was a hand-me-down from his dad and told him he was off to fill out applications. He got stoned at Reggie’s house and the two of them watched TV for hours until Cindy called. Billy can do it tomorrow. It shouldn’t be too hard to find a job. Maybe he can work at the surf shop. The owner likes him a lot. He’s even talked about Billy becoming a team rider. Billy tries not to get his hopes up about that. Neil doesn’t care for surfing, tells Billy it’s a waste of time. Not a skill for the real world. That’s what Billy likes about surfing though. It drags him far away from reality, his mind can finally relax when he’s catching waves.

He smokes the spliff until it’s a burnt roach, tossing it over the roof and stands up. Pacing around, he ignores the conversation the three of you are having as he focuses in on the buzz from the weed. He can feel the air better, feels like he can breathe better than ever before. He stares up at the moon, admiring how the clouds skate passed it. He lays on the floor, hands behind his head and focuses on the craters he can see in the moon. It’s full and he can kind of see a face in the craters, if he tilts his head it also looks like a little girl with a triangle dress.

Suddenly, he feels a hand on his stomach and he turns to see you, sitting beside him with a curious smile. He returns it with lopsided one of his own.

“Get bored of ‘em?” he asks, softly.

You turn to look at Reggie and Cindy, his eyes follow to see the couple making out.

“Ah,” he purses his lips, “It’s that portion of the party, is it?”

You nod and Billy pats his hips, signaling you to climb into his lap. Once you do, he’s wrapping a hand around your neck and luring you down, lips hovering. You feel his teeth as he smiles before placing a tentative kiss to your lips. It starts slow, lazy from his dazed, stoned state. Billy prefers kissing when he’s high, doesn’t much care for it when he’s sober. But for some reason, in this altered state, it doesn’t feel as gross to him. Billy never tells you he doesn’t like kissing or that he thinks it’s kind of disgusting. When he’s horny enough, it’s not gross and he’ll lick into your mouth all sloppy as long as his dicks inside you. It’s not his foreplay though.

He can hear Reggie grunting and groaning. He doesn’t have to look over to know Cindy’s going down on him. She’s loud about it and Billy doesn’t admit that it turns him on. Billy thinks it must turn you on too because you start grinding your hips against his. Plus, he figures Reggie and Cindy won’t care much if they started it in the first place. Billy always feels a bit strange about the lack of boundaries, the fact that the four of you mess around in front of each other. Figures that you all get it when you can and it’s not often you guys are secluded enough to pull it off.

Billy grabs your hair to pull you away, moving his hands to undo his belt and you get the hint, lifting yourself up just enough to get your underwear off and Billy’s jeans and briefs down to his knees. You hold your skirt up, looking down at his pulsing erection settled against his stomach. He wraps his fingers around the base and spits onto his other hand, smearing it all over the head before lining it up with your entrance. You gasp when you feel him prodding, eyebrows knit together in desperation and Billy loves that. Feels like he’s done something good to make you want him so badly. You slowly lower yourself until he bottoms out and Billy grunts softly, pressing his palms to yours and lacing your fingers. It’s sweet, makes your whole body fill with adoration for him. His eyes are barely open, eyelids looking heavy while his mouth hangs open just enough for you to see his tongue pressing to his bottom lip. A roll of your hips and his tongue rolls against his bottom lip, a lewd moan tumbling out of him that has your toes curling in your shoes. Through all the bullshit he seems to drag you through, you wouldn’t ever give this up. He gets you fired up like no one else could. Billy’s a literal wet dream come to life and you have the fucking privilege of being with him. The slight curve of his cock is practically designed to fit you perfectly, hooking just right to nail that wonderful, spongy part inside of you. But you think you could cum just from looking at him, sometimes. Or hearing his voice.

You bend down to whisper in his ear, “You feel so good.”

He lets go of your hands to wrap his arms around your middle, pulling your bodies flush as he groans breathy against your ear. You press gentle kisses along his jaw, bouncing in his lap over and over. He snakes his hands up your shirt and scratches down your back, arching his own which only buries him deeper inside of you. Deep enough he hits your cervix and you yelp. Billy chuckles softly before easing up, his hands steadying at your hips.

“M’sorry,” he mumbles against the shell of your ear.

“It’s okay,” you reply softly, pulling back to look down at his face. He looks fucked out, totally blissful and all the stress and worry usually living there is gone. It makes your insides turn. You’d give absolutely anything to do that for him all the time. He starts thrusting his hips up at you, his hands holding your hips still so he can take control. He does it whenever he’s close and you’re almost there too so you keep staring down at his face, trying to commit it to memory like you haven’t seen it a hundred times, like you don’t see his face whenever you close your eyes.

Billy’s eyes open slowly and he maintains eye contact with you, his mouth open while pants and soft moans flood out of it. Just the look and sound of him is enough and your orgasm comes crashing through you.

“Billy,” you gasp, thighs shaking against his hips while you involuntarily hump against him.

He smiles then, all lips and no teeth but looking satisfied. You don’t get the opportunity to completely ride through it, he pulls out of you and you’re quick to move down and take his cock in your mouth, eyes wide as you look up at him. He gives a pathetic thrust and clenches his teeth, squeezing his eyes closed as he shoots his load into your mouth. You swallow and pull back, licking up the last of it that dribbles out of his slit. He whimpers and it sends another wave of arousal to your center.

With a sigh, he pulls his pants back on and hands you your discarded panties. You awkwardly pull them back on and reach your hand out to help your boyfriend back up. Billy kisses you softly before wandering over to the sixer and pulling another beer from it. He stands taller now, relaxed and you’re relieved you can help him in some way. Even if it seems like only sex.

Billy and Reggie share a look before the two of them burst out into giggles, Cindy rolls her eyes but immediately shoots you a pleased look. She enjoys it and so do you. Billy makes his way back to the edge of the rooftop, sitting down and lighting up a cigarette. He keeps peering over and it’s making you nervous. You don’t know what he’s thinking but sometimes you worry Billy imagines jumping off. What you don’t expect is to hear the sound of him hawking up a loogie.

“Billy,” you warn, standing up.

Reggie’s standing up with you but with excitement as he stumbles over and peers down with Billy.

Billy spits down and you hear a man from below shouting.

“Billy! Fucking hell,” you scold but your boyfriend is in a laughing fit, holding his gut as the careless sound rips through him.

Absent.

“I’m gonna beat your fucking face in!” the guy from the street shouts up at him.

“I’d like to see you try!” Billy replies.

“Then get your ass down here!”

Billy’s up to his feet, the excitement of violence bubbling through him as he makes his way to the fire escape. He ignores the protests from you and his friends, though the three of you follow him down. Billy chugs the rest of his beer once he’s on the ground, tossing the empty can and puffing his chest up as he stalks over to the guy.

Billy’s in shape, he spends a lot of time lifting weights but that’s not what makes him dangerous. It’s the fact that he doesn’t really give a shit and all the pent up anger from the abuse he faces. The guy he nailed with his phlegm is bigger but Billy doesn’t seem scared. He yells out, fists clenched tight at his sides as they meet face to face. Billy’s grinning wide, he always looks so happy when he’s about to get in a fight. It fucking worries you.

The guy swings first but Billy dodges it and then his fist is connecting with the dudes jaw with a horrific pop. The guy reels, like he wasn’t expecting so much power behind a teenagers fist. He stumbles but is back quick, socking Billy in the face and you wince, knowing that he’ll have one helluva shiner.

Billy laughs, “Is that all you got, fucker?”

Another punch and the guys on the ground but Billy’s on him in an instant, delivering blow after blow to the guys face before Reggie’s pulling him off.

“Fuck!” he screams out, eyes lit up with something that terrifies you. He enjoys this too much. You reach for his wrist and pull, dragging him along as the four of you run down the block. The dudes knocked out but his friends chase after you guys. They’re not fast enough and you lose them after cutting through an alley and ending up in a deserted plot of land. It’s mostly dirt but the occasional construction debris. There used to be a motel here but it’s got plans to become yet another parking lot. Billy screams out again, cheeks split with a devious smile.

“Why the fuck did you do that?” you yell at him, pushing against his chest. He turns to you with that eerie smile and you notice his nose is bleeding.

“That was fucking rad, darling,” he gushes, “I totally knocked his fucking lights out!”

“It wasn’t rad!” you argue, “God damn you’re such a fucking child sometimes!”

Billy laughs, but it’s laced with venom, “And you’re fucking boring.”

The word hits you hard, breaking your heart in an instant. You sniffle, pissed off with yourself that you’re crying so easily. Billy could be mean, to everyone around him. You knew that when you started dating. But it still hurts. You wanted to be an exception to that, but you realize how foolish that was.

“You’re fucking crying?” he scoffs, “Jesus Christ.”

You turn on your heel and start walking, Cindy me Reggie are quick to follow you but when you’re a block away and you turn back, Billy’s not following you. He’s wandered in the other direction.

///.

Billy finds the spare key under the mat and tries his absolute best to keep quiet as he unlocks the door. Susan should’ve got his dad to bed by this hour but he doesn’t want to risk it. He slowly opens the door, stepping inside and unzipping his boots before taking them off and leaving them by the door. He peers into the living room. Shit. Neil isn’t in bed. It’s nearly two a.m., he and Susan must’ve had an argument. Billy closes the door as quietly as he can before turning the deadbolt. He tiptoes to his room, turning the knob cautiously. Once he’s inside, he flicks the light on and starts to undress. He opens his closet and grabs out a pair of grey sweats to change into. As he’s changing, he looks into the mirror, seeing the dried blood under his nose and the beginnings of a gnarly bruise under both eyes. He presses his thumb to the bridge of his nose and hisses. It’s not broken but fuck, it hurts. He sighs. He needs to clean it up. Billy desperately needs a shower but it’s too late. He’d definitely wake his dad.

Carefully, he sneaks out of his room and into the hallway bathroom. He flicks the light on and gets a better look at his face. Billy barely recognizes himself. It’s a problem he’s been having for years. He knows that’s his face staring back at him but he can’t help but feeling like he doesn’t know his reflection. Like the icy blue eyes staring back at him belong to a stranger. He quietly cleans the blood from under his nose but when he opens the medicine cabinet to grab his toothbrush, a slew of pill bottles and soaps fall out of it and land into the sink with a loud clatter. Max had probably haphazardly shoved her things inside. Billy closes his eyes and shuts off the light, steadying his breathing and tries to hear for a sign that he’s woken his father up.

Footsteps, loud ones clamber up the hallway and Billy braces himself. He hates this house, there’s no lock on the bathroom. There’s no locks on any doors besides the master bedroom. The door swings open and the light is switched on. Billy’s met with the angry face of his father.

“What in gods name are you doing at this hour?” Neil asks, tone cloaked in outrage. “Did you just get home?”

“No sir,” Billy replies, voice cracking.

Neil surveys his face, “You reek of pot, boy.”

Billy doesn’t respond to that, just stares blankly at his domineering father. There’s no point. He definitely smells like weed and no matter what he’d say, the next row of actions is a guarantee. Neil shoves him into the towel rack, the edge of it nicks Billy’s bare back and he can feel the blood drip down. He keeps still, looking stoically up at his dad. Neil backhands him, Billy’s face turns with the force of it and Neil grabs his throat, shoving him harder into the rack which just scraps Billy’s back up more.

“You have no regard for anyone but yourself. We’ve talked about this, huh? Respect and responsibility. Simple shit, but you’re too fucking stupid or selfish to learn,” Neil hisses.

His fathers grip tightens just enough where Billy struggles to breath but he knows his dad’s too pussy to actually kill him. He chokes out a sob, can’t help himself even if he knows it’ll only piss Neil off more. Another smack to the face, another shove into the rack and Neil knees him in the stomach.

“You’re crying? You goddamn pussy. Man up!”

From the ground, Billy seethes. He knows this will seal his fate and he’ll be forced into makeshift solitary confinement but he doesn’t give a fuck. He’s overflowing with hatred for the man towering over him.

“Fuck you,” he says behind clenched teeth.

Neil kicks him once more before grabbing a fistful of Billy’s curls and pulling him back to his feet. His dad looks him square in the face before head butting him. The sharp jolt of pain rings through him, his eyebrow feels hot and then Billy feels blood before he sees it when it drips into his eye. Neil drags him by his hair, through the hall and kicks Billy’s door open, the wood slamming into the plaster of the wall and no doubt leaving a hole from the doorknob. He shoves his son into the room.

“You’re goddamn worthless. I give and give but you refuse to fucking be respectful. You’re grounded, I’ll let you out when I can look at you again. Goddamn faggot,” he spits and slams the door back closed, Billy can hear as he fastens the chain lock he’s drilled into the outside of Billy’s door.

Billy holds his sobs, reaching for whatever material is closest to him on the floor and holds the dirty t-shirt to the split in his eyebrow. He falls asleep on the floor like that.

When he wakes up, the t-shirt has fused to his face with the dried blood and he’s reminded of the beating as he peels it off. Except it opens the wound back up and he groans, pressing a clean part of the shirt back to it. His heads pounding, his whole body aches. As he stands up to look in the mirror, he sees the bruising taking place on his stomach and ribs. His face is bruised but not from his dad. He’s too scared to look at his eyebrow, the pulsing pain and blood tells him he definitely needs stitches and he’ll be ending up with a gnarly scar instead. He peers out of his window to see Neil’s truck and Susan’s station wagon aren’t in the driveway but he can hear someone’s out in the living room. His throat burns and his mouth feels like it’s got cotton in it. Glancing around the room, he sees he’s got no water stashed away. Max.

Billy sighs, trudging over to the door and opening it as much as the chain lock will allow.

“Max,” he calls out, voice hoarse and fucking pathetic but his step sister is quick to run down the hall. Billy can see her red hair flying before he can see her blue eyes looking up at him. “Water, can you get me some water?”

She nods and disappears. Billy lays on his bed, closing his eyes while he waits. He hears the stool slam against the floor and he sits up, waiting for Max to climb up it so she can reach the lock. Once she does, she scoots the stool again and opens the door. She hands him the tall glass of water and he gulps it down in record time. He extends it out to her, “More?”

Max nods but she takes longer to return this time. Billy sees why when she’s holding the first aid kid they store under the bathroom sink. Billy gives her a half-hearted smile, she can be a little shit but she does care. It makes Billy feel weird, his initial instinct is to push her away and say he’s fine but he doesn’t. He lets her set the first aid kit on his bed and open it, she pulls out the peroxide and grabs the shirt from his face. She bunches it up against his eye and pours the peroxide on the wound on his eyebrow. It tingles but the sting is dull. She pats it dry before digging through the box for butterfly bandages. They stay silent as she dresses the wound. She’s a smart little fucker, Billy hadn’t even thought about asking for the first aid kit. She stands back and puts her finger against her chin, checking over her work before nodding to herself.

“Quick,” she says, “Use the bathroom before they get home.”

Billy nods, he hadn’t thought of that either. He stands and puts his hand on the top of her head, rustling her hair up. “Thanks, kiddo,” he mumbles before trudging into the bathroom.

As he steps inside, the events from last night flash around in his head but he pushes them away. He lifts the lid on the toilet and relieves himself. When he’s washing his hands he gets a good look at his reflection in the fluorescent lighting. He looks like shit. He aches for a shower but that’s too risky plus he’s not looking forward to the cuts on his back stinging from the water. He dries his hands and makes his way back to his room, where Max is waiting outside the door. Once he’s inside, he can hear her fastening the lock back up and jumping off the stool. Billy decides to tidy his room while he’s stuck in here, pressing play on his stereo so he can drown his thoughts in heavy guitar riffs and Vince Niel’s voice. After his rooms all clean, he shuts off the stereo and looks for a book to read to pass the time. He has no idea how long he’ll be trapped in here. Sometimes it’s a day, sometimes it’s a week.

///.

You haven’t heard from Billy in two days. It’s been two days since your little fight in the field and you’re getting worried. Billy was pretty adamant about you not coming over unannounced but the landline has been giving you nothing but a busy tone every time you try to call. You’re out of options and that’s why you take the bus out into the suburb and walk to his place. Neil’s truck is outside, along with his stepmoms car but you’re determined to check on him.

The wood of the door is warm on your knuckles as you scrap against it. Thankfully, Susan answers the door but her face falls and he looks back into the house before meeting your eyes.

“Billy’s not here,” she says.

“Where is he? I haven’t heard from him in a couple of days,” you reply, shoving your hands in your pockets.

“He’s out looking for a job,” it’s a lie. You can see it on her face. Susan’s a horrible liar, just like Max is.

You chew on your bottom lip before trying your luck, “Bummer. He must be mad at me still. Could I use your bathroom? Long bus ride out here.”

Susan heaves a sigh before stepping back and letting you inside, “Be quick.”

“Course,” you say and start making the descent down the hall.

“He’s not here!” Neil yells after you which causes you to stop, the sound of his voice always makes your skin crawl.

“I know, just using the bathroom,” you reply, eyes turning to Billy’s bedroom door in the hallway. The chain lock is fastened and your heart sinks into your stomach. You know Billy’s been trapped in there for days. He’s never told you this happens to him but when you’d noticed the lock, you connected the dots.

You lock yourself in the bathroom, staring at yourself in the mirror as you try to somehow telepathically communicate with your boyfriend. You so desperately want to call CPS on Neil but the first time Billy admitted his dad hit him, he made you promise and swear that you wouldn’t. Billy assured you he could handle it, that he didn’t want to be stuck in the foster system. I only have 5 more years, you remember him telling you. With a sigh, you finally sit down on the toilet and relieve yourself. It was a long bus ride. After washing your hands, you make your escape.

“Nice to see you, Mr. Hargrove,” you call out to Neil, hoping Billy can hear you and know you’re here.

“Whatever,” Neil mumbles with a wave of his hand.

///.

Once it’s midnight, you figure it’s safe and you stalk over to the window with the black grocery bag tucked tight against your side. The windows have bars on them, you’ve overheard Susan calling them decorative but they’re definitely a safety precaution, to ward off potential burglars. You can’t help but think about the way they make Billy’s room just that much more of a prison. God, if you could save him from this shit you would. This is the least you could do.

The bars are far enough apart that you can reach your arm through it. You quietly knock against it and step back to wait for your boyfriend to appear behind the sheet he uses as a curtain.

Billy snakes himself between the sheet and the window, his eyebrow is slit open and there’s some gnarly bruising under his eyes. You give him a sympathetic smile, lifting the plastic bag. Billy opens the window slowly, careful not to make too much noise.

“Hey, little lady,” he purrs, laying the charm on thick even though he’s a goddamn prisoner in his own fucking house. “What’re you doing here?”

You smile at him, you’ve found it’s best if you act like everything’s normal, “Wanted to give you some goodies and see your face. I miss you.”

“I miss you,” he reaches out and pokes your nose. “Whatcha get me?”

Peeking into the bag, you pull out the Mickey’s 40 you’d purchased and hand it over. Billy moans at the can, grinning from ear to ear. Next you hand him a pack of Marlboro Reds and he gives you another moan.

“Fuck, I could marry you,” he takes the pack and rips it open, lighting a smoke immediately.

You bite your lip, “Do it.”

He chuckles, leaning his forehead against the metal bars, “Maybe one day I will. Then you’ll really be sorry.”

You giggle softly and pull out a pack of sour candies for him. He places them down on his floor and smiles at you, “Think we could manage a kiss through these?” his fingers tapping against the bars.

“We could try,” you suggest, stepping closer and smiling up at him.

You manage to touch your lips to his but it’s wildly uncomfortable and you both strain your lips to do it. Billy sits on the sill and reaches his hand out to hold yours.

“Sorry about the other night… I was being a dickhead but hey,” he motions to his face, “got my punishment for it.”

“Billy,” you squeeze his hand, “You didn’t deserve that. You never do… I don’t even care about the dumb fight we had.”

He shrugs but moves his hand to your chin, stroking his thumb against it, “It’s nothing new. I shouldn’t have come home that night but ya know, I didn’t know where else to go.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have ran off like that…”

“It’s cool, I’ll probably get a sick ass scar from this one,” he points to his eyebrow.

You shake your head but smile at him.

“You really gave it to my old man today,” he grins.

You cackle, “Did I?”

“Oh, yeah! I think the kindness kills him more than if you were to ignore him. How’d you get into the house, though?” he takes a long drag from his smoke before handing it over.

You take it and smile, “I told Susan I had to pee.”

“Oh!” his eyes widen and he disappears behind the sheet again, only to reappear with a Gatorade bottle full of what you can only assume is piss. “I know it’s gross but could you uh, dump this for me?”

You take it from him carefully and hand him back the cigarette, “Why don’t you just piss out the window, Billy?”

“In broad daylight? I can’t,” he says, sounding ashamed as you unscrew the cap and dump the bottle out into the bushes next to you. You screw the lid back on and hand it back through the bars.

“I fucking hate your dad,” you mumble.

“You and me both, babe,” he goes back behind the curtain to put the bottle back. When he returns, he’s got a folded up piece of paper and he passes it to you. “I drew ya something, don’t look at it until you’re far away from me.”

You giggle and slide it into your back pocket, “Can we try another one of those kisses?”

Billy chuckles, nods and you guys attempt it again. When he pulls back, he wiggles his eyebrows, “You could probably suck my dick through here.”

“You wanna attempt that but you won’t pee out the window,” you raise an eyebrow but smile back at him. “I’m not gonna blow you through your window. Nice try though.”

Billy laughs and pokes your nose, “I better get to bed. I’m sure I’ll be released soon enough and I can maybe take you out or something.”

“That sounds nice,” you smile warmly at him.

“A thank you for the necessities,” he holds up the beer and pack of smokes.

I’d do anything for you, you want to say but it dies in your throat. Billy doesn’t really get mushy with you so you’ve been scared to tell him just how infatuated with him you are. Sometimes he’s like a skittish dog and you feel you haven’t completely earned his trust yet.

“Stay safe, Billy.”

“Eh, that’s no fun. See ya later, little lady,” he smirks with the pet name before closing his window.

As you begin your journey down the street, you remember the paper folded up in your pocket and you quickly pull it out. Unfolding it, you see lines but you’re confused. Once it’s completely unfolded you see a crude drawing of a penis. Actually, it looks like Billy’s laid his dick on the paper and traced around it. It’s the most ridiculous and hilarious thing you’ve ever seen and you can’t help the roar of giggles erupting from your chest. The image of him so utterly bored while he’s locked away and getting the idea to trace his hard dick against the paper is the funniest thing in the world to you. God, you adore him.

[canarydarity]

(Remember the argument Tango gets into with Bdubs at the end of ‘Against All Odds’ chpt 2? Here’s the aftermath of that, but from Ethos pov)

There wasn’t really enough room in the box to shove the door open with any amount of force, but Etho watched Bdubs try. When the door swung back almost directly to him after rebounding off the wall, Bdubs just laughed and caught it with his hand.

It was the kind of door-slamming typically inspired by anger, usually committed by the angry party themself—but this was Bdubs, and it wasn’t his anger he was feeding off of but someone else’s entirely. The action was not performed as a show of frustration, but as a response to being the recipient of it—some way of letting out pent-up energy, the high of knowing someone was mad at you and getting a kick out of it.

Etho followed him inside the box but not all of the way. The second push of the door had been softer, but it still managed to rebound, and it thunked lightly into Etho’s shoulder where he’d halted, half in and half out.

Bdubs was facing away from him, clearly still energized, the mic’s all turned off and the stadium clearing out but no less intensity in his being. He rummaged around the box, moving things around, straightening up in a way that was too aggressive to actually make things neater.

He picked up the small plastic tray full of pencil nubs and tiny eraser bits and old scorecards and just as soon dropped it back onto the desk in a heap, turning his head towards his shoulder but not quite looking over it as he said, “What? I can feel you standin’ there so just what, spit it out.”

Etho shrugged, not that Bdubs was looking to see. “You didn’t have to harp on it.”

“Oh, pshaw—not you, too,” Bdubs scoffed, turned around and leaned up against the desk, his arms once again crossed over his chest; it was so like the picture he’d painted in the clubhouse, the scene they just left, that Etho raised an eyebrow. He didn’t expect to be playing offense. “I was just doing my damn job. Upholding journalistic integrity, or whatever-the-fuck.”

It amused him to say this; he smiled, lazily, all his teeth on display. Etho studied him, his posture, the dangerous look in his eyes.

“I know, Bdubs.” And he did.

It wasn’t really about Bdubs reporting on what had happened—in a way, he was right, he was only doing his job. He had a responsibility to relay the game play by play and word for word, that didn’t change just because sometimes things stopped going well.

“Then what’s the problem?”

Etho looked over Bdubs shoulder, out the windows they’d long since closed and locked, down towards the field, half the stadium lights already turned off and nighttime falling like a heavy blanket of snow. It was dark enough that the seats all blended together, obscuring one another and where the walls ended and sky began. All he could see was the diamond, the grass a beacon of bright green.

“You don’t know what it’s like.” It wasn’t accusatory, not said with the bitter quality of someone scorned. To Etho, it was just a fact, and so he said it as such. He didn’t put much faith in Bdubs accepting it, nothing riding on it as it wasn’t a bet he felt he could win. There’d be an ‘oh come on’ pending, Etho would concede Bdubs had only done his job, start thinking of other ways he could get him to do it a little differently.

“Yeah, and you do?”

“Yeah, I do.”

Eye contact with Bdubs always felt like a staring contest, the petty kind—the one where you accidentally locked gazes with another kid standing across from you on the playground or while on the street, bikes forming a semi-circle, and looked away without thinking anything of it, only for them to claim you lost a contest you weren’t aware you’d joined. Etho was a fan of games, indiscriminate of the type and method of playing—but one thing stayed the same across all fronts: he didn’t much like to lose.

Bdubs stood up from his lean, uncrossed his legs, his arms, and turned back towards the desk, replacing the pencil nubs that had flown from their container when he’d dropped it from a foot above the desk.

“I’ll be nicer. But not because I wanna be or because you asked or anything—and certainly not ‘cause Tango’s got his panties in a twist.”

It wasn’t the conclusion Etho had been expecting.

Bdubs pulled out his chair roughly and collapsed into the seat, head angled just slightly back toward Etho but no attempt at eye contact made.

“But because you’re right. Enjoy that now—I won’t ever say it again.”

Bdubs stared straight ahead, his fingers knotted together on top of his chest, his legs stretched out until the toe of his sneaker was up against the too-close wall. Etho turned to scoot behind his chair and get on Bdubs other side to reach his own, and he pulled it out to sit down just the same.

Their job was done for the day, the stadium mostly empty, only the very last of the janitorial staff still remaining, perhaps Impulse going over some things in his office somewhere dozens of feet below, the lights and camera flashes slowly being replaced by the spotted glow of lightning bugs. The longer they waited, the worse the commute back home would be on the subway for each of them, middle-of-the-day ballgame over and Saturday night-life in the city beginning, but for a few moments longer still, they sat.

(Read the whole story of how etho became bdubs partner in announcing here)

[kylorengarbagedump]

Better Than Credits (NSFW)

Read on AO3.

Summary: You're not a hustler - you're an artist. And the upper levels of Coruscant have become your favorite playground of late. Your patron tonight is on a Sabacc hot-streak - you plan to reap the rewards, too, until his ego has him placing you in the winnings pot.

Normally, it wouldn't be an issue. Your tactics always earn him a win. But this time, he's challenged by the most dangerous man in the galaxy - a man whose stare sends a thrill up your spine.

And now, you kind of hope you lose.

Words: 10.2k

Warnings: Cad Bane is Not Nice, Canon-typical violence

Characters: Cad Bane x Reader

A/N: THIS IS CO-WRITTEN WITH MY GORGEOUS LOVE @bastillia.

Hope y'all enjoyed! We had a blast writing it. It's a bit more niche, sure, but look. We want to fuck Cad Bane, and that's the way it is.

This literally took us an entire year because I decided to change careers and then move across the country and then go to a bootcamp and then get a job and then we moved into a new apartment. BUT NOW IT'S DONE.

Thank you to Faestae for your sprint tips. Thank you to all of my friends for encouraging me.

Love y'all so much! Talk to you soon. <3

“Raise.”

Trek pushes forth another stack of credits to the center of the table, gilded edges gleaming across the polished wood. Across from him, a Weequay folds, groaning as his cards collapse.

“This is bantha shit,” he says.

Trek snorts, crimson lip curling to expose his razor yellow teeth. “Give it up, Oros,” he replies, examining his hand. “If you weren’t ready to lose, you shouldn’t have played.”

“You’re pulling something, Varcast.”

A Trandoshan adds to the mound of credits, leveling Trek with his gaze. “Call.”

Oros rolls his eyes. “Are you not seeing this, Ussik?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Trek turns, glimpses you, his coal stone stare dipping to your cleavage. “You got any idea, baby?”

It happens in a single bat of your lashes. Giggling, you toss a coquettish look across the table, tits jiggling underneath the thin swatches of black silk meant to conceal them. It’s enough to break the focus of every single cardholder still at the table—and in that moment, Trek swaps his Commander card for the Balance card you’d had tucked at your hip.

“No,” you say, lip plumping in mock-despair. The Commander card slips into the open slot. “I don’t.”

Trek clucks his tongue, like he’s disappointed. “That’s too bad,” he says. “Oh well.” Shrugging, he chuckles to himself and spreads his cards to the sky before pushing them forward and leaning into his seat.

A perfect 23.

“Sabacc.”

The rest of the table curses, tossing their hands across the table in disgust. A wide grin slithers over Trek’s face and he bends to gather his spoils in his arms, dragging all of it—credits, jewelry, precious gems—into his growing pile.

“Kriffing bantha shit,” Oros grumbles, and shoves from the table to wander back to the casino.

Laughter quakes through the gathered crowd as he disappears. Trek leans toward you, cutting a smile, his fingers snaking behind your shoulders and tugging you close.

“Typical Weequays.” Trek loops a new necklace chain around one of his big, red fingers and dangles it in front of you. “Sore losers, the lot of them. Ain’t that right?”

You giggle and offer a shy smile to the table, pushing the necklace away as if he’s embarrassed you by being so bold.

“Another round?” the dealer asks, gathering the cards.

Trek slicks a hand along one of his horns, the other gripping your shoulder and gently jostling you. “You kidding?” he says. “While I got my lucky charm here?” His black-knife nails prick your skin. “Deal me in.”

“I need to get me one of those,” a Nikto says, his attention zipping over your stringy dress. “She for hire?”

Ussik hisses in agreement, fork tongue flicking through his teeth. “Don’t be greedy. Pass the luck around.”

A ripple of hungry snickering passes through the men. You want to groan in disgust—but you defer to Trek instead, peeking at him like you’re worried he’ll agree. He laughs, picks up his cards and appraises them before lowering his hand and shifting to meet your stare. Two heavy fingers pinch your chin, his claws catching your lower lip, and he shakes you.

“I think she likes where she’s at.” His hot breath brushes your face, and he releases you with a pat of your cheek. “Go get me a drink, baby.”

You glide up from your seat, curving your spine only a little more than necessary with the motion. Heat presses your ears as you turn away and promptly feel every set of eyes at the table adhere to your silk-framed ass.

“Alright, alright, get your tongues off the floor, boys. We playing, or what?”

Trek’s admonishment makes you giggle, and you toss one last faux-coy smile over your shoulder before setting off.

There’s no need to hurry while you meander towards the bar on the opposite side of the casino. Trek’s winning streak has him in good spirits, and you can already taste your cut at the end of the night. Plus, this is the first opportunity you’ve had to properly analyze your surroundings. You’d be remiss not to take advantage.

It’s busy tonight, packed with well-dressed socialites, business folk, even a few politicians from what you can glimpse. The air is thick and sweet, scattered with prismatic chandelier light that softens through wisps of expensive spice smoke.

The upper levels of Coruscant have become your favorite playground of late. Each of your senses is alight with luxury, the weight of the pockets passing you by almost tangible. It puts a glint to your eye and a sway to your hips. You know you look like temptation incarnate–so what’s wrong with attracting a little attention from prospective clients?

Some may look down on it, but you feel no shame in letting men pay for your company. With Trek, it’s as lucrative as it is simple—he wins, you win.

It’s the more lascivious caveats to your arrangement with him that, if you’re honest, you could do without. But for the money, it’s easy enough to endure. For now, Trek pays you well to keep things exclusive… and intimate.

At least he never lasts long.

Your heels tap the carpet with your stride, a metronome to the pleasant dance of silk around your thighs. Just a few more steps, and the bar is finally within your sights. But just as soon as it appears, it’s cut from view.

You slam to a halt, nearly falling over a couple who cut off your path, as if neither of them even saw you there. They stammer an apology while you recover your balance, though they both seem much more occupied with putting as much distance between themselves and the table behind them as possible.

Brow knitting, you turn in the direction they came from. Others move with similar haste, like clouds parting, all from a centerpoint on one tall figure walking leisurely towards a dice table.

He certainly stands out against this ostentatious crowd. You’re not typically one to stare, but he draws you like a seeker drone to a heat signature.

Long and lithe, his shape is an uncanny shadow over the scintillating room. He comes to a stop at the table, all fine leather and savoir-faire as he leans up against the edge. One long blue hand disappears into his jacket, then starts stacking credits on the betting line. He seals the wager with a tip of a wide-brimmed hat.

A sudden wetness gathers in your mouth, and the force that pulls you towards him is almost gravitational. The same burning curiosity which must tempt a Tooka-cat to jeopardize one of its nine lives for a particularly challenging prey. As you draw closer, the sheen of a blaster hilt flashes beneath his long jacket tail.

Yes, there is certainly something dangerous about this stranger. And certainly something enticing. And it’s not just the tower of golden credits now stacked on the velvet.

You sidle up to the space beside the tall Duros—the other players have left him a wide berth. Your thighs tingle.

“You look familiar.”

He doesn’t look up when you speak, just studies the table while he rocks a pair of dice between long, cerulean fingers.

“Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?”

It’s a hackneyed line, sure, but it usually does the job of starting a conversation. You shift your weight through your hips. He still doesn’t look up.

“You should hope not.” His voice sits deep in his chest, underlaid with a mechanical rumble that lights a tingle up your spine. “Unless you got a keen taste for trouble.”

The croupier calls for his throw. A devious urge flutters in your ribs.

“Breath of luck?”

A smirk touches his lips at that, toothpick shifting between them.

“Luck’s an avaricious whore.” His eyes finally spear you, twin red plasma beams that burn the breath from your chest. “Prefer to take my chances without her blessin’.”

At that, his arm winds back, and he launches the dice in a perfect arc across the table. They clatter and settle, revealing a Pilot’s Seven. You let out an airy laugh.

“Looks like she fancies you anyways.”

He peers down at you, toothpick bobbing between his teeth. If he’s at all affected by the subtle shift of your shoulders, or the way your lashes flutter when you meet his eyes, it doesn't show. His gaze never falls any lower than your own—somehow that warms your cheeks even more.

A voice on your other side makes you turn.

“I’d take some of that luck there, gorgeous.”

The speaker, an Abednedo, grins and offers his dice palm-up. You glance once more at the Duros, flash him a silken smile before redirecting it to his opponent.

“My pleasure.”

You bend slightly at the waist, letting your dress ride just a little higher up your thighs. By your measure, your stranger should have a perfect view. Your lips wrap into a soft o and you blow a puff of air over the Abednedo’s palm. He hefts the dice appreciatively, and throws.

An arc, a clatter.

Harch Eyes.

“Winner!” the croupier declares.

The Abednedo cheers, wrapping his arm around you and wobbling you in joy. You giggle, plant a chaste kiss on the wrinkles of his hairy cheek before politely peeling him from your frame. He’s too elated to notice, already occupying himself with counting his spoils like an eager child. The Duros is silent, stare finding you again.

It’s icier, harsher than the dead air of space. Its severity clips your bones.

But you don’t let that scare you. Instead, you smirk and turn away, tossing a vulpine look over your shoulder.

“That’s too bad,” you say. “You’ll get ‘em next time.”

With that, you depart the table, a flutter in your belly and a swing in your stride. You stop by the bar to grab Trek’s requested drink: always something sour poured over stones. His taste gives a new meaning to on the rocks.

You return to a few new and predictably demoralized faces, shoulders sunk in a circle, another heap of gold and silver credits glimmering in the center. It’s moved fast—this game is already in its last round, and Trek has anted up without your assistance. Batches of discarded hands are strewn over the tabletop, leaving Trek and Ussik as the final two players, again.

From yards away, you can spy a flash of Trek’s cards and frown. He’s being reckless. You shouldn’t have left him.

Sparing a sweet smile to the crowd, you saunter up to the table and sink into your seat, pushing the glass toward Trek and swallowing the urge to cough as a whiff of acid shoots up your nose and behind your eyes.

“There she is,” he says, and quaffs the whole glass, stones and all in a single gulp. “What do you think, sweetheart?” He flashes you his hand, a triumphant sneer on his face. “Should I swap or stand?”

You hum, pursing your lips. There isn’t a card in the deck that will save his current hand. You almost want to get up and leave, just to punish him for being an idiot.

“Well,” you say, breathy and brainless, “I think you should...” You shrug your shoulders for emphasis, your arms pushing your tits together again. “Stand.”

Trek grins and angles his cards face-down. “You heard the lady. Your move.”

Ussik’s lizard leer switches between you and Trek, then to the horde of credits in the center of the table. It’s like you can hear him running the possibilities through his head—he wants to keep going. Thinks there’s no way he can lose this one. But Trek’s hot streak has him too nervous.

He folds.

“Ha!” Trek guffaws, and tosses his cards on the table. He sweeps an arm around his newest winnings. “You always were a coward.”

Ussik emits a rattling hiss, and sweeps back from the table. “Don’t call me when your luck runs out, Varcast.”

A chorus of jeers follows him away. The dealer begins organizing the table for a new round, and you draw a long breath through your teeth.

That was too close. It’s a miracle the bluff even worked, and now Trek’s high on winning, letting his better judgment fail. There’s a deep, glittering hunger to his stare when he turns to you, taking advantage of the shuffling of players to pull you close and press his lips to your ear.

“You’re gonna get fucked senseless tonight.” His breath is hot and rancid down your neck. “Covered in pretty jewels.”

“Trek!” You force a giggle, not letting your guise slip even as bile rises in your throat. You push at him playfully, but keep close enough to whisper. “Why don’t you take a break? We’re ahead, let’s not push this too far.”

No sooner can you manage the suggestion than the dealer is signaling last call, and a hush alights over the table. You straighten.

Directly across from you, the crowd has parted slightly. A tall shape now settles into the vacant seat there, hat brim concealing half of his face. Below its edge, there’s an ivory flash of fang, the shift of a toothpick.

The dealer cuts the silence. “Will you be joining us this round, mister Bane?”

A cold vise wraps your chest. The hat brim lifts, and red eyes pierce you.

“Deal me in.”

Your mouth parts, a thick web of realization congealing in your throat. It all makes sense, now—the hat, the leather, the blaster, the deferent jittery crowd.

His face hadn’t been familiar. But his name is.

Trek shoulders you aside, obsidian twinkling in his gaze. “If it ain’t Cad Bane!” he says, slamming his fist on the table. Audacity swarms him like a second skin, and he beckons for cards. “I’ll almost feel bad taking your money.”

Bane’s name is, in fact, synonymous with terror on every planet you’ve visited. And you’d just taunted him like a slut.

You swallow the realization. His attention is still trained on you.

“I never feel bad about takin’ anything,” Bane replies.

Your thighs press together. The round starts. Everyone’s focus snaps to the cards.

Beside you, Trek vibrates with glee. He reminds you of a kid waiting to prank his sibling, his victory already decided. When his turn arrives, he draws a card and nudges a few tall columns of credits to the center of the table, chuckling to himself.

“We’ll start with that, then.” His chest is puffed like a shaak’s ass.”Should be chump change for a guy like you.”

Every player peeks at Bane from behind the safety of their cards, nervous whispers creeping through the crowd. If there’s any true danger, Trek is more oblivious to it than a corpse. The toothpick twirls between Bane’s incisors. He draws a card.

“Call.”

He doesn’t even stack a credit before two players fold, distancing themselves from the table as if it’s made of flames. You glimpse Trek’s hand—with two people already out, his odds of winning with what he’s got could still improve. Pinching your lip between your teeth, you examine the abandoned cards, counting those left upturned before your eyes catch Bane’s again.

His scrutiny siphons the air from your lungs, shoots an electric thrill through your spine. Gooseflesh tickles your shoulders, and you massage it away, like the chill is from the air and not the primal flutter in the back of your brain.

“Just calling?” Trek says, swapping a card out from the pile. “You don’t wanna raise the stakes?”

Bane is nonplussed. “I got nothing to prove to a hustler.”

Trek shrugs. “Suit yourself, merc.” He collects more than half of his night’s earnings and guides them to the center. “Raise.”

Fuck, he’s going to blow every last credit on sheer pride at this rate. Idiot. Not that you care if he makes a fool of himself. It’s not your problem. But it is your money.

Two more players fold, crumpling under the high stakes and stalking away from the table to a ripple of murmurs from the crowd. That leaves only Trek and Bane remaining.

Your pulse picks up speed. From the corner of your eye, you again seek out a few abandoned cards left face up, and file the suits away in your brain.

“Call.” Bane’s voice is black ice. Your focus shifts to him, and you’re scorched again by his level stare.

To conceal a rush of nerves, you shift to peer at Trek’s cards. His hand is decent, but not worth the wager he’s set. At least, until you see his thumb shift, a signal that only you can see. His obsidian nail taps one card, and then another.

“I’d have thought a man of your caliber would bring a harder wager.” Trek taunts, a distraction from the silent communication he’s sending you. He swaps one of his other cards, and then pushes the rest of his horde to the center of the table. “Raise.”

Your pulse climbs. Of course, he wants to seal his victory with something unbeatable–an Idiot’s Array. And he can do it with what he’s got. All he needs is one little face card that now burns like a brand against your flesh, resting concealed under your dress.

“Man of my caliber don’t need two sets of eyes.”

Bane’s stare is burning you again, unbreaking when he calls the raise with another stack of credits. Your breath shortens.

“Who, this little minx?” Trek turns and brings a rough hand down on the inside of your thigh, eyes glinting. “Her skills are best employed at the end of the night, if you catch my meaning.”

His grip slides up your leg, pushing your dress up with the movement. You squeal at his boldness and swat him away, batting your lashes to the table in mock embarrassment when a few whistles rise from the crowd. As you pretend to yank your dress back down, two of your fingers slip under the hem and free the card from the band of your underwear. You tuck it under your palm.

The theatrics are typically enough to throw almost anyone off your scent. After all, Trek is naturally obnoxious, and you’re naturally gifted at playing dumb. With the final adjustment in your seat, you survey the table. And your stomach twists.

Bane isn’t just watching you. He’s inspecting you. Under the rim of his hat, his eyes narrow, a hunter’s confirmation that you’re his game. He’s tracked your every move. Probably registered the card pull, too. A soft breath hitches in your throat, and your belly tightens. Somewhere below your waist, something stirs with agitated heat. Your gaze drifts over his long, nimble fingers—you wonder what they’d feel like on your skin.

Clearing your throat with a demure giggle, you break away, ignoring the warmth flooding your cheeks, the back of your neck. You need to focus.

“Taking a while to take your turn.” Trek leans back. “You afraid of losing?” His voice rises in mockery. “Is that not something that happens to you often?”

Bane couldn’t look more unamused if someone had just told him everyone he’d ever loved was dead. But that might’ve already been true, anyway.

“Interesting game you’re runnin’,” he says. “You could walk away now with all those credits.”

“Walk away?” Trek replies. “When I have you on the ropes?” He nudges you, knocks you a bit off balance in his excitement. “How many people get to say they bested Cad Bane? Huh, baby?”

Finally, Bane swaps a card. Pauses. Then pushes forth another big stack of gold. “Raise.”

Trek frowns. “Call.”

“You ain’t got any credits left.”

“Oh, now you’re desperate. Trying to get me to bow out.” Trek laughs, invites the crowd forward. He’s getting louder. “Who wants to see Cad Bane lose a game of Sabacc?”

You swallow, try to busy yourself with the hem of your dress. Normally, you’d feel confident with The Idiot card in your hand. But Bane’s unshakable coolness makes you believe that Trek doesn’t pose a threat. Given the cards you’ve spotted, you think you know—Bane’s capable of an Idiot’s Array, too. And since he’s caught you counting, he knows that you know, too.

Trek’s about to blow your entire payment. Asshole.

Plastering your face with a saccharine innocence, you tug Trek’s arm like a sleepy ingenue.

“Trek,” you murmur, “I’m tired. Maybe we should take him up on his offer.” You trail a nail down his bicep. “Head back to the room with all those jewels?”

Snorting, Trek eases you free. “You can’t tell me you want to get out right when we’re at our big break?”

“Listen to your little assistant,” Bane says. “Unless you’re gonna call.”

“You keep saying that,” Trek says. “I don’t have an assistant. I have company.” He pauses, then offers a patronizing smile. “If you’re so jealous, I’ll toss her into the pot. One night with her.”

You balk, jaw dropped. “Are you—”

The words that want to come out aren’t polite. So you bite your tongue, and look from Trek to Bane.

He is silent for a moment, seeming to turn something over in his mind. Then he sits back, perches an elbow on his armrest, and drums his fingers once on the table’s edge.

“Dunno ‘bout that.” He passes his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other, the hint of a smirk beginning to twist at the corner. “How do I know she’s worth my wager?”

Trek chuckles, then gestures to the crowd. “I think any man here would pay the same, if he could.”

A ripple of agreement goes through them, and the hairs on your neck raise. Normally, you’d revel in the attention. But you can’t assess Bane’s angle, and that unsettles you. Compounded with feeling like a fathier at auction, you almost prickle. And then Trek turns to you again, eyes glazed with greed.

“Get up and give us a twirl, baby, show the man what he’s betting on.”

Your blood sizzles the underside of your skin, and you try not to gawk at him. There aren’t enough curses in enough languages to span where you want to tell Trek to go fuck himself to right now, but there also isn’t enough time. You glance to Bane. His smirk has only grown, now stretching into a cruel, expectant half-smile as his full attention blazes you.

The realization snaps like a wire in your belly. He’s getting off on this. Punishing you for your earlier behavior, reveling in your humiliation. A sudden wave of arousal slams you, setting every inch of your skin ablaze while you move with leaden limbs to stand.

Until your last shred of wit finally reminds you of the hidden card still tucked under your palm.

Using your movement and the table as cover, you cross your legs and slot the card between your foot and the sole of your strappy shoe. Without breaking fluidity, you push your chair back, and rise.

Another round of whistles resounds as you step into full view and turn in a circle, managing just enough theatrics to throw in a giggle despite your insides performing a tumbling act. Trek has leaned back, the picture of a proud auctioneer, one arm raised to gesture up and down your body.

“I think she speaks for herself, wouldn’t you say?”

Oh, you could kill him.

But then your attention darts across the table. Bane’s posture is still relaxed, his long frame tipped back into his chair—but for the first time, his gaze dips below your chin.

His eyes trail over your bare, pretty neck and shoulders, linger along your clavicle, and appraise your tits, barely concealed, the shadow of your nipples poking through. Inches lower, and you know he’s imagining your belly, your hips, everything you’d flaunted before he’d sat down. This stare is no longer hunting.

It’s devouring.

A predator with prey in grasp, reveling in its last shallow breaths.

The toothpick rolls, Bane’s lip curling to reveal ivory fangs. “You got a deal.”

Murmurs ripple, punctuated by a few elbow jabs and the underhanded passing of bets. Trek’s grin stretches wider, greedier. You slip back into your chair, stomach twisting into knots.

He has no idea what he’s just done.

“That’s what I like to hear!” Trek opens his arm in a grand gesture, earning cheers of agreement. “Now let’s play.”

The ghost of a smirk still plays over Bane’s face as his attention lingers on you for a moment, then flicks to his cards. Every inch of your skin burns, and in the bottom of your brain, a terrible idea rises like a curl of steam. Your toes twitch against the hidden card.

“Shall we move to the showdown, then?” The dealer’s diplomatic tone feels lost within the cloud of static charging the air.

Your pulse drums your ribs when you watch Bane’s mouth beneath the brim of his hat, the way his lips massage the toothpick in thought. Your pulse rolls lower, that idea simmering and taking shape.

“What d’you say, merc?” Trek’s sneer saturates his voice. “Or is the wager not appealing enough for your tastes?”

Your foot slides beneath the table, drawing an unseen path to the killer across from you. Bane evaluates his hand as if Trek is a toddler throwing a tantrum.

“Your wager seemed more interested in blowin’ on my dice than helpin’ you out before I sat down.”

You cross your arms on the table, avoiding the laser of Trek’s glare at your temple. He nudges you, a signal to act, but you pretend he’s accidentally bumped you and shoot him a quick leer.

He snorts. “Doesn’t matter anyway. She can do whatever she wants.” His jaw tight, he adds, “You just can’t admit you’re about to lose.”

Bane hasn’t glanced from his cards, and your foot extends further. With one final stretch, you find the inside of his leg. He flinches a millimeter, his eyes lock to yours—and he’s still, allowing you to slide upwards until you meet the bend of his knee. His attention returns to his cards.

“Maybe you can’t admit you ain’t her only option.”

“Option?” Trek throws up his hands. “I think she has all that she needs right here!” The crowd urges him on, and Trek jabs you again, harder this time under the noise. When you don’t respond, he does it again. “Right, baby?”

The edge in his voice scrapes your ears, and you frown, turning your shoulder to him. You rest the ball of your foot on the edge of Bane’s seat, nuzzle your toes just a bit between his thighs. Pulse in your throat, you wait.

“Ha! I think, I think he’s scared! Cad Bane is scared, boys!” Trek demands participation, shaking you to remind you of the play you’ve rehearsed for months. His palm is sweating. “He’s trying to play some mind game or something!”

Bane’s gaze slips down between his legs for just the shadow of a second, then returns to his opponent while he waits for the ruckus to fade.

“Let’s finish this dance, hustler.” A pointed smile unfurls under the hat brim. “Seein’ as you’re all out of moves.”

Beneath the table, cool fingers wrap over the arch of your foot. Bane’s hand slides down along the delicate skin, his touch slow and indulgent in a way that makes shivers erupt up your spine. He lingers over your perfectly manicured toes, then slides the hidden card out from beneath them.

Trek forces a smile, his laughter like shattered glass. “Out of moves?” He looks to you, eyes wide.

You respond with equal confusion, as if you either don’t know what he’s talking about or can’t find where the card went. Saturation drains from his face, and he blows a long, frustrated huff through his nose.

“Gentlemen.” The dealer interjects, tone unwavering. “Showdown, please.”

“Fine.” With a suck of his corn cob teeth, Trek throws his hand on the table. “Twenty in Flasks.”

He settles back, hands coming up to rest behind his head. The crowd swells—cheers, mutters, and whistles surrounding the table. And then all eyes shift to Cad Bane.

The hat brim cocks, and then lifts. Plasma-red certainty sucks every breath from the room, and a cruel smile curves his lips. He spreads his hand to view. Your heart thumps—you didn’t even spot the exchange. But there in the center, like a crowning jewel, sits your clandestine gift. That tiny face card.

“Idiot’s Array.”

An explosive cheer erupts around you, and Trek juts forward in disbelief, his eyes darting over the table—the cards, the credits, the jewels—like he’s watching a mirage shimmer into dust. You swallow, inching away in your seat. He’s never lost this big. Not with you.

“Bantha shit!” he roars, shooting from his seat. “Cheat! You cheated me, merc!”

Bane is cooler than a neutron star. “I gave you a chance to back out.”

The dealer moves to exchange Trek’s winnings to Bane, but Trek slams his big fist on the table, sending credits flying. You flinch, sweat creeping up your spine. You knew he’d get angry. You didn’t think he’d get violent.

“No!” He scratches at the moving pile, snatching a handful. “This is mine! These are mine—you’re not taking shit, Bane—”

“Mister Varcast,” the dealer says, “I’m sorry, but—”

Trek snarls. “No! He didn’t win! He—he must have—”

As proof, he gestures to the Idiot’s Array. His gaze hovers there. He pauses. Silent, his ears draw back, his muscles lock and his shoulders bunch. Your stomach collapses, you stumble out of your seat—he’s a storm, whirling on you with demonic fury.

“You!” Trek reaches for you and you shove him away, staggering backward. “You little—”

He tries to grapple you again, but chairs are between the two of you, Cad Bane in your periphery. Howling in rage, Trek sweeps half the table clean in one swing, credits and cards and gemstones crashing to the floor. He’s heaving, eyes wild as he prepares to clear the other side, and stalls when he spots the empty drink you’d grabbed for him.

Lip furling, he seizes the tumbler, reels back and hurls it straight at you.

Before you can scream, a red beam shatters the glass. Another slams Trek in the chest and eats a hole to his heart. He chokes, stutters, stealing a final horrified glance at you. Then his black pebble pupils roll into his skull and he topples to the table in a heavy thunk.

You exhale your relief, your throat thick with dissipating fear. Beside you, Cad Bane spins his blaster on his finger and stuffs it back in its holster.

With a sniff, he flicks his toothpick onto the body. “That’s no way to treat a lady.”

The room is silent, every onlooker paralyzed and slack-jawed. You tremble, still clutching the edge of the table, its solidity helping to calm the ringing in your ears. It’s not like you’ll miss Trek. You’re just happy to be in one piece. And for the past thirty seconds, your heartbeat may as well have stopped entirely. It awakens now in your cunt, every fiber of your body blazing to life and aching for the man rising slowly beside you.

Not one person dares to move, and that only makes your thighs clench harder as Bane moves around behind you and lays a hand on the small of your back. He reaches into his coat, then tosses a compact bundle of credits to the dealer—the only person in the room who appears unfazed.

“For the mess.” He gestures to the scattered riches. “Y’know where to send this.”

“Indeed, mister Bane.”

Bane nods once, touching a thumb and forefinger to the brim of his hat. His hand presses your back. Mind numb, you allow him to lead you, past Trek’s slumped, smoking corpse, through the stunned crowd. All the way through the doors of the grand turbolift, situated between vaulting glass panes that frame the neon cityscape outside. It’s only once the doors glide shut, seal you in a crystalline box with a killer, that your brain produces a single coherent thought.

You’re going to fuck Cad Bane.

Instead of choosing a floor, Bane scans his gauntlet against the lift panel. It chirps in recognition and you’re moving, flying high into the sky.

Even cast in the spell of night, Coruscant thrums with sleepless life, a thrumming that resonates where Bane’s hand still rests—inches above the swell of your ass. Your tongue traces the seam of your lips and your focus drifts from the horizon, to his reflection, to him.

Bane is a walking weapon, optimized for tactical violence from the rockets strapped to his boots to the apparatus plugged under his cheeks. There is no softness, no tender curve to any part of him; even his face is sharp bones and fangs. You wonder how his mouth will feel on your throat, how his body will press into yours in his bed. A thrill squeezes your chest, and you draw in a breath. He smells like petrichor and dying plasma.

From the corner of his sight, he catches you staring. His lip curls in disgust, he drops his hand from your back.

“Don’t bother performin’. I ain’t payin’.”

You blink, tilt your head. Before you can reply, the lift doors open, and your mind blanks.

Mouth parted, you enter the penthouse suite, heels clicking obsidian tile. Jet panels embedded with glowing veins jut from the walls, soaring to claim the ceiling. Doors branch off the perimeter, but before you, the room stretches out to a stone dais decorated with lavish furniture. Floor-to-ceiling panes of glass encircle it, revealing the still-thrumming city miles below.

The thrumming feels urgent, now. Throbbing.

Your eyes devour the fine decor, every glint of light refracted in crystal detailing. Even the floor feels expensive under your feet, sending a tingle from your toes all the way up your neck with each step. You come to a stop just before the shallow stairs that lead up the dais, hand stretching out to appreciate a piece of furniture.

“Touch anything, and you’re dead.”

You pause, biting your lip against the smile that tries to spread. “I don’t know what kind of company you typically keep, mister Bane. But I’m an artist, not a thief.”

“An artist.” The word withers on his tongue.

“Yes.“ Your smile wins out. “There’s an art to good strategy, wouldn’t you say?��� You resume your course, finger trailing along the back of the couch, savoring the ridges in its expensive upholstery. You cast a glance back over your shoulder.

Bane is following you at a distance, tracking your pace across the room. A shiver drags up your spine.

“Remind me never to take strategic advice from you.”

That makes you scoff.

“Oh please, like you’ve never had a job go sideways.” You turn to face him with a shrug. “That moron had it coming. Everything that happened tonight went exactly by my design.” His eyes narrow almost imperceptibly at that. Almost. “Believe it or not, I keep tricks up my sleeve even you’ve never heard of.”

“That so?” He continues to stalk towards you, his path now more direct. “Well, ain’t you clever?”

You back coyly up the steps, into the wash of neon-kissed light spilling through the enormous circle of windows. After a few strides, your back presses cold glass. Bane doesn’t stop. He prowls up the stairs and into your space, only stopping once he’s close enough that your tits brush his torso with your shallow breaths. His head cocks.

“But I’m pretty sure you keep ‘em somewhere else.”

With that, he wrenches one side of your dress all the way up your thigh and over your hip, revealing at least four cards tucked into the band of your underwear.

You gasp up at him, your face plastered in theatrical shock. A giggle bubbles from your chest. “How did those get there?”

He gives a low snarl and wrenches you around, shoves you tits-first against the window and lifts the other side of your dress, baring your ass and the rest of your cache on the other hip. His fingers hook under your thong, and with a quick yank, he rips the scrap of fabric from your body. Cards flutter to the floor at your feet.

“You’re quick, I’ll give y’that.” He smooths down the curve of your ass, drawing a hiss of pleasure from you. “But only quick enough to fool those cock-brained idiots down there.”

“Teacher, teacher!” You laugh, the sound airy and provocative in your throat, and then put on an exaggerated pout. “Such criticism. Forgive me, I didn’t realize you were qualified to evaluate my tactics.”

The roll of his eyes is almost palpable.

“I ain’t got your assets—“ he gives your ass a lazy swat “—but I am faster than you.”

You can’t stop the grin that spreads. “Then maybe I can learn a few lessons from those expert hands of yours.”

In emphasis, you arch your back and wiggle your hips. Bane’s palm cracks you this time, square on one asscheek, earning a tiny squeal.

“I’ll make sure of that.”

Excited air escapes you. “Fuck…”

“Just one thing I can’t figure.” The rumble of his voice against your spine makes you shudder. “What d’you get out of throwin’ the game?”

“Well, if I played my cards right…” You hum, trying to lean into his touch. “I’ll be reaping my reward very soon.”

Bane snorts, his breath washes your neck with gooseflesh. “Hope it’s better’n credits, ‘cause I already told you I ain’t paying.”

You bite your lip and reach backwards, trying to sense the lines of his body in order to reach your target. It doesn’t take long—you find the edge of his jacket, then the firm leather of his belt. You lay your palm flat over the buckle, slide blindly down the seam of his trousers until… yes.

His cock is straining already, hard and eager against his thigh.

“Oh, it will be.” You hum, and slide your palm down its length, over the coarse fabric entrapping him. The feeling makes your mouth water. Jaw slackening, you lick your lips. “Consider me willing to wager on it.”

A quiet, hungry sound vibrates at your back, and Bane’s grip digs you like a shock. He cups and kneads your ass, his long fingers dipping close to the pulsing heat between your legs—you fight the urge to buck into them. His other hand, cool and firm, clasps the back of your neck and flattens your face along the transparisteel. You gasp in delight, planting your palms to steady you while he tests your body’s response.

“You coulda played that Idiot’s Array,” he mutters. The hand between your legs loops around to the front of your thigh. “Walked out of here rich.”

“Yes,” you manage to reply. He’s close, so close to where you want him, need him to touch you. Your clit pulses for attention. “And you could have played that Twenty-Two you had. Ace high, Stave Flush, was it? You would have won.” He twitches against your skin—you clocked him with that. You smile. “But you took my card anyway.”

Bane’s hand slides down your thigh, groping the flesh there, stroking shivers alive through your nerves. He glides up, over your hip, and when you whine, he jerks his hips into you.

“What’s your point?” Desire is a microscopic tear in his tone. He eases back, squeezes your ass again, hard enough to spread your lips just slightly. “You offered it, didn’t you?”

You try to crane your head toward him to catch his gaze, but it’s hidden by his hat. He’s too busy studying what’s in front of him. Your cunt is swollen, tingling for anything more than what he’s offering you.

“I did.” You’re breathless now, and there’s no use in hiding it. Fire licks your cheeks, desperation growing in your center and throbbing there. “I wanted you to touch me.” Your voice is air and desire. “Did you want to touch me, Bane?”

You feel him growl out the beginning of a response, but then his finger just barely brushes the seam of your pussy. In one simultaneous moment, Bane curses, and you gasp. You’re fucking drenched, slick and hot for him already. It takes no pressure–he gives a testing advance, and dips between your folds with vulgar ease.

“Fuck,” you whine, locking your muscles down against the overpowering urge to throw yourself into him.

For once, Cad Bane is completely silent. Slowly, devastatingly slowly, his finger begins to trail up and down. It teases close to your clit, then glides back towards your entrance, repeating in a cruel game of keep-away that has you panting within seconds. Your breath fogs the window, creating little patches of frosted city light with every huff of your chest.

His movements become experimental, lingering close to your clit when your whines grow louder, circling your entrance when it makes your spine arch. Finally, one finger settles and presses there, breaches you with a delicious little stretch and sinks to its root.

You moan, and your body clenches, trying to suck him in. A low sound catches in Bane’s throat behind you. His skin is smooth and cool, gradually absorbing your heat. He draws halfway out and sinks in again, pulling a gasp and another whine from your chest.

His grip on your neck tightens and he steps closer, wedges his boot between your feet to spread them, nearly edging you off-balance. Satisfied, he drags along your walls and pushes in again, exploring the ridges of your cunt with lewd, wet sounds. Something about the shape of his finger—bulbous at the tip, the slope of his knuckles—has your cunt aching, and you tighten around him, wanting every possible millimeter inside you.

Behind you, Bane inhales sharp air between his pointed teeth and drops your neck, knocks your feet wider, pressing into you. Harsh, cold metal prods you at your shoulders, hips, ribs, his now-free hand slipping into your dress and finding your breast with a gentle squeeze. You squirm in his hold with an elated squeal, and he grumbles, flicks over your nipple, his other hand still relishing the grip of your cunt.

You reach back, grapple his hips and pin his erection against your ass. Breath escapes him in a gravelly pant, and he grinds into you, seeking friction. Dizzy, you moan, melting in his arms. Lust has flooded your brain, numbed your mouth—you can think of nothing else you want than more, more of Cad Bane filling you, stretching you, fucking you dumb.

Like he senses it, Bane slows, adjusts, teasing your entrance with two fingers. A pathetic mewl echoes in the air, and he sinks into you.

On any other occasion, you would have been irritated that you'd been so easy to read. But on this one, you’re far too desperate for the cock of a killer to care.

Bane’s rhythm starts rough, driving and curling into your pussy like a greedy beast, forcing a sob from your chest. His other hand kneads and rolls your tit, tweaks your nipple with tiny shocks of pleasure, and his cock is gouging your flesh. Pure need thickens the air, and your eyes roll, warmth glowing in your belly, rushing your thighs, your clit throbbing, pleading for release.

The last thread of your sanity strings your hand between your legs, and the moment you graze the bundle of nerves, you collapse with bliss, crying out. Bane stiffens, keeping you on your feet while he stretches against the delighted flutter of your walls, his breath deep and heavy. You manage to stand, but the rest of you is lost—lost to anything but the swirl of your swollen clit, the thrust of his fingers inside your cunt.

“Yes,” you whisper, more praise than prayer. Pleasure builds fast, your fingers circling, your desperate, soaking cunt pulsing as you rise toward your peak. “Fuck, yes…”

Bane folds over you, his breath—dry and smoky, like burnt wood—in your ear. He growls, mumbles something under his breath, too garbled in his throat for you to understand. And then he abandons your breast, slaps away your busy fingers, his own replacing them with stone silk smoothness. He ghosts your clit once, twice, feels you milk his hand—then circles it with exquisite, liquid bliss.

Cold glass against your cheek is the only sensation still tethering you to reality. You begin to unfurl, the tight coil in your belly starting to pulse and spark. Your skin feels furnace-hot, trembling as Bane’s steady rhythm hurtles you towards a peak. If there was any hesitation to his movements before, it has disappeared entirely. He’s learning your body now, making millimeter adjustments–and then a wicked curve of his fingers hits a spot inside you that makes your vision go white.

“Oh, fuck!” Each of your breaths carries a musical little moan through the top octaves of your voice. “Don’t stop…”

A mechanical growl vibrates at your neck, and his mouth drops to your shoulder, fangs brushing the skin there. The sensation crackles through your nerves, a fracture thin enough to shatter you like a plasma bolt to glass. In that moment, you fall—your knees wobble, you clutch his arms, and you explode into red-foiled fragments.

Ecstasy ruptures through your veins, an overload that shorts every muscle but the ones wrapped around Bane’s fingers, constricting and trapping him inside while he massages your clit through another wave, and another. His teeth scrape over your skin with dull, distant pain—he curses into your neck until you wilt, spent, in his hold. The remnants of your orgasm peel to the ether, leaving you a throbbing, dripping, panting husk.

City lights swim slowly back into focus, edges softened through the smudged window. Bane’s chest swells against your back. He’s still rooted inside you, unmoving, and he lingers there for several long moments before finally beginning to draw out. You gasp at the drag along your sensitive walls, bracing your palms on the glass. When he emerges, he straightens, the arm bracing you upright sliding away and letting your weight settle on the balls of your feet again. But he doesn’t step away. You can still feel his erection like wrought steel against your ass.

Cheeks awash with the heat of climax, you study his faint reflection in the window. The hat brim is a gentle curve bisecting the city’s harsh lines, his gaze downcast—his fingers are still brushing your swollen cunt, coated in your cum. You can’t help but let out a tiny giggle. A laser-bolt stare pins your reflection.

“Tastes even better than it looks.” Tattered air drags through your voice, and you feel Bane’s hips twitch against you. His eyes narrow. When he speaks, it’s through locked teeth.

“Then who’m I to deny you?”

His hand snakes forward, and before you can blink, his fingers are pushing past your lips, hooking onto the flat of your tongue and spreading the sweet, sharp taste of your juices across your palate. You moan, louder than you intend, as you instinctively wrap around his knuckles and draw him further into your hot, soft mouth, massage your tongue along the unique curve of his digits.

Bane stuffs them deeper, tickles the back of your throat, and you fight the urge to gag. Eyes rolling, you grind against the hard desire digging into your flesh, hoping to infect Bane with the same passion that grips you now like a contagion. Drool sneaks from the side of your lips, and you whimper, tasting yourself between his fingers. You hum in satisfaction, meet his gaze in the window, sealing around him with a single firm suck.

His hips jerk. Grunting, he rips himself free of your mouth and grips your hips, spins you around to face the couch only to push you over one of the arms. You fold like a bad hand, ass pointed at the ceiling and face smashed against the plush cushion.

“Y’re a demon, girlie.”

Bane’s voice is shredded with lust, now. Behind you, his belt buckle releases with a soft metallic clink.

Blood floods your face and cunt with heat. You aren’t going to be the first or last woman fucked on this penthouse couch—but with any luck, you’ll be staining the fabric for months to come. You turn your face to the side and grin.

“What a fitting pair that makes us.”

He grunts, and you feel a firm head prod at your slit before slicking itself in your wetness. You hold your breath, bracing for his cock. When he pushes in, he forces it all from your chest. The stretch is an entirely new landscape—slippery ridges roll into you, stroke your walls in delicious interval—and on top of it, he’s big, thicker than a man of his frame has any business being. You whine, dig your nails into the couch, and Bane’s pelvis hits your ass.

The shape and sensation of his cock has you halfway wound, and you want him to spin you up and unspool you, want to be fucked oblivious. You tighten around his cock, feel it throb in kind. Drool fills your mouth. Anxious, you rock your hips back, goading him deeper. His eyes flash with a hesitant excitement and the corner of his lip curls, revealing a fang.

“Shoulda known you really wanted this,” growls Cad Bane. “You got a terrible Sabacc face.”

Stars, why can’t he just shut up and fuck you? It’s like there’s some tiny, invisible tether sustaining his resolve. Something ready to fracture under a pinpoint of perfectly-aimed pressure.

Fishing remnants of your intellect from the haze flooding your brain, you smile over your shoulder, gaze half-lidded. To anyone else, Bane might appear unreadable. But to you, an expert in catching millimeters of movement, in spying tells from species across the galaxy, his own has become clear.

“Mm, pardon my curiosity, mister Bane.” You rock forward and press back again, letting him feel your pussy split open again on his cock. “I’d always heard that bounty hunters were a terrible fuck.”

He snarls. Two strong hands encircle your thighs and jerk you back. He snaps into you. Your eyes find your brain, your body finds purgatory.

Bane exhales the fragments of his restraint, slides out, the ribbed surface of his cock earning little gasps from you with each dip before he pushes in again. Another groan, another thrust, and another, and another, and Bane is driving into you, shackling you in place with his fingers, your stattacoed pleasure blending into a long, laboring moan.

At this point, you’ve had a fair share of nun-human cocks inside of you. But there’s something about Bane’s—the shape, the girth, the slick, almost wet slip of his skin—that ignites a warm, addictive shiver through your thighs, makes your cunt spasm with every thrust. Behind you, he grunts, shifting over you to pump deeper, his breath rattled by that mechanical purr.

You scratch the couch, arching your back, rolling your hips to meet him in tandem. Under the broken melody of your pleasure, he fucks you with shameless, quickening percussion. Your clit tingles to life, saliva pooling in your cheeks and leaking to the couch. Bliss is sweeping you into a storm, unmooring you from reality, and you can do nothing more but plead to drown. Gasping, you bounce your ass against him, wanting, needing, begging for more.

And then his pace slows again, evading your desperate thrusts and drawing an utterly pathetic sound of protest from you.

“Oh, everything not going by your design, little lady?” Bane coos above you, before his hand bunches around the back of your dress, voice turning hard and cruel. “You ain’t had enough?”

He slams into you, forcing a scream, cut short as he yanks you toward him. The force rips the delicate fabric, pops the straps at your shoulders, and you collapse forward, smacking the cushions. Before you have a chance to mourn your dress, he pulls out, flipping you with surprising strength, and shoves you forward on the couch.

Mind in a spiral, you only have a split second to process the sight—Bane crosses and looms over you, his cock now swinging into full view. Each ridge is swollen and flushed green, lined at the base with nubs that leak a pearlescent substance. That same substance still coats your pussy, and when you swirl your clit with it, a strangely potent pulse of pleasure zips straight up your spine, making your head go fuzzy.

Bane grips his cock, slicks that substance from base to swollen tip with a hiss and lines it up with your entrance. Bracing himself, he pushes in, piercing you with a sharp thrust.

You cry out, suck in a shuddering moan while your core clenches in delight, all too happy to be fucked numb. Above you, Bane traps a groan in his throat, and you bite your lip. At some point, his hat fluttered to the floor.

Like this, you can hear every trip of his breath, watch his jaw lock with pleasure, smell the spice of danger laid into his skin. His hips piston, cock driving in again and again, stretching you deeper with each plunge. The storm has captured you, eradicated rationality. In its onslaught, you throw your arms around him. All you can do is want.

Bane snarls and pins your throat, forcing distance between you again. The pressure blurs your sight, thumps in your temple and mingles with the electric fuzz in your brain while he fucks into your cunt—a throttled gurgle escapes, the sensation of his cock, his pace, his presence more inebriating than any drink you’d been served. Your thighs tremble, your fingers curl, the heat in your belly blazes, tightens.

“Fuck yes,” you manage to sputter. “Bane—”

He squeezes your throat. “Quiet.”

Your jaw slackens, and you swallow your words, drool and primal noise filling the void. Under it, you can hear Bane’s voice crumbling into ragged, soft panting—he pounds you, his fangs bared, your bodies rocking the couch across the tile. Your clit is sensitive, aching, every smack of his hips coating your folds in his fluid and somehow driving you closer, closer to orgasm.

Stars, you want to cum on him, you want to grip and pulse around his length and milk him until he’s spent, you want him to ruin your pussy. There is no reality that exists to you without him, without his cock.

The hand at your throat squeezes again, shooting stars into your sight. You nod with a whine. He drives deep, his cock so swollen you feel the urgent throb of its ridges as they breach your cunt, the grating desperation leaving his chest—as if to urge you before him, he crushes your breath, hammering deep, hitting parts of you that explode behind your eyes.

A whine becomes a groan becomes a scream, pulsing heat subsumes you, and erupts in blinding white light. It pours out in strangled sobs from your chest, overflows your skin in currents of electric gooseflesh. All of you constricts, pulsing in powerful waves that can’t find a way to break. Bane is silent as you cum, his pace remarkably steady through the longest orgasm of your life—until you’re halfway cognizant, quaking in aftershocks and gaze fluttering open.

The pressure leaves your throat. You gulp in oxygen, vision still grey around the edges and skin still vibrating in time with your abused cunt. Your walls seize as Bane’s cock pulls out, leaving you vacant.

He is a cerulean shape in your periphery, moving—without a chance to recover, you find yourself yanked off of the couch by the back of your neck and shoved onto your knees.

Eyes hazy, you look up at Cad Bane standing above you. One hand grips his cock, pumping it millimeters from your face, the other still hooked around the back of your neck. Dazed and compliant, you default on instinct. Your mouth falls open, tongue laid over your bottom teeth and brows pinching together in a final, silent plea.

Red burns down on you, curses flying from between his locked teeth. Bane fucks his fist, his hips jerk forward, and with a mechanical roar, he cums.

It hits you across your nose, forehead and tongue. It’s not only the taste of it, it’s the texture—it’s slick, warm. That same static tingles your tastebuds. Groaning, your sight goes white, and you swirl it in your mouth, let it slither down your throat. Bane is motionless, panting, a study of a man gilded in satisfaction.

There’s a mirrored bliss roiling inside of you, too, fat with glee that you can say you’ve fucked one of the most dangerous men in the galaxy, that he split you open on his cock, that he smothered your face with cum.

Bane squeezes the last few beads from the tip, twitching in sensitivity, and smears them across your lips. His slit gaze maintains a shackle hold on yours, and you grin, slipping your sticky tongue out to gather every single drop. You swallow it and gasp, opening your mouth to show its cleanliness like it’s the climax of your performance.

But really, despite Bane’s suspicions, it’s entirely sincere. Unlike most of your encounters, you haven’t performed since he guided you to the lift.

Easing back onto your heels, Bane is silent, tucking himself away before grabbing his hat from the floor and dusting it clean. The casual whisk of his hand—the knowledge that it was just inside of you—is almost enough to make you see if you can convince him into another round. Catching a glimpse of yourself, you notice your tits hanging free, the sheen of sweat in the dim light, the errant remnants of cum adorning your skin.

Getting clean is your first priority.

“Mind if I use the refresher?” The answer doesn’t matter to you—you’re already slinking to your feet and letting the tatters of your dress fall like ribbons around your hips. Better to start early.

His laser stare pierces your back while you find the master suite, hesitating before you dip beyond the door. Maybe you’re toying with him, but you’re almost surprised when he doesn’t fight your violation of his privacy. Until you glance around the room and notice how large, how pristine, and how utterly empty it is of life.

No luggage, no belongings. The bed isn’t even touched.

Humming to yourself, you head to the refresher, skating your fingers along the cool chrome-lined counters. Grabbing one of the folded towels, you carefully dab it along the last bits of Bane’s cum, wiping the smudges of makeup that have pooled at the corners of your eyes. After all, if you’re going to try for round two…

The state of affairs: your hair is chaos, pressed to your skull in wild ways, your lips plump, face shimmering with a mixture of semen and perspiration. The evidence of Bane’s teeth throb at your shoulder, the evidence of his cock pulses between your legs. Your thighs still tremble, the flesh there buzzing from whatever magic his species deals in.

Spotting a cleanly folded robe, you grab it, tucking yourself into it and leaving it open at the chest. With each step, your tits jiggle and sway, enough exposed to entice the imagination. You’re not exactly sure what he finds most exciting about you, but you figure that betting on all of it won’t hurt.

After messing with your hair until it decides to cooperate, you glide back to the main room, still floating on the cloud of being fucked to an inch of your life by a killer.

Across the room, Bane is tapping his commlink, ending a call he’d apparently just been on. Without acknowledging you, or saying a word at all, he inventories his weapons and taps buttons on his bracer before heading toward the docked ship outside of the penthouse balcony. You frown.

All of that, and he won’t even notice how great your tits look in this robe?

You clear your throat. “Tapping out so soon, cowboy?”

Bane sniffs. “Got a job.”

You fight the urge to droop. You feel like a plucked porg.

“A job?” You gesture at the robe. “What am I supposed to do, then? I don’t exactly have any credits right now. Or clothes.”

That red laser gaze nails you a final time. The corner of his mouth is curled, you swear, in the smallest smirk.

“Ain’t you an artist?”

Two fingers brush the tip of his hat, the only farewell you receive before Bane heads toward the dock, hopping into the ship. A second passes before the engines whirr alive and the craft speeds off into the dark, busy night of Coruscant. You hold your breath until its lights melt into the city’s own starscape.

Lip twisting, you stare at your very still tits, surveying the empty penthouse suite. With an exhale, you sink into the couch, spying the puddle of drool you’d left on the other cushion. Your fingers drift absently between your legs, finding the remains of Bane’s secretions there. You drag a bit of the syrupy material over your abused clit, feeling the nerves inexplicably surge to life once again in pleasant tingles.

Whatever the fuck you’re supposed to do now, at least you have until the morning to figure it out. In the meantime, you’ll enjoy your accommodations.

And your own company.

[imaginejamesandsirius]

Hi!! Can you do one where Sirius is offered a modeling job at Sleekeazy’s and James initially thought it was funny but not after everyone started pining for him (even more than usual). Feelings realization + possessive/jealous! James pls... thank you~~

Sirius walked into their flat with a grin on his face. He looked breathtakingly beautiful, as always. It was something James always noticed about him, but that didn't make it less impactful-- sort of like the way the sun was bright: an everyday occurrence but no less noticeable for it. "Guess what happened today?" he asked.

"You finally got the kids at the playground to pet you?"

Sirius didn't bother to glare at him for the joke, which meant that whatever news he had, it was big. He took off his jacket and hung it on the hook but didn't bother with his shoes.

Yes, James watched his every move. No, he didn't care to change that habit. It's not like Sirius didn't know he did it. Sirius had caught his staring back in Hogwarts and never told him to stop; as far as their relationship was concerned, that was Sirius telling him that he could look as much as he wanted.

"Are you ready for this?" Sirius asked as he sat sideways on the couch, one leg bent so his foot hung off the cushion. "You don't look like you're ready. Mentally prepare yourself, James."

"For Godric's sake, just tell me," James said, as if annoyed, but he was grinning.

"I got a modeling job at Sleekeazy's."

A laugh ripped out of James, hurting his throat a little, but Merlin, he couldn't keep it in even if he wanted to. Sirius was gorgeous and always willing to pose in front of a camera, but modeling?

Sirius was laughing along with him, both of them finding the situation more than a little ridiculous.

When he could finally speak instead of laughing-- a venture that took a few tries before it worked-- James asked, "How in the world did that happen?"

"Gods," Sirius said, still snickering, "do you remember that auror calendar they asked us to do?"

"Yeah." Their auror careers had been short lived, with the both of them quitting as soon as the war was over; the ideals of being in law enforcement couldn't compare with the realities of the job, and neither of them had been willing to put up with all the rubbish and corruption it entailed.

"They had a copy, I guess, and when they were thinking about who to use for their new campaign, they thought of me."

James wrinkled his nose to affect disgust and said, "You sure you want to work with people that've jerked it to a photo of you?"

"If I held to that rule, I'd never work with anyone ever again," Sirius said, sending both of them into new peals of laughter.

"And now you're giving everyone new material," James cooed, patting Sirius on the cheek. "You're so selfless."

"I know. It's one of my best qualities."

"Tied for first with all of your other qualities," James said, nodding sagely.

"And don't you forget it," Sirius said, wrapping his fingers around James's arm and moved James's hand from his cheek to his shoulder.

His fingers were thick and strong, just like the rest of him was. James had had more than one fantasy about Sirius's hands, and he liked how they felt against his skin like this, even in such a non-sexual manner. Him and Sirius were so comfortable around each other. James could tell Sirius that he thought about him when he tossed off, and Sirius would probably shrug and say 'of course you do' and nothing between them would change. He wondered, sometimes, if it was like that for Sirius too. If Sirius ever thought about how handsome James was and touched himself thinking about it. That was a nice thought; he liked when they were equal in everything.

James chuckled, pulling himself away from those thoughts. "Merlin, I can't believe you're going to model."

"Right? I could've cashed in on my good looks years ago, and I didn't think to. I wouldn't have had to bother with the shop at all."

"Yeah, right," James snorted. Sirius loved that shop. Nothing on the planet could've stopped him from spending his days breaking curses on household objects, including modeling and entering dog shows-- he'd gotten third the one time they did it, and James had been so offended by that placement that they hadn't tried again.

"Watch yourself James, in a month I'll be more famous than you can handle."

"I'm sure," James said, taking his hand off Sirius's shoulder to boop his nose.

Sirius swat his hand away, so he did it again.

That was an invitation as far as Sirius was concerned, so he transformed into Padfoot and easily knocked James over and sat on his stomach, tail wagging in satisfaction as James alternated between laughing and ineffectually trying to push him off. They really wanted to make this arse a model? Best of luck to them.

*

Sirius's modeling rapidly went from the funniest thing in James's life, to the most terrible.

Everyone had seen the pictures from Sleekeazy's new advertisements. Everyone.

Two teammates and four associates in Puddlemere asked James if Sirius was single and if he thought his best mate would be interested in going on a date with him. Marlene reported that three of her coworkers at The Prophet asked her if Sirius would be interested in a 'private interview'. Lily said that more than one of her students at Hogwarts carried a cut out picture of Sirius with them. Rosmerta had jokingly asked if Sirius would sign one of the pictures for her (he did so with a wink), and the next time they came in, she told them that she'd had to use a sticking charm on it so no one would lift it as they exited. They'd all had a good laugh over that when Rosmerta told them that, but James's had been a little forced.

It all drove James mad. He tried to keep a good humour about it, but it was impossible.

This was different than what used to happen. This wasn't people doing a double take when they saw Sirius, or someone's eyes trailing after him like they couldn't believe someone so handsome was walking the earth. It had never bothered James before. He used to laugh about it with Sirius and argue over which of them the person was actually checking out.

It stopped being funny when James realised that everyone felt entitled to a piece of Sirius. They thought they could ask for a moment of his time, an autograph, a date. Whether James was stood right next to him or not, people would go up to Sirius and ask him out. This sort of thing had happened at Hogwarts too, and James had hated it as much then as he hated it now. It wasn't just that people usually ignored him to talk to Sirius, it was... bugger, he didn't even know what about it he hated so much, but it was horrible. People came up to Sirius in public, and he had to pause his conversation with James so he could let them down gently. James used to at least attempt to be kind about it and wait patiently, but after every single outing getting interrupted several times, he'd had enough.

The next time they were walking down Diagon Alley and someone said, "Excuse me, but you're Sirius Black, aren't you? The new model for Sleekeazy's?"

Sirius slowed to do his usual niceties, but James was done with this shite. "He's busy with someone who actually knows him." He didn't bother trying to sound nice, because there was no way to make that sound nice.

She blinked up at him. "I just-"

"Do us all a favour and bugger off," James said, but he didn't trust that she would. He grabbed Sirius's arm and continued on their way. Sirius didn't offer resistance as James dragged him away, but he could sense his confusion. He didn't bother to explain himself.

After their was enough distance between them, James let go of his arm.

"What was that about?" Sirius asked.

"What was what about?"

"Don't play dumb. Blowing that person off back there."

James glanced at Sirius and knew he wouldn't be able to brush this off. But hell if he wasn't going to try. "I'm just hungry. Some of the people that want to talk to you never shut it."

Sirius hummed, not buying James's excuse for a second, but he didn't ask about it further as they walked.

He didn't ask about it all through lunch, either.

James could see the confrontation coming and knew it wouldn't be pretty, like a horde of Blast-Ended Skrewts cresting a hill.

As soon as they got home, Sirius rounded on him, anger writ across his face. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Relax, it's not as if my trainer will know I had a basket of chips with lunch," James said. Despite the words, he didn't bother to play innocent or pretend that he didn't know that Sirius was talking about something else. He said it flatly, looking Sirius dead in the eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Sirius's jaw ticked. "James," he growled.

"I'm tired of the way everyone treats you."

"Like a minor celebrity?"

"Like they want to eat you alive," James corrected, narrowing his eyes at Sirius, daring him to say that wasn't what was happening. "You can't sodding tell me that you don't know what they think about you."

"So what? A couple random arse people think they want to date me because I'm hot, and you lose your head?"

"Yes, because it's ridiculous!"

"It's ridiculous that people want to date me?" Sirius asked, eyes hard and blazing as he glared at James across the small amount of space separating them. it was little more than an arm's length between them. One step forward, arm extended, and one of them could put a hand on the other's shoulder. Neither of them did it. It wasn't that sort of disagreement.

"It's ridiculous that they think they're worth your time."

"Oh you've got to be sodding kidding me. Seriously? This is some weird possessiveness because you don't like to share your toys?"

"You're not a toy," James snapped. "You're my best mate, and none of them know you!"

"So what? They've got a crush but aren't allowed to act on it because you don't think they know me well enough?"

"They don't know you, so they shouldn't be bothering you!"

"Who said they were bothering me? I've never been bothered by it."

"Lie to yourself if you want, but don't lie to me," James bit out. Sirius covered it well, but James could see the way it chipped at him every time he had to pull up a certain level of politeness when he thought he was simply existing with James in public.

"You don't speak for me," Sirius snapped back.

"Maybe I should if you're going to lie about it."

"Put me in a box then. Take me out and dust me off when you invite people over. Tell me who I'm allowed to talk to and for how long, and about what, and maybe you'll be happy. Merlin forbid you let me live my life without you breathing down my neck."

James didn't believe for a second that Sirius really thought that, but he'd gotten under his skin. He'd made Sirius upset enough that he wanted to lash out. He'd tried to be logical with James in the beginning and it hadn't worked, so now he'd moved into trying to scare him to back off.

It would've worked if James didn't know better. It had worked the first few times they got into real arguments back at Hogwarts, but then he had learned the flow of it. It didn't work anymore, but that didn't stop Sirius from trying, from trying to protect himself when he felt vulnerable and didn't know what else to do.

James stepped forward, put a hand on the back of Sirius's neck, and yanked him closer in quick succession, quick enough that Sirius didn't really know what was happening until it was done. "If you aren't going to tell people to bugger off when you want space," James said in the scant space between their faces, his voice low and dangerous, "then I will." He breathed in, then out. "And I don't care if it pisses you off." 

"What if I don't want space?"

"You do."

"You want that space between us more than I do," Sirius said, and James knew that 'us' meant the fans, the people that were always fawning over him and his photos.

But to James, it felt like it meant more than that. 'Us' like the fans, but also 'us' meaning the two of them.

They were standing close. Close enough that James could easily kiss him, and if anyone else had been standing like this, James would've thought snogging was an inevitability. He was the one that had initiated it, but Sirius hadn't pulled away; he didn't look the least bit uncomfortable with it. That fire within his eyes had grown, and it felt-- all of a sudden-- like he was waiting for James to do something, like he'd wanted that something for a while, but James had never noticed before.

He jerked forward, kissing Sirius hard.

There wasn't a moment's hesitation in Sirius kissing him back, hands going around James's waist and curling over his back in an instant. James licked into his mouth, and he moaned. Every hint James gave that he wanted something, and Sirius would give him that and more. 

Long before Sirius pulled him into his room, James knew that he loved him.

Being in love with Sirius wasn't new, he realised. It was like the stones inside Hogwarts being white. They'd always been white, but it wasn't until someone said it to his face that he acknowledged and really thought about it. Yeah, the stones were white. He'd known it, it had always been true, but he hadn't thought about it in those exact terms before. Of course he was in love with Sirius and had been for more years than he could count on one hand, but he hadn't thought about it exactly like that before.

[sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee]

Nothing naughty or romantic here, but how would Killer Croc react to a group of kids thinking he's super cool because they think he's a dinosaur? They're not scared at all or being rude, they're just in awe. "Fuck Barney, this guy could wreck Barney's shit!"

Killer Croc in the Park

So. I ended up writing a short fic.

Tw: ableism, not particularly dark but unfortunately related directly to his appearance, implication of past drug addiction/abuse

When Killer Croc got to the park that day, he was already in a terrible mental space. He got released from Arkham on rehabilitation. Again. And again he found the outside world just as hostile as before to anyone that didn't fit their mold. Another job interview that ended before he could even get a word out.

Maybe he should try going back to sideshow gigs. The wrestling paid alright. It was that or stealing shit- not that he thought himself suddenly above it. But he's not fucking crazy like they say.

He knows the consequences of what will happen if he goes down that road again. The only time he seems to feel any kind of peace anymore is at the park. He can sit and no one bugs him. It's peaceful. He can watch the ducks.

What he didn't realize is that today he sat closer to a playground in the park than he normally would have. The moment this becomes apparent is when he sees a small girl running in front of him and then eating shit into the dirt and rocks. Before he can really stop himself, he's grabbing her up by the scruff of her shirt with his talons and setting her down on her feet.

As he speaks, the hint of a creole accent slips through, "You better watch it. Could get hurt." His voice is graveled and low- the result of teen smoking combined with his condition wreaking havoc on his vocal folds.

When her eyes open wide, he prepares himself for the screaming. That he's a monster. Scary. There's been many times he's made children cry just by his appearance. Got used to it when... that all started.

Instead of a frightened shriek, it's one of delight, "Are you a dinosaur?!"

He pauses. What. There's a moment he wants to tell her to fuck off. To scram.

He hesitates for a moment before clearing his rumbling throat, "Kid, you really think I'm a dinosaur?"

She nods, "Well- not one I've ever seen. And I've seen a LOT- my mom takes me to the museum a lot and- oh! OH! Hold on-! Don't go, okay?" She speaks so quickly he can't even get another word in edgewise. Then she's running off.

He figures she's just hyperactive until he sees a mob of small humans rushing towards him. Oh fuck, there's more of them. In an instant, the children surround him, staring. After the day he's had, he doesn't want to feel like he's on display. He's ready to stomp off when the little girl steps forward and speaks to the others, "I told you! This is my new friend, isn't he cool?"

"Is he a dinosaur?! Like... like Barney...?" A shy little boy asks.

Another boy crows, "Fuck Barney, he could wreck Barney's shit!"

Croc almost growls, "Watch your fff- frickin' mouth! Outta wash your mouth out with soap!" He points a talon and the cursing boy wilts.

"Sorry..." the kid looks nervous and now he feels bad.

"Don't be sorry," he says, "Just watch it. Too many... You're too little." He feels weird scolding children. It's not something he's done since he scolded younger cousins when he still lived nearby.

Another child in the group chirps, "What's your name?"

He almost answers his criminal name. Almost. It's what most know him as now. Yet as all these young faces look him he can't help but mumble, "...Waylon."

The girl is sitting next to him, "I knew that! My friend, Waylon."

He can't help but laugh, "Oh, yeah? Why don't I know your name, then?"

"Ella. I just forgot to tell you." She shrugs, "'Sides it was WAY more important to show you my other friends."

"Oh." He snorts, "What, you guys all like dinosaurs?" His grin is sharp and toothy. It doesn't quite look right with his lack of "lips." He can see one of the other kids looks nervous.

He stops smiling.

"Uhh um..." Ella seems to think, "Not Susie, Ethan or... Bobby. But they're not going to be mean to a new friend."

"Haven't your parents ever told you not to talk to strangers?" He finally asks.

"Yeah but that's like. Creepy people." One of the other kids is almost laughing at him, "You're not creepy people. You'd eat creepy people!"

He looks off to the side. They have no idea that he's actually tasted human flesh. Definitely not something they ever need to know, actually. Not exactly something he's proud of.

But he grins again, "Right I would. Especially if they try to hurt kids." That gets them excited.

"I bet I could fit my whole head in your mouth!" Another kid announces, "That's SO COOL!"

Before he knows it, he has several children hanging off his arms as he carries them around. Being above 7ft tall he can definitely get them high up off the ground. Swinging them lightly and safely. A couple of the more shy ones he lets them touch his ridges and claws. He's not surprised that several of the parents look over and seem frighted. Ushering their own children away. Yet none of these little beasts. It's only after about an hour and they're all laying in the sun talking that they start to get called to leave. One by one, they all laugh and tell him goodbye- that they'll see him soon!

Its just him and Ella now.

"Where's your mom?"

"Oh. She's right over there. Watching." The little girl points to a nearby tree where a woman sits on a bench, reading. She waves as the pair look over.

He hums, "How come she ain't scared? None of your parents..." he shrugs.

The question seems to confuse the girl, "Why would they be scared...? Oh. 'Cause they might be scared of dinosaurs, huh? That's for babies." She squints at the sun. She looks up. Croc looks up. Ella's mother is approaching.

"Hey, squirt." She smiles, "Having fun? I hope you haven't been bugging this nice man."

The little girl immediately goes into a ramble about all the things she did with her new friend and obviously she's not bugging him. Croc gets up off the ground and stares down at them both. Awkward. Why is this woman not acting the way others do?

The moment her daughter stops, the woman turns to him, "Nice to meet you, I'm Lenore." She reaches her hand out for him to shake.

He looks at her hand nervously, "I don't uh... I don't shake hands. I'm Waylon." He shows his claws and she takes back her hand.

"Sorry. Thank you so much for humoring the kids. They're a handful." She laughs and tilts her head.

"Nah, no- it's... it's no problem." He says softly. He looks around. When was the last time he had a pleasant conversation with someone where they just treated him like a normal person?

Too long.

He finally broaches the subject, "You all seem. Pretty okay with... with a freak playing with your kids."

Her brows move to sympathy and she shakes her head, "You're not- oh, please don't think that. Look. The truth is, it's a bunch of us parents that regularly bring our kids to the park. At first, yeah, we were kind of nervous when we first saw you." She shrugs and he winces.

But then she continues, "Derrick, he works in IT, Tim's dad, he did research that you were... rehabilitated. And some people were still weird about it... but then we noticed something."

He waits with baited breath, "What did you notice? Did I do something?"

Finally, Lenore shrugs, "It's not something you did. It's Gotham. And what we noticed is that suddenly- the park was way safer once you started hanging out. I mean. At least one of us would have something stolen, like, once a month. Creeps, super villains. Maybe it wasn't your intention, but hey. None of us are going to complain."

"And uh... the kids?" He motions to Ella who is already running and buzzing around them.

"Oh, she..." the woman is trying to think of a way to say it without offending him.

He gets it, "I look like a dinosaur. They like dinosaurs."

"She's crazy about them right now." She says, apologetic, "Just obsessed. And you know, we took all of them to the natural history museum so right now that's all they want to talk about- I'm... really sorry if they offended you."

It makes him smile, "It's not the worst thing I've been called. They're sweet kids."

Her smile in return is sweet, "Thank you. There's a lot of different people in the world. They need to know that."

"Yeah... yeah, there are." There's a moment he thinks briefly that if more parents were like these ones, maybe growing up wouldn't have been so bad for him. He's not going to say that, but the thought is there.

After a moment of silence, she clears her throat, "So hey. Waylon. Did you know that the uh. Playground here and the daycare are owned by the same guy?"

He shrugs, "Not to state the obvious, I'm not exactly a guy who pays attention to that."

"...Right. Well. Long story short, my uncle does. And..." she looks awkward herself, "I don't want to assume anything. But if you were ever looking for a job, I think I could put in a good word."

He scoffs, "As what? Hiding under the beds at naptime to be the bogeyman?"

That makes her laugh, "God, no! As an attendant. Kind of like security but a lot of it you're just watching them. At the actual daycare, on the playground. Ella hangs out there when I'm working and she's not at school..."

It's a strange idea for him. Working with kids? With his face? Jesus, he can't think of a job he'd be less qualified for.

She's quick to wave her hand, "I'm sure you have better offers. I'm probably coming off like some kind of ass- jerk." She's quick to correct herself. As the woman rubs her arm, he sees what he thinks are faint raised scars in the pit of her elbow.

When she notices him looking, she shrugs, "It can be hard raising yourself back up. Second chances are hard. Or third chances, or fourth..."

His eyes grow softer, "I hear that. How long did it take you?"

"She was three when I finally made my chance stick." Lenore smiles, "I know it's different but..."

He puts his hands up, "I'm not judging you, believe me. I uh... thanks... for sharing that. If you don't mind, I think I'd like an interview."

There's another pause between them. Then she laughs, "Do they even make dress shirts your size, big guy?"

He shrugs, "Sure. My tailor works well when I tell him I'll eat him if he makes it too small again." He's laughing and there's a moment she covers her mouth to laugh. Horrible!

Ella steps next to him and grabs one of his giant fingers in her small hand. When she smiles there's a gap from a missing tooth. Yeah. Maybe working with kids wouldn't be so bad.

[quirkless-accident]

Toddler's Day Out

This one was DM'd to me a while ago and now that I've got a bit more time on my hands, I'm actually able to finally write it. Enjoy!

----------

Shouta Aizawa is nothing if not patient. He has to be to have the jobs that he does. However, his patience is running thin due to a certain loud blonde that's very audibly freaking out next to him. And don't get him wrong, Shouta's freaking out too. He's just better at controlling it.

"Mic, we'll find him," Shouta says, peeking down an alleyway. The chances of their runaway is slim to none, but it doesn't hurt to be thorough. Except that it does, every time he looks down one and they don't find him.

Their day had started out normal. They were going grocery shopping for the teacher's dorm, and since Danny needed to pick up a few things from the electronics store right next door, they let him tag along.

Mistake number one was not sending one of them to go in with him.

Shouta and Hizashi had been in the middle of checking out when Danny had come through the automatic doors with a brand new box in hand and a grin on his face when someone had bumped into him.

Several things happened all at once.

Danny was turned into a toddler, and the person who had bumped into his student picked him up and carted him off as another accomplice used his quirk to make several smoke screens, causing Mic's voice to shut down due to the smoke inhalation, and blocking Shouta's vision at the same time.

They ran outside as fast as they could to try and catch a glimpse of the kid, but the kidnappers were long gone.

So, here they were, looking for a toddler in the alleyways while practically every hero in this particular zone searched for the kid. Including the majority of the U.A. who seemed more than a little overprotective of their resident Casper.

Shouta just hoped and prayed that the kid was alright. He couldn't even imagine the kind of twisted shit the villains could be doing to him right now.

----------

"He won't eat it," Misaki, the smoke bomber, said as he waved a piece of toast in front of the toddler's face. The little guy just glared up at him though, nose turned away from the food. "Don't kids like toast? I know my niece went batshit for it."

"He's a kid," Hina, the one who had turned the boy into a toddler, replied without looking up from her cell phone. After a moment, she growled with frustration before slamming her phone down into the old couch cushions. "Our buyer said he's running late and won't make it today. We'll have to keep an eye on him for a little while."

"Which means feeding him," Misaki said, turning around to face his partner in crime. "Kid needs a healthy snack."

"And you think toast is the answer?" Hina asks, exasperated beyond belief. Misaki just shrugs and takes a bite of it before turning back around to offer it to the kid they just stole.

Only to find that he wasn't there.

Misaki looked around for a moment, but found no trace of the kid. He stood back up and looked under tables and chairs, behind the couch, and in the bottom cupboards. He wasn't anywhere to be found.

"Uh, I think we got a problem, Hina."

-------

Danny was having the time of his life. Or, at least as much as one could when they were three years old and had the power of a god at their fingertips.

Danny hadn't wanted any toast, simple as that. He wanted to go outside and play, so he just...Did. Going through the wall had been easy, and he had laughed uncontrollably as he saw the people moving around on the ground, looking like tiny colorful bugs. Not falling immediately was also pretty fun. In fact, he could go even higher!

Danny grinned and flew to the bright orange beam held up by several wires. It was just like the one on the playground that he dances on with Jazz. Or maybe it's like the see-saw, he thinks, as the end of it dips under his weight a little.

He's really high up, but he's not afraid of falling. He knows how to catch himself. And he knows that if he gets a scratch, his mom will come and kiss it all better.

So he shakily get to his feet, swaying with the wind, and sticks his arms straight out like Jazz taught him. The beam was wide enough to where he didn't really need to put one foot in front of the other, but it was more fun that way.

The wind is strong today, and that makes it a little harder to stay upright as the beam moves with it, but he manages like the bog boy he is. It's way more fun this way anyway. The normal balance beams at the playground were too easy.

"Wh-hey!"

Danny looks up, confused as a hero running along the rooftops spots him. He says something Danny doesn't care about, a hand on his ear, before he's jumping up on small trampolines made of light to get to him. But Danny just keeps walking.

A couple of things happen next.

Danny moves forward, intent on making it to the end. The hero, not expecting this, ends up hitting the part of the beam where Danny had been standing. The force makes Danny lose his balance completely, and he tips over the side.

The hero lets go immediately, saving himself with one of his light trampolines, but the kid has disappeared. There's no body falling down, no splat on the pavement, no anything.

"Hey!"

The hero whips his head around, only to come face to face with a very pissed off three year old. His arms are crossed and his face is puffing out as he glares at the hero.

"Kid! Oh, you can-hey, come here, kiddo! We can get you back home, safe and sound, yeah?"

"No! I don't wanna go with you! You ruined my game!"

"Awe, I'm really sorry about that, Buddy. But when we get you home we can play a new game. How does that sound?"

"No! I don't wanna play with you!"

And before the hero can do anything, the kid disappears.

----------

The phone rings, stopping Hina and Masaki in their tracks. Hina looks down at her phone, her face going pale as she looks back up at Masaki. He makes a motion for her to answer it.

"Hello? Oh, Plasmius! So glad that you could make the rendezvous after all! Oh, no, everything is fine, no need to worry about us! Yep! We'll have the kid to you at eight! See you then."

Hina looks down at her phone, looking even more dejected than she had a moment ago.

"Eight? Seriously? That only gives us like, three hours to find the kid!"

"Well, we better get to looking then, if we wanna get paid!"

"You may also want to be a little more quiet next time you're talking about your kidnapping victims."

Hina and Masaki whip around, only to come face to face with Present Mic and Eraserhead. Neither of them have any time to react as Eraserhead moves, faster than anything they've ever seen before. Once the villains are unconscious, Eraserhead turns to Present Mic, an eyebrow raised.

"Plasmius? Does that name sound familiar to you?"

"Yeah, but I can't place where. Maybe the Little Listener will have some answers once we get him turned back to normal."

----------

Danny yawns as he tips backwards, catching himself mid-air so he's floating, looking up at the sky. He's only like that for a moment before there's a large shadow looming over him. His face is covered in flames, and he looks like the actual devil.

Danny bursts into tears and flies away, Endeavour chasing after him.

----------

Shouta swings from lamp post to lamp post, gritting his teeth at the incompetency of other heroes. He's one kid. Sure, he's got superpowers, but how hard could it fucking be?

Case in point, as he swings around the corner of one building, something small and cold crashes into him, sending him sprawling on the sidewalk. In his arms is Danny, crying his little heart out.

Shouta cradles him, and rocks him back and forth as relief floods his veins. he ignores the civilians giving him confused and/or dirty looks as he sits in the middle of the sidewalk trying to calm the kids down.

After a couple of minutes, Danny sniffs and leans back, rubbing the tears from his eyes. Shouta pulls out a handkerchief and wipes the snot from Danny's nose, making the kid scrunch his face up in a totally not adorable way. No, Shouta doesn't know what you're talking about, shut up.

"All better?" He asks, his voice low and calm. Danny just nods, and lets out one massive yawn, leaning back far enough that Shouta has to catch him. "Is it nap time?"

Before Danny can give any kind of answer, the number one hero comes barreling down the sidewalk.

"Come back, you little brat! Time to go home!"

Danny stiffens in his arms and buries himself in Shouta's chest before disappearing, though he doesn't leave the safety of Shouta's hold.

"Endeavour," Shouta says, picking himself up off of the ground without the use of his arms. "I think you've done enough damage today. Besides, I got the kid."

"Hopefully the brat listens to you," Endeavor huffs.

"Don't misunderstand me, Endeavor. This conversation isn't over. You've just done enough damage for one day."

He doesn't bother waiting for a response as he shifts Danny to one arm and fishes for his cell with the other. Once he has it, he contacts everybody who's on the lookout that they don't need to search anymore.

Shouta's got his kid back, and that's all that matters to him.

-----------

Danny groans as he wakes up, blinking stars out of his eyes. Above him is Mr. Aizawa and Present Mic, who's cradling his head as he slowly sits up.

"Geez, what happened?" Danny asks, rubbing the back of his head. "And where are we? I thought we were at the grocery store."

Mr. Aizawa and Present Mic share a long look, communicating with no words, before his teacher sighs and helps him to his feet.

"Well, Kid, you've had a very eventful day."

[klasdfghjk]

What did you think when you left me this way

by Lingering_Bastard

Chapter 3: We Live On

Ok, getting broken up with? Sucks.

In between the sobbing, every inhale bringing in an icy sharp breath that burns my throat, and tears streaming down my face onto Kev’s jacket sleeves, staining them black with mascara as I painfully swipe at my eyes; I suddenly realize a strong contender to the “this sucks” hierarchy. I mean, as stupid as it sounds, that in this very moment I can be thinking of anything other than walking out of that party a single woman.

These shoes might have been perfect to wear all night for an indoor party, but now with the reckless idea of walking home executed, blisters have begun to form at the back of my heels, and they hurt like a bitch.

So, getting your heart broken sucks, but wearing the wrong shoes to the break up is just slightly more criminal.

“You’ve got to be kidding, oh fuck.” I swear out loud, noticing the burning of skin is actually becoming unbearable, and pause my walk. Through bleary eyes I look around the empty street, noticing how much I’ve managed to walk, fiercely trapped in miserable sentiments. My breath comes out in puffs of white, a dying street lamp pitying me.

‘Well screw you, your only job is to light up and you can’t even do that right’

It’s colder out in the open, though with a warmed-up body all it does is numb my face. I’m just a few blocks from my house, that distance is mocking me more than my smeared makeup. With that thought, I wipe with dirty sleaves again. Geez, these tears are unrelenting.

“God I’m an embarrassment.” I mumble, kicking at the lamppost helplessly. It only flickers meekly in response.

I’m almost content to keep standing here, no movement to ignite the pain of the blisters, no huffing in chilly air rushing to get home. My mind starts drifting to my now seemly comfortable bed, still messy with clothes I was debating on wearing this night. Wrapped dinner in the fridge I could heat up, my appetite randomly coming back to life. And I did promise myself a hot chocolate. Ugh, and I have to wash my face before sleep even if I really don’t want to… I wonder if Kevin is still at the party. It's late, maybe he got sick of it and went home? Or maybe he went back inside, with his newfound single life, and instantly start flirting with someone once I left? There were so many hot people to pick from. I can visualize it now, him smashing down a few drinks, charming his way into a group of strangers. Oh shit, there was that one girl who had the hots for him, Leo? Yeah, she looked properly high and dressed to impress. He could be balls deep in her right now, I saw the top bedroom was empty, is he even the type to fuck after a breakup heck WE didn’t even go further than over the clothes stuff-

And I'm overthinking again.

As if the universe was sick of my pathetic head ramblings, a car passes through the street ahead of me, reminding me I am still crying in the middle of a random sidewalk at midnight and not at home, a better place to spiral into insecurity. Also, that car was a little off the middle lane, sir you are lucky I’m not a cop because that’s some drunk driving. I grit my teeth, pain be damned, do a once over around me finding I’m still pleasantly alone on this walk, and take off one reluctant step at a time towards my house.

Against better judgment, and still angry at the thought that my Ex is now ~thoroughly~ enjoying the party that is surely still raging on, I decide on a shortcut through the park. It’s not much of a park as it is a few bushes and a playground, used mainly by smoking school kids ditching class.

Thank a clear sky and a bright moon, I don’t see anyone waiting to stab me in the night for, what, a piece of gum in my front pocket and a beat-up phone? What a score. I still walk as briskly as possible.

Unfortunately, my worst enemy doesn’t come in the form of a stranger in the bushes, my wild imagination conjuring up images of horned demons coming for my skin rather than a bored serial killer.

No, my enemy stays at it as always been, mother nature herself.

It’s a gravel path, how hard can it be to walk a gravel path? I’ve passed the slides and swing set and am well on my way to the freedom of the next street when I stop paying attention to the ground, looking around the familiar houses, ready for the home stretch. Too focused on the routine picket fences rotting away in this forgotten suburbia: I trip over a goddamn stick.

My feet are already clumsy from the burning pain of blisters and strained from the walk, they don’t even try to catch my balance as I lurch forward, vision going black for a moment as my forehead hits those stupid posts they put in front of parks to stop cars swerving in and such. Well, stupid cars didn’t hit them, I did. And the forehead collision is followed up with my knees smacking into the concrete sidewalk hard.

I gasp, breathless and dizzy, falling to my shoulder, then rolling onto my back with the final momentum from my trip.

I don’t immediately acknowledge the pain, the hot blood now trickling down my forehead, or look down to my scraped knees. A night in which too much has happened in such a short amount of time, my attention drifts towards the stars. The stars that have seen this whole night: A whole meltdown and a half lasting from my bedroom, through a car trip, on a balcony next to a pool. All the events that led up to this entire predicament. A night that in storybooks would have been a heart-to-heart conversation of apologies and teary-eyed kisses and “I’ll never hurt you again” promises.

Not whatever this is.

Slowly, as if figuring out the right key to play, my brain halts all function. All thoughts buzz out and narrow into one solid, sorrowful feeling. A hurt that seemed so old, too out of place for my own head, passed on from a harrowed soul and thrust into me just so I could feel it too. Now, bubbling up from deep in my chest, I burst. Still, on the cold ground, the fiery hurt spreads through my body. A trembling mess, teeth biting into my covered arms trying to muffle sounds as excruciating wails and screams leave me without permission. My legs flail and kick, the air, the ground, the fucking feeling that was so unexplainable and agonizing.

This is what he did to me.

--

The short tantrum overstays its welcome, but I have the sense to know I’m a couple of blocks from my house from where I’m bleeding on this park pavement. As soon as I get up and dust whatever I can off, I almost run home. The pain of moving my sore limbs and bleeding soles is better than crying the night out at the park entrance, alerting concerned neighbors, and maybe earning a call to my parents.

I’m limping down my driveway, rather pissed at the automatic light sensor ratting me out. I pause for a beat, looking for movement in the windows. A sigh of relief escapes me, seems the surprise spotlight didn’t get me caught. Not that I’m sneaking back in, of course, I just look like a banshee leaving a funeral.

Rounding the house into the backyard, I sit on the decking and practically rip off the offending shoes, crying in relief as I free my feet. They aren’t bad shoes, they really aren’t. I’ll just have to tape up my heels next time. Sure. I still throw them onto the shoe pile the door without a care.

One hand dabs the blood on my forehead with the now ruined sleeves of this jacket, another quietly slides open the back door. Thank fuck mum left it open for me. I patter across the house, making it successfully to my bedroom without waking anyone. I really can’t deal with a talk right now; I wouldn’t know what to tell them. I’d probably just start crying again until someone drove up to Eva’s house and dragged her son across the front lawn. I almost smile at the thought of it. It’s just a bit too soon.

But it’s not too soon to change out of my party clothes into a comfortable hoodie to drown in. I patch up my knees before I tug on some sweatpants. Then in the bathroom, I wash off the makeup and patch up the rest. It’s gonna be bad, bruised. A lot of fun explaining to do but at least saying I was clumsy isn’t far from the truth.

Then, no doubt between despair and also anger, I grab Kev’s discarded, make-up-stained, and blood-soaked jacket. I really don’t want to wake anyone up, but this has to be done, it’s all my brain can think about. Over months of self-doubt and heartache over a stupid boy, I at least deserve to give myself the closure he didn’t give me. I creep outside again. Extremely carefully. Like- giving a cat burglar a run for their money, carefully. Stepping over the creaks and placing my feet down extra lightly. I can now enjoy the crisp night air, all snuggled up. A hoodie that smells like me, one that Kev had never even seen.

Without hesitation, I throw this stupid relic, the last remnants of our bond, into the fit pit. I don’t look away even when the smoke makes my eyes water.

I keep the fire burning until dawn, sneaking in once to grab my dinner. There is an unexplainable peace I felt at devouring the heated up leftovers, and of course, a nice big cup of hot chocolate to remedy my scrapes and bruises.

Mum finds me in the dewy morning, shivering and dull-eyed, still tending to the ashes of the flames I lit. Not a scrap of Kevin remained.

- Two Months Later-

A full house, a busy basement. A room full of smoke and sin, now a rather normal setting for me.

My eyes are dry and glassy, I giggle at the feeling as I place the bong back on the painted coffee table. I’d already spent way too long staring at the detailed cartoonish characters but whenever there was a lull in the conversation, I’d find myself drifting back to it, even when there was plenty of eye candy around the room to check out.

“Nina, thank you for being a clingy bitch.” I sigh as I sink into the plush if not kind of gross couch, smiling down at her grinning reaction.

“Nooo, thank you for being my social anxiety rock.” Nina nuzzles against my legs from her place cross-legged on the floor. She’s almost too cute in this setting, the blond curls tied up in a bun slowly falling apart, and a loud tie die tee that only she could pull off, I’m almost tempted to tell her she looked more at home here than half the people in this basement.

“I’d say get a room.” The familiar stranger next to me, a girl I think from the year above me, jokes, “But what’s a good friendship without an abundance of homoerotic subtext?”

“Mm, true. I’ll keep my intentions questionable Laura.” Nina winks, and reaches for a lighter.

Sure, I said this time I’d be sober, but that basically went straight-out the window the moment I entered Eddie’s overly familiar basement. Well, Eddie's now out of school so I suppose I’d have the right to call it his sister’s hang out now?

They both have the luxury of frequently absent parents and use that freedom, or rather misuse, for it to basically be an open house for all their friends’ mischievous endeavours. Drugs and parties mainly. It’s not always this full on, all the times I have been over it’s actually been pretty quiet. Casual movie nights eating edibles or being introduced to DnD. Any grander party was spread out to more outgoing groups.

So, it was defiantly strange to see the whole house this full.

Some of Eddie’s older friends offered as soon as I arrived, but band-tee and ripped jean wearing Laura swooped in like a mother hen and didn’t let us touch anything else but her own personal stash.

“Trust most of these sloths haven’t washed their gear since they bought it, don’t want mold in your lungs do ya?” She lectured, “And the blunts might be laced, they are collage sleezebags babe. Wouldn’t put it past them.” It felt nice to be looked after.

She said she swore she knew me from a previous night out but I swore I didn’t remember her. We’ve concluded I was just a bit to blacked on Xan’s and tequila, which seems fair. I’ve sort of been putting anything offered into my body for the past two months. It’s even felt pretty good, I can’t lie. And no one has even pretended to be worried. Any and all breakup sadness is pretty much erased in drugs, which I know know know is stupid and I have to stop before it’s, like, stealing from mum’s wallet bad. But just for today, tonight, I let myself relax against that worrisome tide of thoughts and smoke.

The next hit Nina takes is way too strong and she ends up blank faced and staring at the canopy covered ceiling, I let her head rest between my knees and lightly play with her escaping hair. Laura gets knocked closer to me and another guest squeezes themselves onto the couch.

“We are at capacity dude!” She groans over her shoulder, then smiles back to me. “This scene is fun and all but by god do I miss like, bike rides am I right?”

“I don’t even remember the last time I rode a bike.” That’s a lie, I do. It involved a certain dark-haired archer and a craving for strawberry milk. I still pass that convenience store every other day.

“I know right?” Laura gawks, eyes rolling playfully, “Free entertainment we never use. Oh, you owe me for the weed by the way.”

“Figures, I’ll pay for Nina too.” I pull out the bills I prepared beforehand from my pocket. Of course, I knew this was going to happen. Nina always ends up owing someone money. And last time she snorted coke that wasn’t hers was the last time I’d arrived at a party without what I dub ‘bail money’. “She’s broke as ever. I think her last dollar went to a parking ticket.”

“Fuck those, government cash grabs.” She accepts my cash, pulling out a twenty from the stack and handing it back without a single word. Huh, how generous.

“So,” She leans in mischievously, “Guys or girls?” Yeah, no playing around with this one, Laura has turned out to be overly comfortable with strangers.

“Uh-” I’m taken aback by her abrupt quizzing. This usually wouldn’t be the type of question to stir me at parties, but for the longest time I’d become accustomed by answering ‘taken’. The fact that I now can't use it as an option hit me, and I'm left speechless for a second..

“Shhe-” Slurred Nina, suddenly stirring to life after talk of money had passed over, “Is attracted to dumbasses and dumbasses only.”

“Doesn’t that sum it up.” I snort, thankful for the intrusion.

“Oh, stupid crush or bad break up? No don’t even answer, it’s a terrible topic to talk about when high.” Laura shakes her head, “Once on LSD I spent like an hour crying over my Ex to this random at a club. She broke up with me for, wait for it, my cousin.”

“Cunt!” I gape in playful offense, hand to my sternum as Nina and me give our “awws” in sympathy.

“I know right?” She rolls her eyes, absentmindedly rubbing her neck, “Doesn’t matter, they moved away now. Separately I might add. So, I just…don’t even have to see them anymore.”

“Did you get over it?” Nina asks without even thinking about how rude it might sound, but Laura just laughs and moves to stand up.

“Yeah actually. It’s whatever now but shit, could’ve saved me the months of dating.” Ah, she gets it. “I’m gonna pee, please save my spot?”

“Will do.” Nina agrees. They switch places in different tones, Laura having practiced balance and grace, while my stoned friend lazily crawls up to park her butt on the now vacant space on the couch, “Safe~ In exchange, please get me snacks from the kitchen, I am hungry!”

“One order of munchies on the way babe.” Our senior stalks off with a wink and a wave, then disappears up the stairs.

As she does, a familiar set of legs descend and I choke.

Fuck, now how could I forget, this isn’t just some random party. In-between the unplanned smoking and getting my heart fluttering around Laura, it slipped my mind that I was never going to come here. Not when I heard he was invited.

I’d been avoiding him at every single opportunity I could. I think he was too. Wait, no, there isn’t a “think” in that, everything Kevin does is intentional.

That’s why I’m pleased as fuck when I see the brief surprise in his eyes as he descends into the suffocating tendrils of smoke.

- Kevin –

She didn’t come to school for a week.

I was way past the phase of “beginning to worry”, because the truth was my anxiety begun the same night we parted. She should have gotten home fine in theory. Observant, strong, and a good runner, especially in a bind. No doubt she didn’t need a chaperone for the walk, yet it didn’t put my mind at ease. I wouldn’t be able to text and check if she got home safe. I wouldn’t know anything until I saw her at school again.

Every step back to my house that night was a battle, as thoughts of her ending up dead on the news, though as impossible as the odds were, invaded my rational thought. That was in between the foreign feeling of tears streaming down my face. I hoped like a computer virus this unpacking of emotions would be wiped clean after sobbing until I was an unsightly mess in the driveway, but any numbness I felt afterward was temporary.

My room felt a little emptier than before, I’d spent the weeks leading up to the break up slowly getting rid of her belongings. Little things at first, forgotten hair ties and stationery. Then books she’d gifted with the mischievous smile of harboring an inside joke, one I’d figure out if I read the damn thing. Of course I did, I read all of them. Then, with the weight of losing all those annotated pages with her scribblings, doodles, and cute messages, I promptly burned all of them.

It would have been difficult to lose her all at once, though not to delude myself, losing her at all is still painful. But now, my room barren of her traces, it weighed on me that I finally accomplished it. Cut off the last loose ends. Connection to humanity, or, something. Whatever you would call it. I wonder would I even be willing to shoot her, if I went through with it. Would she guess it, see it coming? Or is there still enough blind faith to interrupt her better judgment as I lead the sheep to their slaughter.

Oh, that’s, no, the fuck? What the fuck am I even thinking, after that messy night it’s just time to sleep and forget about the evening.

I didn’t go to sleep instantly, making a point to take a shower as if I could wash off this whole situation- I mean at least I could wash off the beer, sweat and tears. Then crawling naked under the sheets, tossing and turning under the suddenly uncomfortable sheets, failing at quelling the thoughts of her not making it home safe, a guilty portion of my brain remembers one item of hers I didn’t get rid of. One I tell myself I’m too tired to throw out, I’ll do tomorrow, I defiantly won’t forget. A stupid T-shirt tucked right in the back of my purposefully unfilled wardrobe.

I defiantly don’t fall asleep to escape that thought.

When she didn’t show up on Monday, the war of conflicting emotions begun their battle. Of course, there was immense relief from not having to face her. Who would want to see their ex so quickly after a breakup? The best medicine is forgetting, avoiding. She was probably feeling the same, maybe even sick from the cold walk home. Maybe she was avoiding the History pop quiz. Normal reasons.

But then the other side of my mind begged to differ. The panic of not being able to text and ask if she became a dead body on the weekend. If she was having a depressive spiral. Would it be good or bad if she wanted to transfer schools?

At least Tuesday brought the answer that she was sick, as I’d overheard her friends talking. But that didn’t tell me how sick. When she was coming back or…. if she was coming back.

Damn, I hated not knowing things. It certainly was a new feeling; one I really could’ve gone without.

The entire week was dragging on as she didn’t appear, day after day. Uneventful class after boring lunchtime periods. I really should have been reveling in this freedom. Time to work on the plan, time in my own head with my own thoughts. It had to be just the shock of pace changing. I could not stay like this forever.

Wait stay like what, again? Heartbroken- wait no. That’s not fucking it. I did my time, I cried, I got over it.

What’s the problem of moving on? Sure, it was a feeling I’d never experienced before. But once the initial shock and fear of all those new sensations wore out, my so-called love for her just melts into a period where I was doing unnecessary and distractive activities. I just wanted to see what the fuss was about, yeah.

Why is it so impossible to convince myself this time around? Years of confidence, following the role of a narcissistic psychopath. I’d never stumbled, not like this.

Next Monday, with immense relief of a tidal wave, she entered the classroom. Instantly shattered by noticing her physical state.

Sure, nothing seemed too out of the ordinary when she, completely ignoring me, waltzed over to her friends, reuniting with hugs and smiles. She quickly explained away the old bruising, week-old bruising I noted, on her face. A scabbing gash on her forehead that I bet could have concussed her, hidden under some sneaky hair placement and light makeup. Though that made my heart sink, I wondered, have they noticed her paling skin and darkened eye bags? Do they see how disconnected from the world her mind seemed? Because they better. I wasn’t here for her anymore, and pushed down the guilt her state caused me.

How did she get the injuries? I wanted to know what she was doing all week. It was really chewing at me. And that was unproductive. As she took her seat, I bit my tongue and forced my head down. If I was going to get better from whatever my brain wasn’t letting go of, I’d have to do what I did best. Overwork and disconnect from reality. I’d have to forget what was right in front of me. A walking, talking reminder of the past. Still alive, but dead in all sense but physical.

I’d spend the next few weeks with her ghost surrounding me. Tuning out her voice, memorizing her walking patterns to avoid clashing. Making sure we were never at the same gatherings or parties, which I’m sure she was too.

And for weeks, I swear I could still see her out of the corner of my eye as I picked up the bow, practicing for what was to come. She’d still be candidly relaxing in the grass, lying down, feet up, chin resting in her palm. She was always watching away, hyper-focused, and judging my every move.

“Hope it was worth it.” Her mouth moved but I didn’t hear the words so much as visualize them, every syllable punctuated, angry and disappointed. I had no answer for her, and instead drew back the bowstring, hitting the bullseye.

- MC -

It was earlier at school that day, he’d been chatting up the rabble and that included Eddie’s sister, being invited over for the house party.

So now I knew he was going, and that meant that event was off-limits to me. Later in class that day I’d been asked, within his earshot, if I was going to the event, I naturally declined, making some sort of excuse. The importance was that’s how we usually coordinated our territory. One of us declined or accepted an invite out loud so the other knew. But after two months, I was getting really sick of it. Why not just act like normal exes that can be around each other? I really didn’t have a problem going to a massive party with him in it. We wouldn’t even see each other a lot, he’s already proved to me he can disappear in a crowd.

He hears me decline, so if he shows up tonight, he’ll be in for a bit of a shock. I wonder if he’ll get the message that I don’t care, see it as a war declaration, or maybe not even notice. Probably the latter, actually. I think I forget that, he really doesn’t give a second thought about me these days. So yeah, I’m tired of playing this silly game of who owns which party and hangout.

Though, I’d be lying if I didn’t consider backing out of this plan until Nina triple texted me in a hurry, telling me she was too nervous to go by herself and get high alone, in a room full of strangers. Who could say no when she added three crying face emojis right after?

- Kevin -

It’s a miracle I didn’t miss a step and fall down the stairs, what the hell is she doing here?

My stoic mask drops just a hint as we make eye contact, she probably wasn’t planning on locking eyes either, as she quickly drops my gaze and I follow suit. Though not after noticing that she was indeed getting high which she knows I didn’t like her doing previously, but live your life it’s whatever. Apart from pissing me off by apparently deciding the rules didn’t apply anymore to not show up to the same event, why is she cuddling up so tightly with Nina? I mean they are practically lovebirds snuggling on the couch, the blonde’s leg casually linked around her ankle-

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Why are you thinking about it? Shit, I came down here to talk with, who again?

I try to make the break in my stride look natural, blood pumping so vigorously I could hear my heartbeat. And to my better judgment, I don't side-eye her as I walk past the couch. This is just a new scenario, albeit unwelcome. A challenge even. We don’t actually have to talk. Just exist in each other’s presence, pretend that this isn’t becoming as daunting as a knife fight.

Now that she saw me here, I’ll have to show some face before I leave, otherwise I'll just look chicken running away. That is a bother, since I’m pretty sure the smoke in here is potent enough to get high on fumes.

- MC -

I don’t want to laugh, I should be at peace with seeing him, and maybe slightly irritated. But the look on his face was priceless and I struggle to hide a giggle into Nina’s shoulder. It’s like I finally, even if for a moment, was a step above him. Then of course the panic I’ve been dreading floods through, sinking me lower into the hold of Nina’s arms; This may have actually been a mistake.

It’s not as if I’m seeing him again for the first time, heck, I even saw him earlier in the day. But that was in the only setting I’d become used to seeing him. Hidden away in the back of a classroom, or halfway across the school campus. An unavoidable fortress of the education system, confining us together without consent.

Ok, I might have considered moving schools’ the week of the breakup. Explaining myself to my mum that morning, freezing and injured in front of a dying flame, was mildly humiliating for me, if not worrying for her. Of course, parents aren’t oblivious, they were teenagers once too; she was worried more about bullying or assault. I could have played into that, quickly changed to a high school on the other side of town. The commute may have been longer, and I would have to begin the whole cycle of making new friends again. But moving just because I was a little heartbroken seemed silly, especially since Kev still lived nearby, and we shared a few acquaintances. NO- the mess of moving school wouldn’t help anything; I’d just be dragging myself deeper into denial.

I just spent a week being depressed enough to qualify as a 18th-century poet, went on a heartbreak diet of tea and, frankly not much else, then cleaned up my act as soon as I came back to school. Apart from the more-then-occasional drug use. I was fine. I am fine.

But back to the intruder of the room, suddenly seeing Kev outside of school for the first time since, well, the night, I couldn’t say I hated it. Couldn’t say it didn’t make me feel like a caged rat either.

Nina had defiantly noticed my discomfort, my shoulders stiffened, and my back angled uncomfortably against the couch when I subconsciously slid further into it. She had been lazily smooshed against my body, almost cat-like, singing along to whatever song was playing. I hadn’t recognized most songs that came from the stereo, carelessly shoved into the corner of the basement. The lyrics slowly fade out from her as she turns at my unease.

“Hey, you alright? You’ve gone a bit stiff.” Her voice was sleepy, but still genuinely concerned.

I realize I have the opportunity to play it off as a bad trip, but I can’t; I really want to get higher. I decide to do just that and fix my position. I give her a sigh, sitting up, and reach towards my prize on the coffee table. The bowl was still packed with enough to take a few good hits without grinding up more, I don’t think Laura would appreciate me misusing her good will.

Nina is still confused as I silently pull in the smoke, throat burning and eyes watering. But I’m not going to leave her hanging. After draining whatever mystery drink I had in my cup, almost forgotten on the table, I place everything back and lean into the safety of my friend. My mouth close to her ear.

“Don’t look, but Kev just strolled in.” I whisper it, trying to move my mouth as little as possible. I mean, the basement was big and loud, but I’d rather lose a limb than let him know I was gossiping. Nina scrunches up her face, scoffing without a care of confidentiality. Ok, don’t make it obvious babe.

“No really? Ugh. Do you want to leave? We can leave if he’s making things uncomfortable.” She’s genuine about that, but I just shake my head.

“Why would he make things uncomfortable?” Could have made a better response than that, I’m still battling not to look over and check what he’s doing.

“Do you think I’m oblivious?” She rolls her eyes at me, “You were like, so depressed when you broke up with that psycho. Your face was all bashed in-“

“I fell.” I correct, as I have multiple times to many people after my injuries were questioned. Not that our relationship was a big secret, but it almost surprised me how many of my friends suspected he was becoming physically abusive and that’s why we broke up. Yeah, the emotional manipulation towards the end, that was a deep hurt for sure. But he was never even that physical when it came to candid touching.

“Yeah, well, you went a bit weird on us when you broke up. Actually, it was already sort of weird when you were dating him.” Her voice drifts off at the end a bit, touching a sore subject.

“First time I’m hearing that.” I groan, unamused.

“Yeah well, no one wanted to say anything. He’s just kind of, I don’t know. Offputting. C’mon, you’d know best! He just gives off these vibes, like he knows a secret we don't. And he's got this weird narcissistic complex. I'm not that into psychology, but I can feel when something's up.” Nina babbles on.

She wouldn’t be wrong with that one. Learning who Kevin is, habits, traits and thoughts, was like finding out an uncanny secret. Parts that shouldn’t work, a design that seemed like a flawed structure. Then, you would dig deeper and find out it was you who didn’t understand. There was a certain magic around Kev that could either pull you in so close it was suffocating, or, well push you away. In either fear or uncertainty.

Well, I shouldn’t give him much praise for that, since I have to remember the manipulation. How he sees people as malleable, either useful or not. Not wholly like a psychopath, at least what I believed, it was more how he preferred to function. Both a rebellious act to the status quo, to the privileged upbringing he resented, and also practical to his nature. Which happens to also be his downfall.

“Let’s not talk about this Nina, I was just letting you know.” I sigh in annoyance.

I don’t want to talk about him, and I haven’t. This is beyond personal, it was forbidden. When that part of my life ended, it was burned away. Literally. I know my friends want me to open up, you can’t just break up with someone and not have a good bitch session about it. But I refused to indulge them with my rants. I couldn’t say he was some asshole I dated. He was an enigma I fell in love with, and I didn’t understand him enough. Of course, he dropped me. I was boring him, right?

Ugh, no not that thought spiral. No speculating on why.

I just told everyone the relationship was over. Just like that. Putting out a flame. No dramas or cheating or infighting. Defiantly no abuse. There was just nothing left. Not enough to keep us together and too much to pull us apart.

Don’t make it any more complicated than that.

“I’m being annoying, aren’t I? I’m soorrryy.” She rubs her cheek against mine, ok defiantly cat-like, and I giggle out an apology. Just then Laura returns.

“Hey, sorry that took a while.” Instead of moving to sit down she puts a hand on her hip and points her thumb back to the stairs. “Ed is being a real brat about letting me take food down here so we might have to move this to the living room. No smoking upstairs though.”

“Checks out.” I sigh. Nina is reluctant to stand but I pull her up anyways, “C’mon. Pizza time.”

“Mmm, and maybe some fresh air too I am suffocating”

Yeah, this room may be suffocating, but for many other reasons.

[feraltuxedo]

Oh look I made another cover... this one for my first and quite possibly only attempt at kid fic:

Fledging by FeralTuxedo M, 53381 words. Summary: Cool Dad was at the school gate again. Clambering out of his ridiculous sports car like a great big spider, all black denim and designer sunglasses. What a prat. He made his way towards the entrance, followed by his equally lanky son. All the mums' eyes were on him. Which was fine. At least they weren't staring at Aziraphale for a change. Cool Dad high-fived his son goodbye, because of course he did, then sauntered back to his car. Making it look so bloody easy. Aziraphale Fell is much too young to be looking after eleven-year old Pepper. He barely has his life together as it is, with his minimum-wage job and a half-baked dream of trading rare books for a living. And as if adopting a recently bereaved pre-teen isn’t enough, there are some rather more adult problems to navigate: playground politics, the shadows of his own childhood, and the growing question of how Crowley, the only other dad at the school gate, feels about him.

Excerpt below.

Aziraphale reached the street corner and looked up to cross. A sleek black two-seater stopped right in front of him. The window wound down, revealing a pair of sunglasses.

‘Hiya. Want a lift anywhere?’

Cool Dad pointed at the empty passenger seat.

‘Um,’ Aziraphale said.

Fantastic. Very articulate. Cool Dad leaned across the gear stick and pushed the passenger door open, making the decision for him. Automatically, Aziraphale got in the car. He regretted it almost immediately. Sitting this close to him, he noticed just how attractive the man was. Sharp cheekbones, long nose, wavy hair the colour of rust. Hot Dad as well as Cool Dad.

‘So?’ he said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘Where d’you need to go?’

Aziraphale tore his gaze away from the man and looked straight ahead onto the road.

‘Oh, yes. Into town, if that’s all right. The Asda car park, if you wouldn’t mind. Thank you so much, I really do appreciate it.’

Before he’d finished talking, the car accelerated. There was the unpleasant swoop of inertia in Aziraphale’s stomach. He dug his fingers into the expensive leather of the seat. The car glid along the road almost noiselessly.

‘You’re new here,’ said Cool Dad, incomprehensibly keen on making small talk. ‘Been seeing you all this week. Not trying to be creepy or anything, but you’re the only other bloke at the gate.’

‘Yes, I did notice that. You, me, and a hundred mums. Pepper’s new at the school. She’s in Year 7.’

Cool Dad whistled.

‘Your daughter’s the notorious Pepper Fell?’

‘Actually, she’s not my— wait, why notorious?’

He took a hand off the steering wheel to scratch his neck. His nails left faint red streaks along his jawline. Aziraphale forced his eyes back on the road. They had nearly reached the centre now.

‘Er, I probably shouldn’t tell on her if she’s not talked to you about it, but… yeah. You probably want to know what she’s been up to. It’s actually hilarious.’

The fact that five days into her new school career she was already known as the ‘notorious Pepper Fell’ was worrying indeed. For heaven’s sake. He was so out of his depth.

Cool Dad glanced sideways at him. ‘You free at all this morning? You look like you could do with a strong coffee and I’ve got the morning off, so...’

With compliments to my under-eye circles, thought Aziraphale. The to-do list was burning a hole in his pocket. Taking the day off had cost him already. He needed to get everything done today or he’d have to take another holiday next week, and Gabriel would hate that. He looked at Cool Dad next to him, shaded eyes flitting back and forth between the passenger seat and the road ahead. A small smile played around his lips. A smile or a smirk, hard to tell. And still, he’d been the only person so far this week to show him any kindness. To offer help. A ride and a coffee. And damn, Aziraphale deserved to sit in a café opposite a good-looking man after the week he’d had.

‘Yes,’ he said, stomach swooping again. Probably from the rather abrupt halt at the traffic light. ‘I’m free.’

[weabooweedwitch]

God this is so wild, more mama drama involving her inviting me out to hang outside and I wound up trapped in the car w her during a horrible attempt at a job interview

>at home, middle of the day, I work overnight so, only so many hours ti myself to sleep and all

>mom calls "oh you're awake?"And I replied "why are you calling if you think im asleep, you would've woken me up? You know im usually sleeping around this time anyways?"

>anyways she invites me out since the weather is nice for us to play pokemon go at a park we like to go to

>I go outside and she's on the phone, calling a job for a position she applied to literally just last night, and she's on speaker. She had asked me to get her earbuds, which I forgot, but also, she's calling about a job IN THE CAR

>it's actually not even an interview. She called the place she literally just applied to and asked to speak to them so in a way she kind of forced the interview which I found very unprofessional

>parks the car where the sun is directly on me and she's in the shade and she doesn't even notice, thankfully I brought sunscreen but I'm so IN the sun that I can't even have time for it to properly absorb first, it is physically uncomfortable, I am having to lean out of the sun's rays because I've been trying to take good care of my skin and my mom literally has irreversible sun damage on her arms so, im lowkey internalizing a fear of that

>she doesn't even have all the answers to the questions the recruiter has without having the physical papers written in front of her, and she tells the interviewer she's not at home. Why did you even call. Remember, this is not a proper interview, she CHOSE to make this call

>because of the weather she rolls down the car window, letting in wind and noise while she's still on the phone and we are literally parked at a park wirh a playground and kids

>the recruiter in really polite coded language told my mom part of her resume was literally incomprehensible and she needed to redo it because she put her jobs and dates and positions on her resume in a table format that wasn't done properly and hard to read. This is like genuinely fucking embarrassing

>since I'm literally sitting there, in the middle of the day, only so many hours to myself before I have to barely get enough sleep to go back to work for 40 hours a week because she is unemployed and has had maybe ONE interview in the last MONTH, not being able to do the literal actual thing she invited me out for, not even being able to make a noise or anything or even get out of the car and leave because I'm worried the slamming door will sabotage her already failed interview

>she walks away and leaves the car and I say fuck this, I'm going home to smoke in the garage, there are tons of kids at this park anyways and takes her keys out of the ignition and puts in her purse that she left in her seat and i just walk away because she's literally just moving to sit on a bench a short distance away and can still see the car, and I text her just in case to say I'm leaving and she needs to get back in her car

>SHE HANGS UP THE PHONE ON HER INTERVIEWER TO CALL ME ASKING WHERE HER KEYS ARE BECAUSE SHE DIDNT EVEN LOOK FOR THEM AND ASSUMED I STOLE THEM like her purse was literally still in the driver's seat where she left it and it's like one single big pocket of a purse she literally just had to open it and glance inside so then I'm shaking fucking angry because "you bothered this woman, was failing when she initiated an interview and then hung up on her and said you were going to call her back? Why did you even do all this, why did you even invite me, why did you even call"

>I'm texting her because I can't physically look at her right now and say "dude you weren't even prepared to answer her questions and you had barely even applied, like I don't think you even understand, I am saying the very nature in which you made this call basically sabotaged your chance of getting this job, this id EXCLUSIVELY your dscisions being made and havint consequences"

>her reply is literally to 1. Blame me for making her nervous while she was on the phone 2. "Oh I was just calling to ask questions about the position and SHE was the one asking me things" yeah, when you call an employer about an open position and tell them you applied for it, they tend to see if you're competent, and this woman literally pulled up her resume, which was poorly done 3. "I didn't think it would take so long" again, you never should have called today and in the car and especially when you JUST invited me to come with you? 4. Says I should have given her MY earbuds, but I had to put them in to play music to drown her out because I literally can't leave the car and she's driving me crazy and it is making me LITERALLY CRINGE, CRINGE, listening to her have this phone call that SHE decided to have, she started it, she didn't need to make it, she has now sabotaged chances with this company

And on top of all of this? I keep having to delay paying her the last chunk of May rent because she has debts and auto transactions that are overdrafting her account because she can't even donate plasma because she fucked up her teeth and is on antibiotics and can't have surgery for over 3 weeks and by the way she waited until today to tell me I have to be with her for this surgery when like, I work overnights, I SLEEP during the day, and I also have to cancel off work 3 weeks in advance??? And she's like "oh it's fine it's in the afternoon" girl that's when I'm literally still trying to sleep and have some time to myself, I am working 40 hour workweeks and it's also a physical job

And like, I tell her bluntly "mom these transactions overdrafting your account, those are yours, like, you made those" and her response, she says shit like this so often it scares me "but the bank should be trying to help work with me and block these payments since I don't have a job" mom it is literally not the banks policy to make special exceptions to cancel contracts and payments you consensually agreed to with another party just because you're on hard times? Amd she's had this mentality for YEARS, Jesus christ I was literally to my FATHER and he said "yeah she would be doing that when we were still married, she would say things like 'oh this person gets away with doing this at work so why can't i'" and it's like. She's literally never changed. I feel like she's dragging me down but I am Also an Enormous Loser and doubt my own competency but like

I just really had to share how absolutely like baffled I am that a 58 year old single mom behaves this way like you think she would have learned survival or like common sense but I think she's just losing basic brain function to anxiety and caving to panic or something idk, but she's been unemployed about a month now and she's had. Like. Literally only one interview. And after hearing her on that phonecall I'm really scared how long it will take her to get a job again. I think I might have to start donating plasma twice a week again and it can make me really tired and I also lift shit at my job so I worry about getting poked in my elbow veins but like, she's making me kind of start to freak out. What if we're homeless again. She can't even take proper care of her car so we can't really live out of that and its also a fucking 2001 VW Beetle. Sometimes I wonder if I should rehome some of my pets, not just in case we lose housing, but also in case I need to run away or move out and go my own path, I can know they're being taken care of since I can't take everyone with me

Still like I'm. I feel like I'm slowly starting to cave into stress a little bit and I even started drinking a little again because I'm too broke for more weed and I'm just so stressed and unhappy all the time like. Ugh. I guess everyone in this situation is making bad choices here and not stepling up, huh 😅

[edenfenixblogs]

@purlturtle it me LOL

I have no short term memory but an ironclad long term memory. I can’t guarantee everything will make it into the bank, but once it’s in there it is in the safe deposit box inside of a vault.

I was part of an Honor’s College in university that had themed coursework each semester on top of regular coursework. The theme my freshman year was memory.

We were all told to raise our hands and keep them raised while the teacher started saying ages, starting with our current age. He said to put our hands down when he said an age that we could not longer remember something for. Essentially, trying to pin point our first memory.

This gets long so the rest is under a cut

I was shocked when almost everyone lowered their hands at age 5. More shocked when 90% of those who were left put their hands down by age 4. I was the only person with my hand up at age three. The professor said “6 months” and my hand was still up. He then said “3 months” and I put my hand down. And he said, “How on earth could you know a memory from 6 months old from a memory at 3 months old? What was the clue to you?”

And I said “Well, I understood a couple words. But it was mostly just a pleasant rhythm of voices. I remember wanting to communicate but not knowing how to make the right words in order. I don’t think three month olds could know any words really. I definitely knew words or at least found them familiar. But I couldn’t say anything.”

He was baffled.

He started interrogating my memories in front of everyone, starting at age five. He wanted one memory from each age and to interrogate me about it.

5: I was on a playground and I can’t remember exactly why. It wasn’t a normal recess. I think it was some kind of kid intramural thing. I did something I can’t remember. And the school principal was there and said “Good job, kiddo.” How did I know I was 5? Because I was only at that school for two years and I only had that principal for one of those years. What made me remember it? It was the first time anyone ever called me kiddo and I liked it especially cuz it was paired with a compliment. It made me feel good.

4: I was walking into my first day at preschool where I met my now-best friend of 30 years. I didn’t know anyone and was nervous and was also an only child so hadn’t been around that many kids my age in general. I didn’t know where to start. My friend was talking to a fly in the corner. She named him Fick. How did I remember that detail? Because I thought she was weird but didn’t know what to do so I asked why she named it “Flick” and she got really mad and said “No! Fick! We don’t flick him. He’s our friend.” I walked back to my mom and told her I didn’t want to hang out with the girl that talks to flies. She told me that wasn’t nice so I hung out with her. And it turns out she’s one of the best people I’ve ever met and is like a sister to me now and I’m an aunt to her kids.

3: Easy. It was my first gymnastics class. Remembered every detail of the colorful foam things we used to help us stay safe doing somersaults.

2: Easy: I was on the kitchen counter and I was holding chalk. My dog ate a bite of it out of my hand. My mom came back to find a half eaten piece of chalk in my hand. With slobbery saliva around where it was obviously bitten. She yelled “Baby no!” And I got upset and yelled, “I didn’t!!!!” And she just kept saying “We don’t eat chalk, baby!” And by that point I was crying because I was frustrated that she wasn’t listening to me. This one made my professor have a a weird expression. Kind of frustrated but kind of happy????

1: Easy! I remember opening presents on my first birthday. Not so much the cake. But I could remember the feeling of the wrapping paper while someone helped me unwrap it and the images on the wallpaper and the feeling of being lifted up and passed around from person to person while they all smiled at me. (This seemed to infuriate my teacher)

Finally, 6 months: I remember being in a crib and my mom doing this thing with her hand bringing her fingers close to my face and then wiggling them before my eyes before pulling them back upward toward her. She was talking. But I only could make out the words “love” and “baby.” She was saying other things but I could understand them. I liked the sounds though. They felt comforting. And she was smiling at me when I glanced at her face. But mostly I was mesmerized by her fingers and I stared at them until everything started to get blurry and then kind of gray and then the memory ends so I think I fell asleep.

The teacher was flabbergasted. He showed me a rubric for how to spot a false or implanted memory that he had on the clipboard he was holding. I passed every test I guess. None of my memories showed me. Like I was never looking at myself like in a movie. None of it was incongruous for the age I claimed to be (like knowing full sentences at six months). Lots of my memories involved stuff that wasn’t witnessed by adults who then repeated their memories to me. Like how I remembered the dog eating my chalk even though my mom wasn’t there. And my memories included both how I felt about what happened as well as tactile sensations (the crinkle of wrapping paper, the feeling of being passed around as a baby feeling like flying, the squishy colorful mats around the gymnastics area, etc). None of it was stuff that adults would have relayed.

He then explained that I was, essentially, an outlier with a strong sensory and emotional memory. But that’s not how most memories work. Memories, I guess, are thought to be evolutionary protection for people old enough to get themselves hurt. He went around the room and asked everyone what their first memory was.

Almost everyone was 4-5 at their first memory. Some people were 3ish. ALL of them had a first memory of getting in trouble with an adult or getting injured in a major way—lots of stories about breaking an arm or getting lost in a supermarket and being scared then getting yelled at for running off.

The professor said that most people’s first memory is their brain’s attempt to protect them. I was floored. None of my early memories really served to protect me (except for maybe the one about not eating chalk, but I didn’t eat chalk damn it! So ¯\_(ツ)_/¯).

He asked me how I felt about that, and I told him it’s honestly a major bummer for everyone else. Lots of great life stuff happens before age 5! Lots of stuff worth remembering!!! It’s sad that everyone remembers being afraid or sad or in pain first.

He said he’s never really thought about that. But then he asked if I had anxiety and I said yeah. And he said “yeah, that’ll happen. Your brain is supposed to let things go sometimes. That protects you too. Not remembering things.”

I think about that experience often. Because, yeah. It hurts remembering everything too.

I’m gonna remember these past five months (and however much longer this awfulness lasts) forever. And it makes me said to know that. But I still prefer it. I still prefer knowing the totality of my life.

I think about that day a lot.

That said? I have no idea where I put my keys and I’ll need at least 30 minutes to find them before I go anywhere.

So, uh, do with that what you will.

movies where someone hears an important message only once and retains all the details….

girl if that were me, we’d be fucked. I have to reread emails like 4 times.

[mint-moon25]

OAHU - 2023 - I - JUST - WENT - AGAIN - 2 - MIAMI -

BEACH - PRETTIER - THAN - PHOTOS - SANDS - R -

WHITER - BUT - NOT - MUCH - GOOGLE - PHOTOS -

HOW - MISLEADING - VERY - ORGANIZED - L SIDE -

WHITE - AND - UGLY -

RITZ-CARLTON

SOUTH BEACH

GOOGLE - MAPS - WRONG - AS - USUAL -

EXIT - LINCOLN RD

TURNS - L - LAST - STOP

THEN - WALK - STRAIGHT - ITS - THE YES -

BEACH -

LINCOLN RD

BEACHWALK

BEACH - CLOSED - (10P - 5A) - DAILY - AND -

LIFEGUARD - SWIM - CLOSE - 2 - THAT YES -

ONE - SHOWER - L SIDE - B 4 - STEPS - TO -

GO - THERE - PRESS - TOP - SHOWER TOP -

STRONG BETTER THAN - PLANET FITNESS -

CLEANER - TOP - SILVER - BUTTON - PRESS -

CONTINUOUS - SO - SHOWER - ABOVE NICE -

BUTTON - BELOW - 4 - THE - FEET - FEELS -

NICE - GREAT - TEMPERATURE - BUT - AS -

FAR - AS - PUBLIC - RESTROOM - VERY -

VERY - FAR - FALSE - ADS - I COULDN’T -

FIND - 31 FASHION - DESIGNERS - SO -

BAD - ADS - SO - JAMES AVE - BUT ITS -

NOT - BUS - STOP - COMING - BACK -

S - DOWNTOWN - MIAMI

EXIT - AFTER - BISCAYNE BLVD/ US 1 -

FRONT - OF - COLLEGE - BAYSIDE

METROMOVER - STATION

INNER - LOOP - EXIT -

WILKIE D FERGUSON, JR

THEN - FULL - LOOP - EXIT

BRICKELL - CITY - CENTRE

EIGHT STREET

SO - 2 - HELP - DISNEY - NEGOTIATING -

THIS - OUR - RULES - TERMS - OUR $$$ -

MY - BEACH - BASEBALL - UMBRELLA -

ARRIVED - SIGNED - SENT - BY - UPS -

THEY’RE - HAPPY - RID - OF - ME

WE’RE - USING - TIMED EXPLOSIVES -

WE - HAVE - DECLARED - WAR

I’M - ASKING - LEGAL - PERMISSION -

HOW - ABOUT - OAHU - HAWAII YES -

DISNEYLAND - OR - ANOTHER - TRUE -

DISNEYWORLD - 24/7 - OPEN - GIVING -

JOBS - 2 - LOCAL - OPEN - HOLIDAYS -

WALT DISNEY - WORLD - ORLANDO -

MOANA’s - LARGE - ISLAND - REALLY -

A - GODDESS - SHE’s - SLEEPING AS -

SHE’s - RESTING - THE - SHAPE - OF -

THE - ISLAND - SHE’s - BEING - BUILT -

LEGAL - PERMISSION - CREATING - HER -

ALSO - EXCEPT - FREE - 2 - GO - INSIDE -

US - FREE - FOOD - DRINKS - AND ALSO -

RESTAURANTS - CAFES - PUSH - CARTS -

FREE - FREE - FIXING - GENIE - IN - A -

MAGICAL - WAY - ALREADY THERE IN -

TIME - 4 - RIDES - RESERVE - FAST IT -

WILL - B - EASY - GREAT - ESTIMATES -

OF - RIDES -

TRON - RIDE

MOANA - THE - ISLAND - SHAPE THAT -

GODDESS - FORGOT - HER - NAME SO -

OUR - MACHINES - 2 - CREATE - WALT -

DISNEY - WORLD - OAHU - HAWAII - & -

OAHU - EXPENSIVE -

HDG - APTS - INNS -

FULLY - FURNISHED -

$0.25 - PER - DAY - AND - PAY 1 MONTH -

IN - ADVANCE -

ALSO - NOT - EXACTLY - LIKE ORLANDO -

MOANA - ISLAND -

SOUNDPROOFING -

MOANA - SINGING - AS - THEY - HEAR -

HER BUT - SOUNDPROOF SO OTHERS -

DON’T - HEAR - MORE - SINGING WILL -

B - OUR - UNIQUENESS - 2 - WELCOME -

ALL - 2 - THE - MOANA - LANDS

OAHU - MORE TAHITIAN - THAN HAWAII -

DANCE - SCHOOLS -

‘ONE - UPON - A - TIME’

ACADEMIES - ELEMENTARY - HIGH SCHOOL -

FULL - UNIFORMS - BUT - TAHITIAN DANCES -

MAGIC - KINGDOM - COLLAGE

FULL - UNIFORMS

WE - CAN - CHANGE - THE - SPIRIT - OF YES -

HAWAII - MORE - FUN - PLACES - 2 - LIVE - & -

CHILDREN’s - PLAYGROUNDS

SMOKEFREE - PORTABLE YES

2 - GRILL - THIS - NOT - ALLOWED - MIAMI -

BEACH - LET’s - LEAVE - THIS - WRINKLED -

PRUNE - BAG - CONTROL - LEAVE - MIAMI -

LOTS - OF - SMOKEFREE - AREAS

PLACES - 2 - DO - SPORTS - MORE

ACTIVITIES - ZIPLINES - MORE FUN

CALL - 2 - HOW - BEAUTIFUL - MOANA’s -

ISLAND - LIVING - IS - BRINGING - THAT -

BACK - BETTER - HOUSING - THEY YES -

HAVE - NOT - VERY - ATTRACTIVE -

PLACES - 2 - LIVE - WE - CAN YES -

CHANGE - THAT - I’M - SO - ITCHY -

RIGHT - NOW - BUT - I’M - YES - SITTING -

OF - EDGES - NEAR - SHOWER - EARLY I -

CAN - DO - MY - HAIR - BLEACH - THEN -

REMOVE - FR - MY - EYES - LET - DRY 2 -

LT PINK - HAIR - AT - MIAMI - BEACH SO -

CALL - 4 - PRETTIER - PLACES - 2 LEAVE -

LEAVING - BOGUS - LEARNING - HOW 2 -

ROLLERSKATE - I’M - ITCHY - RIGHT -

NOW - BUT - MOANA - LAND - TRULY -

SO - SLEEPY - RIGHT  NOW - TAKING -

CARE - OF - THINKING - SMURFETTE -

‘SMURFS: THE - LOST - VILLAGE’

HOW - THAT - ALSO - WITH - THE -

DISNEY - SO - RESTING - RIGHT -

NOW - IDEAS - 4 - BETTER - HAWAII -

HAPPIER - KIDS - TEENS - ADULTS 2