#anyway what I’m saying is if I were to have to drink grey goose I’d definitely freeze it first. it’s such a mediocre vodka considering the £

[13uswntimagines]

12 Drinks and a Kiss for Christmas (Sam Mewis x Reader)

Request:  uswnt x baby reader where their birthday is 3 days before Christmas and so the team tries to make it like extra special cause people usually just kind of ignore readers birthday. 

But @literaryhedgehog​ and i went slightly off the rails and had way too much fun making a drunk version of the 12 days of Christmas. 

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me…

“One shot of bourbon whiskey,” you sang, modifying the words as one of the most infuriating Christmas carols came over the radio. You didn’t hate Christmas, you just hated the fact that it swallowed the entire month of December like a black hole. Hell, it took up November too (minus the last Thursday reserved for Thanksgiving). The music was inescapable, and any event planned in the month risked being decorated with whatever leftover trees and red and green trinkets someone had laying around. 

Any child born in December was lucky if their wrapping paper wasn’t also holiday-themed. You should know- you had the misfortune of being born on the 22nd. 

“That sounds like a change I can get behind,” Sam said, sliding into the chair next to you. “Never really understood why someone would want a bunch of birds. I mean towards the end of the song the lover starts giving dancers and pipers, and like, I know that probably means they were hired for the day, but still. An alcohol-themed song seems more my style.”

You laughed, “Happy to help.”

You bumped her with your shoulder, smiling up at her. You were friends with most of the women on your new team, but Sam was one of your favorites. She got your sense of humor, a sort of dry and quiet sarcasm that was a bit subtle if someone didn’t know you. But despite how incredibly cuddly her tall frame was, she was also completely willing to spend an afternoon exchanging barbs under her breath as you watched the significantly less subtle flirting going on between Mal and Rose. You had bets on when the oblivious forward and midfielder would admit their feelings for each other. 

“Wait,” you paused in your thoughts, frowning up at her. ��I thought everyone was already gone. I took my time in the locker room because I didn’t think anyone was still here.”

“The first van already left, but I didn’t want you to have to ride with Carli and Becky by yourself,” Sam said bumping you back. 

You smiled up at her, then leaned over to grab the shoulder strap of your bag, “Well I guess we shouldn’t make them wait any longer-”

“Oh no it's fine!” Sam said, quickly. “They needed to run to the store anyway to restock our Oreo supply, they promised to text when they got back.”

“But Dawn said no more Oreos until after the Friendlies are over,” you pouted.

“Well Dawn isn’t driving the van, is she? Thus why Carli and Becky waited to run to the store until after the first van left. So nothing to do while we wait except rewrite the words to the twelve  days of Christmas, right? What should replace two turtle doves?” 

“Body shots…?” You asked, squinting your eyes. At least that would fit the tune. 

“I like it… Kind of annoying how well that fits actually. Are we going to make the entire song about shots now?”

You tapped your chin in through, quirking your lips. “Hm, not a bad idea, but I think it would get a little repetitive,” 

“Fair point. Okay, so the next line is three French hens. Do we want to make it three French wines, or is that too easy?”

“I think that’s cheating just a touch,” You smiled, holding up fingers a centimeter apart. 

“Ugh, fine,” Sam rolled her eyes, though that didn’t disguise for one second the grin on her face, “three mulled wines.”

“I think that’s acceptable,” you nodded. It fit like a charm. “four gin and tonic?” 

“Then four martinis. Come on short stuff, calling birds, martinis, they have the same number of syllables!” Sam exclaimed, slapping your shoulder. 

“Whatever. Five Gin fizzes,” You huffed, pouting playfully. You didn’t like to lose. 

“Oh, yum. I have no idea what that is, but it sounds delicious. How long again until we’re allowed to drink?” Sam whined. You both knew that one of the costs of your career included swearing off alcohol at certain points of the year. Especially hard alcohols. Something about feeding your body good foods so it could give you even the slightest of edges. 

“Too long,” You deadpanned. 

“Sigh,” Sam said, pretending to be melodramatic.  

“We gotta use grey goose in the next one. You know. It’s like a spin on the gooses. Guises? Whatever the correct pronunciation is,” you waved your hand dismissively. This would be much more entertaining if you were soused. 

I’m

“GEESE, you heathen. You’re right though. Ummm. Six grey goose toddies?’

“A vodka toddie though?”You looked at her skeptically.  “I’d rather share Emily’s Budweiser,” 

“Fine, fine,” she pulled out her phone and started googling drink options, muttering to herself (for your amusement, presumably) about ‘perfectionists’ and ‘just because someone knows so much about vodka’. “Um. There's a drink called a sunset? Or we could just go basic bitch and say six grey goose cosmos?’

“Well sunsets are made with tequila so a cosmo is more appropriate,” You mumbled. 

“The grey goose website says that you can make a sunset with their vodka. See, look at this, right there!” 

“Poppycock. They just want you to spend money in their stuff instead of Don Julio,” 

“But tasty has a recipe too, look,” Sam said, whining slightly. You weren’t the only one who didn’t like losing. 

You moved your head, dodging the screen. If you didn’t see it, then it didn’t exist. If it worked with Jill Ellis then it would work for you. 

“Just LOOK you obstinate bulldog of a human being!” Sam was giggling as she grabbed you to try and hold her phone in your line of vision  

“You can’t make me,” In your haste to pull away, you leaned too far over the edge of the bench. Before you knew it you were tumbling off the bench, pulling Sam with you in your effort to not crash out on the locker room floor. 

“Fuck, are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” You groaned, looking up into the woman’s eyes. You never realized there was a thin golden ring around her pupil before it melted into blue or the smattering of light freckles that covered her cheeks. You weren’t sure if you were leaning into her, or if she was leaning into you. All you knew was that after a few seconds your lips were lightly touching hers. 

An annoying buzz broke the two of you out of your daze, Sam’s phone lighting up in your peripheral vision. You reached out and grabbed it, since her arm was currently trapped under you. 

Saucy Sonny- need an extra 5, you up for keeping her distracted with your flirting for that long? 

“Fuck, you probably shouldn’t be reading that. What’s it say?” Sam asked, as she extracted her arm and tried to reach around to take her phone. 

“You were flirting just to distract me?” 

“No! Sonnets just- I was just supposed to talk to you to keep you in here until the party was se- and I spoiled the surprise. fuck.”

“So Sonnett didn’t dare you to kiss me?” You asked with a very small voice. 

“No, but she has been teasing me about wanting to kiss you for the last two months. I didn’t mean to- I didn’t want to ruin our friendship if you didn’t have similar feelings.” Sam ruffled the hair at the back of her neck. “What a way to screw up your birthday. First the kiss then ruined the surprise party, and--” 

“I think we should definitely ruin our friendship,” You interrupted, smirking,  and nudging the woman’s chin with your nose. You reached around to intertwine your fingers. “And I promise to act surprised, as long as there are more kisses in it for me.”

[nythberryy]

Hold Me Tight (Erwin x fem!Reader)

I wrote an Attack on Titan fanfiction (oneshot) in which Erwin Smith is a real gentleman.

Words: 2955

Warning:

The story contains 18+ scenes and builds up slow.

-They'd known each other for a long time, yet none of them confessed until that rainy night.-

It starts a bit sad, but trust me, it ends well. 💞

It's my first story written in English, so I apologize for grammatical mistakes and cringe writing.

I hope you’ll still find it enjoyable. 💞

(I also posted it on ao3. You can find me there as: NythBerry)

Thank you for your time!✨

September was usually gilded by the last sunbeams of summer, however that day was colder than usual. As clouds gathered, the sky turned grey. Raindrops began to knock on the red tile roof just to then fall and soak the ground. It was raining all day without a break. Everyone from the city struggled to get through the mud. The carts couldn't fight it, the horses neighed as they tried to push forward. Wooden wheels crackled, some even broke in two.

A tall man walked into the guesthouse. Water was slowly dripping from his clothes. With each step he made, he left a puddle on the freshly washed floor. (Y/N) recognized him in a blink of an eye though his face was covered by the green hood he was wearing. He stopped at the counter and revealed his face. His blonde hair, that was always slicked back nicely, now was a mess. Wet strands fell on his forehead.

(Y/N) put down the mop and wiped her hands to greet the man. "Erwin!"

"Good evening, (Y/N)! I'd like to book a room for tonight."

"What happened to your trousers?" it was covered in mud to the knee "Is it that bad outside?"

"It's raining quite heavily" he said "I don't think I would be able to go back tomorrow."

"I'll prepare a room for you. Just sit down please. There's no one here anyway, except an elderly couple upstairs. Do you want to drink something warm? Tea maybe?"

"Tea is fine, thank you."

Erwin took a seat in front of the counter and watched the woman placing the teapot on the stove. She quickly ran into the pantry and returned with a basket full of baked goods. She put some on a plate and gave it to the man.

"How's your father?" he asked while (Y/N) wiped the floor again. Her father owned this little guesthouse that once was famous.

"He's alright. But I'm afraid we won't be able to afford his medications. Less and less people can afford to book a room and we simply can't make the prices cheaper. I don't really know what to do."

"Don't worry, (Y/N)!" a kind hoarse voice appeared from behind. It was her father. "Welcome, Commander Smith! What brings you here again?"

"Good evening!" he greeted back. "Just another budget negotiation. As usual, the government has no intentions of increasing funds."

"As much as I want to support the Scouts, I unfortunately see why they don't want to do so in moments like this." Her father was in the regiment before he retired. Erwin and he shared similar views on the importance of going beyond the walls. "(Y/N)! Go prepare a room and find some clothes for him."

While she went to search dry clothes that would fit the commander, the two man began to talk about a different topic.

"I know why you visit this place so often" chuckled the father as he opened a bottle of whisky. He poured them both. "I see how you look at her."

For a moment Erwin didn't know what to say, which was quite unusual of him. A small smile curved his lips. "So, you found out my secret."

"It wasn't that hard to figure out. I have eyes. It's that simple." he sipped "You've known my daughter for years. Since when...?"

"It's one of those things that just can't be put in words. It was four years ago, that moment I realized I wanted to see her as many times as I could."

"Why didn't you tell her? You're afraid I'd bring the rifle? Or maybe you're more afraid of her? You think she would reject you?" he smiled "I can tell she has feelings for you too. Haven't you noticed how excited she is seeing you? She's not even looking at other guys, though she's in the age of marriage. What will she do when I'll be gone? At least you, as a commander, would make a great reputation for her." he joked "She'll be left alone like the last leaf on a tree before winter begins."

"That's why I won't tell her. I don't want to cause pain." he grabbed the glass and drank from it "To be honest, I don't even know if I'll be here next month. There's just no guarantee." he sighed "But I'm a selfish man. I still want to see her every time I'm near her. I'm truly the worst. I can't give her happiness, only suffering. I don't want (Y/N) to lose more people."

(Y/N)'s father knew Erwin was right. Her mother passed away, when she was fourteen; lost many loved ones when Shiganshina fell. Childhood friends, friends whom she trusted the most, old neighbours she liked and nearly all relatives of their family were gone now.

Both men knew the feeling. Without further words they agreed and sat back quietly.

(Y/N) heard the conversation. When she heard that Erwin had feelings for her, she thought her heart was going to break through her ribcage, like a desperate bird ready to be free. However, as he continued, her hearth shattered into pieces. (Y/N) pretended she didn't hear anything and told the blonde man his room was ready. He stood up and walked towards the stairs where she was standing.

"Change into these" she gave him the dry clothes "I'll knock on your door in ten minutes."

...

"Can I come in?" she asked. Erwin replied with a yes. (Y/N) walked into the room catching a glimpse of the commander's chest while he was buttoning the last button. He picked up the soaked clothes from the chair and held it out for (Y/N).

"Thank you for taking care of me."

"Erwin..." she began faintly and grabbed his arm "We need to talk."

"About what?" he looked surprised.

"I heard everything and-"

Erwin interrupted. "You don't have to worry about it. I won't do anything." he shook her hand off.

"You don't even want to know how I feel?"

"What would it change? You should find someone better. Someone who can be there for you. Someone who's not selfish. There're many good men out there."

"What about my choice? You think you can make decisions for me?"

He put the clothes back on the chair. "I don't want to put you through hell."

"It's already hell." she said with a slight hitch in her voice "You have no idea how long... How long I've ... Erwin..." Tears welled up in her eyes and rolled down her cheek.

It pained him to see the woman, whom he loved the most, looking so defeated.

"I love you, Erwin!" she cried out "And nothing can change that."

It snapped him out of his stubbornness for a second. He gently pulled (Y/N) into a hug, placing her head on his chest. The feeling of his warmth and beating hearth was pure heaven.

"I want you. Only you."

"(Y/N), I can't give you happiness."

"What it is at all?" she sniffled. "There's no such thing as that... It's not a destination you can arrive to and stay there for the rest of your life. Happiness is a temporary state. It comes and goes. And... What defines it anyways?

"I still don't want you to get hurt. Especially because of me." he paused for a bit "I could die at any time. What if I go on a mission and never come back?"

"You think I don't know that, Erwin? Every time you go out the walls I worry, but... Did you know that in this awful world you're the one who keeps me alive?" she pressed herself against his comforting chest "And what about you? You think you don't deserve your so-called happiness? If you have feelings for me, why don't you..."

As she looked up, her eyes met with his. Tears were coming to his sky-blue eyes.

"Are you sure, (Y/N)?"

"I am. I want you to hold me tight and never let go."

...

Erwin placed his hand on her face caressing her cheek gently with his thumb. He leaned closer to kiss her forehead, then gave another kiss on her nose making her blush. Finally, he pressed his warm lips against hers. He sucked her lips slowly, evenly, as he was dining something sweet as nectar. She was his delicate flower.

His kiss was subtle and tender, however a wave of heat flushed through him causing to kiss more passionately. Erwin slid his tongue across her bottom lip luring her mouth to open for him. His tongue swirled around hers composing an intimate, sensual dance. A slight moan escaped from (Y/N) in response. She slid her hands up his back, running her fingers through his soft blonde hair. As a result, he groaned, and the urge to pull her hips against his grew. As much as he wanted to devour her, he had to resist.

The commander pulled away, only to realize that he wasn't the only one getting excited. The woman's body was filled with desire too. He watched her chest rise and fall hastily with each breath she took. He couldn't help but admire the beauty that was in front of him.

"You're gorgeous, (Y/N)." he held both of her hands and placed two gentle kisses on them "If we don't stop now, I won't be able to hold back. You're driving me crazy."

"I feel the same. I want you, Erwin."

Their lips met once again. The passion they felt had been buried in their hearts for years. The man possessed her lips claiming every centimetre of it while she held onto his strong shoulders tightly. Erwin guided her slowly to the writing table, not breaking the kiss even for a second. He lifted her up and placed her on the desk.

The commander's lips travelled down her neck and goose bumps flooded her skin tilting her head to the side. He tucked her blouse out of her skirt to slide his large hands under the fabric. When he touched her stomach, a sudden thought startled her. What if she's not good enough?

"Erwin... The candles..."

"I want to see you" he whispered in her ear.

"But..." she grasped his shoulder.

"No buts. You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen. No one can compete with you" the man kissed her cheek "Can I take your blouse off?"

She'd been deprived for far too long of this man who now was standing right in front of her. She nodded, and looked away in fear of what he would see might disgust him. Erwin took it off her and freed her breasts from the undergarment.

"Look at me, (Y/N)." he begged and with a bit of hesitation, she did so, finding his sparkling blue eyes, so full of love and excitement, staring down at her. Meeting his gaze, she smiled sweetly before closing her eyes as he inclined his head. He also pulled his hips tight against hers. "You did this to me, (Y/N)."

He laid her down gently on the wobbly desk and his mouth was on her breasts quicky, conquering all of it. His fiery tongue played with one of her nipples while the other was held in his hand. Next, he travelled lower and lower, down to her stomach, only to find the skirt in the way. She felt a sudden wetness between her legs.

"Can I?" he asked for permission. She nodded. She ached for it.

He removed the skirt and her shoes too. Erwin placed a kiss on her beauty through her panties before he pulled it off and trailed it down her leg. He kissed the hill again and ran two fingers down on it.

"You're soaking already, (Y/N)." then he started to explore her slit with his tongue "You're so sweet, my darling."

He sucked on the folds a little, then parted them to make his way up to her clit which he tickled wickedly. With a finger he began tracing circles around her entry. Shortly after, he slid it in. (Y/N) flinched a little, letting out a moan. After he realized she could take more, he added another one.

She enjoyed it greatly. She grabbed Erwin's head, ran her fingers through his soft hair while pulling him closer to her hips. She wanted more. Erwin was surprised by her action, and began to lick and move his fingers more passionately. Her body was burning in explicit heat. A sudden wave of extasy rushed through her and he was proud seeing his efforts paying off.

The man straightened up to hurriedly rip his shirt off and throw it on the floor. (Y/N) was mesmerized by his well- built form. She wanted to touch it, so she sat up to lean closer. She explored each muscle with her finger, even caressed his hard nipples. She travelled further down to his pants. Hearing the sharp intake of breath as her fingers lightly touched his sensitised flesh made her wanting Erwin even more.

"If you touch me like that I might..." Erwin's mouth left an excited hiss as she pulled down his trousers a little.

He stepped back to take it off along with his shoes as well. As he tugged down his underwear, his rock-hard, massive manhood revealed.

"Well..." she said in surprise "That is a titan."

He couldn't help but giggle. (Y/N) glanced up, seeing him smile at her with a sweet, sensuous smile. He stepped closer to possess her lips and lift her up from the desk just to then put her gently on the bed.

He was on top of her. The woman's breast against his chest while she wrapped her legs around his trim waist made him lose it all. He wanted to be inside her.

"(Y/N)" he sighed "Can I?"

"Yes, Erwin!"

He began to trace her entry in circular motions with his member. Softly, he placed the tip inside. She moaned in pain, feeling it tearing her walls.

"Are you alright, darling?" he asked with worry in his eyes.

"I'm okay. It's okay" she caressed his clean-shaved face. "Go on, my commander."

Their lips joined again, while he grabbed her hips and plunged deep inside her. He waited a little so she could get used to his size. A couple of minutes later, he began to move gently, sliding in and out gradually going further and speeding up the rhythm. As he heard her sweet moans, felt her warmness and tightness around him, he fell into an abyss of pleasure. Erwin couldn't tame his desire anymore, finding himself thrusting into her with an enormous intensity. He couldn't get himself to stop now. He wanted her.

Erwin grunted and groaned which she found immensely sexy. The pain already faded away, endless pleasure and joy replaced it. His thick hands made their way up to her breasts, grabbing it with more and more greed.

"I love you, Erwin" she cried out.

"I love you more."

Shameful sounds filled the room and the man increased his speed to the maximum. (Y/N) latched onto his shoulders and buried her head into his chest, trembling hard against him. A wave of pleasure started to hit them both. She tightened around his manhood, and he couldn't hold on any longer as she continued to clutch. The unbearable yet wonderful torture of being lost in her made him release his seed inside of her. It was an indescribable feeling being filled up by the man of his dreams. They remained like this for a while, panting heavily.

Erwin pulled out of her but didn't let go as he wrapped her arms around her.

"I'm sorry." he said, stroking her hair.

"For what?"

"For loving you so badly, that I lost myself and couldn't hold back."

"You're so silly." she chuckled "I enjoyed every minute of it."

"Can I clean you up?" he asked placing a gentle kiss on her forehead "I've made a mess down there"

She nodded and the commander put his underwear on. He brought a wet towel and sit back on the bed. He gently spread her legs to wipe her womanhood. Then he softly stretched her entry with his finger. Erwin blushed as he saw his liquid oozing out of her.

"Erwin?" she noticed the rosiness on his cheeks.

"Nothing..." he said looking away "I apologize."

"No need to." she sat up giving him a quick little kiss on his pink cheek "I love you!"

"I love you more, (Y/N)"

...

Morning came shining its warm, golden sunbeams. All the clouds were gone and she was in his arms, all his and he would never be so foolish to let her go. She opened her eyes, only to get lost in his sky-blue iris.

"Good morning, love!" he caressed her face.

"Morning, Erwin..." she yawned and quicky realized, that she should've been up a long time ago. "My god! I should be downstairs! What time is it? Oh! And I haven't even washed your clothes!"

"Shhh..." he stopped you from jumping out of the bed by hugging you from behind "No need to hurry. It's only six thirty."

"I wake up at five!"

"You're open at seven..."

"Yes, but there's work to do. Buying things from the market, breakfast to prepare, cleaning..." she counted on her fingers.

"It can wait. Just stay with me like this for five minutes"

"Then hold me tight, Erwin."

She couldn't resist him. She was lost in his alluring presence whenever she was with him. It was pure heaven to be in his loving arms.

The end

[littlefreya]

Bad Reputation

Synopsis: Henry and his girl can’t get enough from one another. They keep finding themselves in rather sticky and lusty situations while other actors are present around them. 🤭

Pairing: Henry Cavill x OFC

Word count: 2.3K

Warnings: Smut, thigh riding, exhibition kink, public display of affection, dirty language, slight fingering, daddy kink.

A/N: This is by request made for thigh riding! I see this as a slight sequel to  Putting up a Show and Good Girl just because in my mind they are the same couple. Many thanks again to the marvellous @agniavateira​ for doing the beta! Masterlist is here.

Let me know if you want to be added/removed! Thank you for reading as always :)

PR fucking nightmare - that’s what our managers call us. 

They thought it would go away after our first year of dating. But the sad truth is, Henry just loves to touch, and I’m a hot-blooded woman who loves to fuck shit up. Three years in being married and the line is so goddamn blurry by now; I am never quite certain which one of us initiates it, nor do I even care. 

I see my bear sitting sprawled across the red leather sofas, legs spread open as he can never keep them shut. I know I’m terribly biased but that black tuxedo suit sure as hell looks great on his strong figure, especially with the crooked bowtie and the beard he’s been growing for his new movie role. 

And as if the bad boy vibes and big dick energy he sends everywhere wasn’t enough, the half-empty Grey Goose bottle on the round golden table next to him and the slight sweat that covers his forehead is a red flag that we are definitely getting into trouble tonight. 

Bring it on. 

Armie is sitting right next to him, telling him about some scheme by the gesture he is making with his hands. But I can tell Henry has other things on his mind. I can feel his eyes looking at me even when I am standing far away. Our gazes meet, he offers me a mischievous smile, showing off the large dimples of his cheeks. This is what I call a wet, slippery invention. 

I blush and look away. I mean, I have Rebecca Ferguson holding my forearms. That woman makes me want to invite her into our bedroom, but Henry doesn’t like sharing, not even with women. It doesn’t matter how much I’d pout and beg, he likes me all to himself, and he loves it when others can see that I am his. 

It’s always his hand between my thighs, riding up higher, thumb tickling at my clit teasingly. We sat through an entire acceptance speech with him working me hard. If anyone looks closely at that video on Youtube, you can see the exact moment when he hits the spot.

Sorry, Leo, I wasn’t smiling because you won. 

This is us being subtle. Hotels and parties, however, are a different story. We already had a manager quit on us because we made sure the entire floor hears what we are doing through the night. 

Rebecca kisses me on the cheek, the gorgeous Swedish redhead is already tipsy, and I’ve had my second glass of wine. She’s in a red satin dress, her impressive breasts showing through her cleavage. I also spot a few freckles on her chest. It makes me pout and look at Henry, who shakes his head in refusal. 

“Where is your hubby anyway?” she asks playfully, and I point in the direction of where he is sitting. Armie is just getting up, leaving Henry alone. He pours himself some more vodka, fills the glass with ice and then takes a sip with a lustful gaze. That’s probably my cue to keep him company and take that glass away.  

That video when he told everyone to get naked will forever be online. He also has a tendency to start making impressions of others when he is flustered, and I can’t contain my laughter when that happens.

“He’s too drunk to get up.” I sigh, shaking my head while he makes playful, sad faces at me. I shrug and take my phone out my purse, seeing two text messages from him.

Henry: “Where are you, babygirl?” Henry: “I want to squeeze that ass.” 

I text him back “Armie’s? Go for it. Can we have Rebecca, pleaaaaase?” 

He reads my reply, rolling his eyes and shaking his head in complete refusal. 

“Not. sharing. you. Do you want me to spank you in front of all these people?” 

Rebecca is oddly enough very touchy-feely, her hand sliding down my forearms while she speaks about how wonderful Henry is, and how fun it was to work with him on MI6.

“He’s not like all the other ones, he is an actual friend,” she explains to me, her beautiful green eyes lighting up. 

“I know, that’s how he got me, pretended to be my friend for years.” I chuckle, remembering the times we were still just friends. If you look at videos of us from interviews and photos from events from the time we worked together, you’d think we’ve been dating already. He always touched me subtly, his eyes staring at me intently when I speak. And of course, no one cracks him up the way I do.

But Henry waited 5 years for both of us to be single at the same time to “kidnap” me during a walk with our dogs at the forest, where I’d literally be unable to run away. He did that so he can tell me he’s been in love and growing in love with me ever since we met.

I smile at the sweet memory. I held my tears when that word left his lips.

“I’ll come to say hello later, I’m starving,” she says and rubs her belly gently. I nod and lean forward to kiss her, deliberately kissing her soft, red-painted lips for Henry to see. Us girls, we really don’t mind.

As I turn to face him, he is already frowning. He’s not amused by my vexing behaviour. I give him my best angelic posture, batting my lashes and holding my hands together while my head is tilted to the side. In that pale blue and silver dress, I might look like some saint right now, but my darling knows I’ve come from south to heaven.

I make my way to him, walking slowly, a smile both in my eyes and between my cheeks. I can feel the fire burning in my chest, the sight of him is dashing, those thick thighs ever so inviting. He spreads his legs even wider, the bulge in his groin made only for me. He has his pinky finger pressed between his teeth while checking me out.

My body heeds his calling, I’m tingling wet. 

I stand in front of him, my cheeks warm as if this is a first hook up of some sort. Henry rises his beautiful blues to stare straight into my eyes. The beaming lights in the hall make his sweaty skin glow in neon pink and gold, his eyes flashing bright as the different colours dance across his face.

“How many of those have you had?” I ask, gesturing at the glass, noticing the half-empty bottle. I hope not too much, I expect to be rammed tonight when we return to the hotel. 

He shrugs, putting the glass away without bothering to finish it. He is British, and boy, he can drink a lot. He is not as half as flustered as a different guy would be, but yes, he is certainly quite drunk. Enough to give me that look of his-one eyebrow rising up-while his eyes drink in my dress, cleavage, ass, and that slit that runs from my legs to my thighs.

My friends asked me if Henry is an ass or tits man, to which my answer was “he is ‘all of me’ man.” 

“Gotta love women's liberation.” He speaks in a deep, low voice, gesturing at my provocative dress. 

“Come to daddy.” He demands, holding out his hand for me to come and sit on his thigh. To which I am more than happy to comply.

I spread my legs, moving to straddle his muscular thigh. There is a burning sensation at my core as my pelvis meets his taut muscle. My body always reacts to his touch. Henry’s hands immediately take my face, thumbs stroking at my cheeks.

“Why do you tease me, beautiful?” he murmurs, his fierce gaze tracing my face, always taken by me, memorizing every freckle and flaw as if it’s the first time we ever sit so close. God, he makes me feel so beautiful even in my ugliest of ugly days.

I lean forward to get even closer, my ass riding up his leg and my hands reach out to tug at his white buttoned shirt. “Oh, Henry-Bear, it’s. So. much. fun.”

Someone sits right next to us on the big red sofa, saying a friendly hello. We answer at the same time, without breaking eye contact. We never bother looking who is the actor, producer, or whatever who moved to bug us. Too lost in our own little mist of admiration. Henry’s fingers descend from my face to my neck, fingers skirting down my neck sensually. 

“You know what I love about these ceremonies and parties?” he asks as he leans closer to whisper in my ear and then places a wet, lingering kiss on my shoulder. His chin pushes the straps of my dress away, letting it fall on my forearm as if by accident. I let it glide, shivering as the coarse hair of his beard marks my flesh.

“I get to show you off while you’re wearing these outrageous dresses and everyone knows I am taking you home to fuck you until sunrise.”

I chuckle lustfully, my tongue pressed between my teeth. “Last time we didn’t even make it home remember?” I hum gently, feeling his rough touch on my breasts. The tip of his thumbs circles my nipples, teasing them to harden through the thin fabric of my dress. I wouldn’t give a fuck if Henry had me topless right now and sink his fangs in my tits for everyone to see. But he is far too selfish, I was made for his eyes and his eyes only.

He settles for a “chaste” show, laying a kiss beneath my chin and then pressing his face at my cleavage, inhaling the scent of my body lotion before nibbling at my breast through my dress. His breath smells like vodka-sweet and spicy at once.

“I remember, Cumberbatch saw the whole thing,” he answers, his hands holding my ribs, slightly guiding me to move my body on top of his thigh in ghostlike movements. I am searing hot, my mound feels as if it’s seconds from catching fire. I am certain he can feel it, his blue eyes now hazy and dreamlike as they watch the pink tint that runs through my neck to my cheeks. 

“Fuck me, daddy, I am so horny!”

My whisper comes out as half a cry, weak and desperate. My body is a void, it suffers without his touch, it aches when we’re disjointed. I hope we’ll never stop feeling this way toward one another. 

“Ride me, babygirl.” he urges me, raising his thigh up higher, so I’ll slide down closer. The friction makes me lose sight for a moment. My vision blurs as I throb wet and hot onto him. Good thing his trousers are black, otherwise, everyone would be able to detect the wetness I am leaving on his pants. 

I can’t reject his decree, my body needs him. 

“You like it when they watch, don’t you?” he asks me with a slightly slurred voice. His hands glide down to squeeze my ass, assisting me in dancing on the rock-hard muscle of his leg. I am grinding slow and rough, shifting my weight forward, my right hand reaching his other thigh, clawing at him with growing pleasure.

Everyone is looking at us, I am sure, some embarrassed and perhaps even appalled. How puritan of you Hollywood. These people formed their own religion and hidden sex clubs. But I am convinced many enjoy this facade and discreetly salute us, some probably holding out their cameras.  

I roll my hips up and clench my inner thighs, whimpering as my body begins to tremble.  

It doesn’t matter who is staring while I ride him so passionately, seeking my pleasure with urgency while Henry’s hands support me, saddling my hips and pulling me toward him. We don’t see anyone else. We’re locked into one another, the way we always did, just like when Henry had a girlfriend, when we were “just friends” when I dated that asshole. We’d walk into a room, and it was just me and him, hearts and chest bursting with love.

Every moment we couldn’t have one another was stolen from us, we now fight to own it back.  

“I’d sit you on my face in front of everyone, but I think Gretchen would kill us.” Henry half whispers against my throat and then licks up my neck as I lift my chin to the ceiling with gaping lips. He has his hand between my legs, drawing at my centre and sneaking between the slit of my dress to finish the job. 

“Fuck!” he teases my clit, his middle finger travelling at my seams. My entire existence shudders. The bass of the music blasts through my chest, my eardrums throb, and my eyes see all the colours of the neon at once as my cunt implodes with orgasmic bliss. Henry steals my gasp into his mouth, his hand pressing my cheeks, crushing my mouth with hunger. 

Who could ever hate us for our expression of true love?

I gasp feverishly, holding onto him as if I’m about to fall. Henry’s lips are on my temple and then my cheek. Pressing against me and not moving away. He envelops me in his big arms, a clear statement to all our viewers that I am his and he is mine.  We both move our heads to see who's been sitting next to us this entire time.

Alec Baldwin and Jake Gyllenhaal. They pretend not to stare, at least Alec does. Jake gives us a wide, knowing smile. Everyone else has also been staring as I hear the whispers and gasps. 

“Really? They did that again!?”

We bump our foreheads together and snicker with delight. Like we ever gave a fuck about being caught. It’s not the first time, won’t be the last. We just can’t get our hands off of each other. 

“Better call Gretchen now.” I tell Henry, hanging my arm around his thick neck. 

“Before or after I fuck you in one of the back rooms here?”

[ahkaraii]

tov drabble (1618 words)

“Good fight,” Don Whitehorse compliments. “Not good enough, though.”

Schwann knows when he’s lost. He resorts to a cool, helpless apathy in these moments: a trait characteristic to him since birth.

“Then kill me,” he says without inflection.

“You won’t beg for your life?” Don asks.

“I am already dead,” he says. “There is nothing to beg for.”

“Huh. Interesting.” Don then shrugs his massive shoulders, like saying, ‘what can you do?’. “Aw’right then. Hey! Boys! Give this kid a good Altoskian welcome, and escort him to a cell, will ya?”

Altoskian hospitality is not unlike the Empire’s, Schwann reflects. They knock him around, piss in his water bowl, and don’t give him any toilet paper to wipe his face or his ass during the whole damn stay. Then again, an assassination attempt against his Imperial Majesty would easily warrant a public beheading — here, it seems to equate with seven days of enforced meditation toe-deep in his own shit before being kicked to the curb like nothing ever happened.

“You’re letting me go?” Schwann asks, a faint tone of disbelief in his voice.

“You’re not the first to try to off the Boss, y’know,” the guard explains, “and you won’t be the last. It’s almost a right of passage at this point.”

Schwann must reevaluate the guild’s hierarchy. His intel was clearly missing some rather important information. “Did you also try to kill Don Whitehorse?” he asks, not even meaning it sarcastically.

“Sure,” the guard admits, like it’s nothing. “Though I tried to poison him, myself. Gave the Don a case of the runs and he put a bucket of it in my cell and that was enough to make me not try again.”

Schwann’s just spent a week stewing in his own filth and understands what a powerful motivator the stench of unceasing fecal matter and lack of hygiene can be to a man who once thought himself as dignified. “Huh,” is all he offers. Is that how Don Whitehorse inspires loyalty? By sparing his foes in such a contrived way?

“Now, I’d close my eyes if I were you. Ready? Splash!”

After Schwann’s been waterboarded into smelling a little less like a sewer, the guard escorts him out the door and onto the cobbled street some ways from the headquarter’s main entrance.

“That’s it?” Schwann repeats, still not quite believing it.

“That’s it,” the guard says. “Though if I were you, I’d get a proper wash and new duds. You fucking reek.”

A bed and shower at the inn requires gald he no longer has. And even the filthiest tavern won’t let him in wearing the shit-smelling rags he’s got tattered on by a thread. He’s tired, he’s hungry, and he’s really five seconds away from giving up and taking a nap right there in the street. Where even is he, anyway? Dahngrest is a fucking labyrinth with far too many dead ends.

“You need quick cash, son? I’ll pay you to suck my dick,” a strange man with a caved in nose offers in one such dead-end alley, idly smoking a pipe.

Schwann considers it for all of three seconds before he smoothly says, “I must decline,” and walks off in the opposite direction as fast as his tired calves will take him. It’s barely been a week and he will not fall to prostitution just to get a fucking bath. That guy probably had syphilis, anyway.

“Hey! New guy!”

Schwann would’ve started walking even faster if the pitch of the voice hadn’t distracted him — it belongs to a kid, prepubescently high, gender difficult to tell with the patchwork quilt of nonsense they’ve got on.

“Take this package to Saggitarus,” the kid says, and hurls something at him that Schwann catches out of reflex.

“What?” he asks, but the kid’s already disappeared. Fast little bugger—either that, or great at climbing walls. “What...?” he repeats, staring at the innocuous brown-paper-wrapped box in his hands. It’s about the weight of his pauldron, some two kilograms dense, and rattles like there’s something round inside it. A blastia, perhaps?

“Saggitarus,” he echoes. The tavern?

Is this a test?

Is the Don testing him?

For a moment, Schwann expands his senses, wondering if he’s being followed. He can immediately feel eyes on him, and detect the sounds of muffled laughter in the distance. Then again, that might just be paranoia. He has just spent seven days with no privacy and bored guards idly betting on when he’ll get thirsty enough to drink the piss-bucket. (Shamefully, he only got to two before he succumbed.)

If there’s a blastia in here, maybe he can sell it, or, hell, use it. If Schwann’s already presumed dead and his dignity gone with it, then maybe--

The thought crosses his mind and leaves it without much fanfare. There is a task he has been given, and he shall complete it. “Saggitarus,” he repeats, and twists his ankles in the direction of the last tavern he’d been to. Maybe he can ask for directions there.

“Saggitarus tavern? Heh...y'mean the Sagittarius Tavern? It’s that way, new guy,” says the bouncer stationed outside.

Hm. Does everyone know his task, then?

“Sagittarius, huh? It’s southeast,” another man offers, “follow the music.”

It’s starting to feel like a wild goose chase, and everyone’s in on it. There is no music but distant laughter.

“Naw, new guy, it’s north! Y’know, by the fountain? Surely you passed it already.”

On and on and on, each new direction being interrupted by some new person with eyes on his package and cruelty in their smiles. It’s clear they’re all in on it, and he’s the butt of the joke.

“You’re all fucking with me,” Schwann says monotonously. He’s really quite tired. Honestly, he doesn’t really need a weapon to kill things. If he goes outside the barrier, maybe he could just rip a couple of stray Filifolia monsters into lettuce for a salad and then sell the rest of it for gald enough to pay for hay to rest with the horses…

The thought tantalises him for three seconds before he focuses back to reality. Don Whitehorse has probably already forgotten him. His underlings are the cats playing with the new toy the Don has given them. He’s nothing but fresh meat quickly spoiling.

“You finally give up, new guy?”

It’s the kid who gave him the package. Schwann eyes them more carefully this time. Blond, grey-eyed, and oddly confident in their stance. For being such a pipsqueak, this kid has balls to poke an enemy of the Don while he’s down. Schwann’s dead tired and still quite capable of snapping the kid’s neck like he would a chicken.

“What happens if I say yes?” Schwann asks, lightly.

“I take the package back,” the kid says, and stretches out a small hand riddled with weapon-born calluses. “Hand it over, then.”

“Hm,” Schwann makes as if he’s thinking, and a part of him feels silly but delighted when the brat begins to look visibly impatient. Is this kid the one in charge of his punishment…? “I think not, then.”

“Ugh,” the kid says. “Then hurry up and make it!”

Schwann bows his head like he would to Princess Estellise. “Of course, young Master,” he says, and is rewarded by the kid looking proper startled. Bingo. “I’m afraid I am quite lost, though. Why don’t we both help each other and you get me there, for real this time? That way we can both finally take a break.”

The kid squints at him and then gives an explosive sigh and turns around and starts walking. Schwann follows them leisurely. They walk down faintly familiar streets and end up at the tavern right where Schwann started. The bouncer outside looks just as amused as he did the first time.

“Ah, I see now. Saggitarus is your name, isn’t it?” Schwann says, managing a sardonic smile.

“At your service,” the guy says, and stretches out his hand. “Did you ever find the Sagittarius tavern, then?”

“Your directions were one of a kind, but my sense of direction is quite another.” Schwann plops the brown box unceremoniously into the guy’s outstretched palm. “Here’s your package, Mister Saggitarus.”

“Here’s your payment, Mister New Guy,” Saggitarius says, and flicks him a single gald coin.

“Thanks,” Schwann says without a trace of sarcasm, and turns to the kid. “Y’know where a tired old man could get a bucket of clean water for a single gald?”

“Uh, try the fountain,” the kid says. “Duh.”

“Duh,” Schwann echoes, and can’t help but laugh a little. Duh, indeed. Children above, he’s so tired.

“Hey. New Guy. I’ll throw you enough for a meal if you give Pecan this package,” Saggitarus offers, clearly taking pity on him. “Pecan’s the third waiter on the right at the Sagittarius tavern. You know your way there now, right?”

Schwann’s everything aches, but he’s starting to get the hang of this place now, he thinks. “Sure,” he says. “Throw in an old tunic and I’ll deliver it as fast as these old legs can take me.”

“Do it without causing a ruckus and I’ll give you some new shoes, too,” Saggitarius says.

“You got yourself a deal,” Schwann says, and points his feet towards his goal. He can’t wait to feel a little cleaner and rest enough to regroup and decide his next course of action; if he doesn’t send an encoded message to Zaphias soon, Commandant Alexei’ll probably assume him dead or, worse, a traitor. Till then, it’s nice to have a mission with clear cut instructions.

“Third waiter from the right,” Schwann murmurs to himself, and sets off.

[donutloverxo]

Love the way you lie

Part one

Note - this is a prequel to love the way you lie. I know y'all wanted a sequel not a prequel but I thought this would be fun. I'll get the third and last part out soon!

Summary - You begin a relationship with your boss Mike.

Warnings - smut, unprotected sex(i still stand by my advice of never rawdogging mike), addictions, emotional cheating

Pairing - Mike Weiss x reader

Word count - 2.7k

Masterlist

“Babe come on! Just come by at six” Ray whined over the telephone and you had half a mind of slamming the phone and hanging up on him.

“I don’t want to watch you play video games for the whole evening! I’d rather be at my office party” You snapped. Your relationship had been sort of nice in the beginning. You were in your twenties and still a virgin, you decided to lower your standards and compromise a little bit so you wouldn’t be so alone anymore. You didn’t know you’d be stuck with a complete man-child.

“What? You hate those things. Just last week you were whining about how boring the small talk is” You had to hold the phone away from your ear just so you wouldn’t hear his annoying shrill voice.

Last months party was boring and grey. But that’s because he wasn’t there. He was in a rehab facility for over three weeks. You never even knew he had a drug problem until Paul told you he had overdosed and been admitted to a rehab. You couldn’t really tell if there was much of a difference between sober Mike and coked up Mike.

“Why do you even want to see me so bad?” You rolled your eyes.

“Look I tried to cook I really did!” He whined again “But it’s just so hard babe. Just come over here and make your lasagna? You’re so good at it. I promise I’ll thank you anyway I can”

You yelped as you heard Mike’s voice over the intercom “Please come into my office “ he said and you felt goose bumps and shivers in your entire body just hearing his husky voice.

“Yeah I’ll be right there” You stammered cringing as you abruptly hung up on Ray without even saying goodbye. You collected your notepad and a pen, Mike often liked to bounce ideas off of you. With how fast paced and clever he was you could barely keep up but you tried your best to impress him. You quickly took out your lipstick, touching up your lips a bit and heading towards his office.

Maybe it was wrong of you to be fixated on a man that wasn’t your boyfriend. A mess of a man at that. But maybe you were more of a mess than him. He was a lawyer, a smart man who actually made some difference and did real work. And you were just a secretary who still lived with her mother. What would HE see in you?

You knocked on his door and entered to see him surrounded by scattered papers. “You called Mike?” You asked standing straight, suddenly hyper aware of your posture.

“Yeah I think I – I –“ He trailed off looking at a file

“Mike?” you promoted him to speak.

“Yeah yeah. I thought I needed help but maybe not” He said still looking at the papers and scratching his forehead with his pen “I think I’ll take off early today” He finally looked up to you.

“Oh but the party!” You blurted out. You really need to learn how to bite your tongue. He quirked a brow at you urging you to speak. “I was hoping you’d be there” You shrugged shifting suddenly feeling so uncomfortable.

“Yeah” He nodded leaning back on his chair tapping his pen against the edge of his table “Wouldn’t your Boyfriend be opposed to that” He said the word with such venom. It almost made you hopeful.

But hopeful for what? Nothing was going to happen. If nothing else you are a good person. You’d never cheat. “Why would he mind?” You shrugged playing dumb.

He scoffed at that “You know I’m very good at reading people. And you’re too obvious. Not a very good liar. You’d make a terrible lawyer”

You scowled at him “Well that’s good, I’m not trying to be one. You don’t exactly make it look so glamourous”

“I didn’t mean to offend you” He chuckled at your little outburst which only annoyed you even more “That why you don’t wanna see him tonight? You were talking on the office line sweetheart “

“Well yeah that and...he’s just boring now” You couldn’t remember the last time you two went on a real date. Mike only hummed at that and it was then that you noticed his leg shaking incessantly under his desk. “Mike” you walked around his desk to stand next to him. You didn’t know a lot about drugs, but from movies you could tell that restlessness was a sign of withdrawal. How could he still be going through withdrawal? “Are you alright? Is there anything I can do?” you asked, your voice laced with worry. Maybe you could call Paul. Would that help him? You didn’t know if he had any other friends.

“I’m fine” He stated and steering his leg shaking to a halt. “So you wanna go to that party tonight?” He asked but you had a feeling he was just trying to change the subject.

“I don’t Mike. I don’t think it would be right” You wanted to say how you should both be ashamed to even consider something like that but held your tongue.

“Why?” He asked tracing his thumb over your knuckles.

“I have a boyfriend. And you’re well...”

“I’m clean now” He frowned.

“I wouldn’t know” You snatched your hand out of his hold and snapped back to reality from your fantasy. “If you don’t need anything else I’ll be on my way” You left his office before he could stop you. It was one thing to daydream about another man, another to actually indulge in that it.

***

You ended up not going over to Rays Or the party. If he was so hungry he could order take out or something. You were done putting up with his bullshit and told him you needed space over the phone. Maybe it was a dick move to not do something so sensitive personally but you needed to get to it before you change your mind.

You were in bed after dinner letting your mind wander to Mike, and how his suspenders made his shirt cling to his body and gave you a nice view of what lays underneath. All that working out and the disgusting green smoothies he drinks surely paid off. With one hand in your cunt, dipping in your folds and thinking of him. Of how much better it would be if it was his hand. You couldn’t actually get yourself off, you needed to buy one of those special toys for women. But it was still nice to just tease a bit.

Your self care session was interrupted by your mom calling out for you. You groaned pulling your hand out and wiping it off on your sheets. You climbed out of bed to go downstairs to see what the ruckus is about. As soon as you unlocked and opened your door you were greeted with the man you were just dreaming about.

“Mike?” You didn’t know what he could possibly be doing here this late. “Are you drunk?”

“No I am not drunk” He said as if he was scolding you “What you don’t want to invite me in?” He teased.

“What are you a vampire? Come on in” You stepped aside to let him in. You cringed at how messy your room looks, with your sheets all bunched up and your clothes sprayed out all over.

“You sleep in that?” He looked you up and down.

You were wearing your white cotton nightie that ended just above your knees. “I know it’s not the sexiest but it makes me comfortable”

“I never said it wasn’t sexy” He said as if he was stating a fact.

You stared into his eyes in hopes of intimidating him to make him stop ogling you. But it didn’t work. He kept unabashedly checking you out. You now recalled your lack of bra and panties.

“What are you even doing here?”

“I just wanted to see you” You took a step back as he stalked towards you with a predatory gaze.

The back of your knees hit the edge of your bed. “I – think you should leave Mike” your voice wavering “I’ve got work tomorrow. And you do to”

He hummed at that playing with the helm of your nightgown “You really want me to leave?” He asked looking up at you.

You wished you could give him an honest straight answer. He was your dirty little secret. Someone a good girl like you shouldn’t be thinking about. Not when you had a boyfriend. You never thought you’d get to actually live out your fantasies. You considered the consequences. Did you really want to give your heart to someone who would probably break it? You scoffed to yourself. He wasn’t here for your heart. He only wanted what most if not all men want.

He kissed your forehead and murmured against your hair. “You make me feel good you know. Life isn’t so bleak when you’re around.”

“I don’t do that. Hook ups or whatever you call them.” You said breathing in his musky scent. It was getting harder and harder to say no.

“That’s alright” He pulled back cupping your face and staring into your eyes “you’re not the kinda girl someone hooks up with”

He crashed his lips onto yours stealing your breathe. Whatever doubt you may have had were gone in that instant. His beard so soft and fuzzy against your mouth. His lips were so cushy, his kiss so fierce.

He pushed you back on your bed making quick work of removing his suspenders along with his shirt and pants. You couldn’t help but stare at his naked fit body covered with various tattoos. You had never been a fan of them, but they all looked so beautiful littered across his body. You gasped at the sight of his erect cock hitting his abdomen.

He loomed over you pushing your nightie off of you. Desperate to see you naked, finally. “We have to be quiet” You rasped in between kisses as he rid of you of your nightie “My mothers downstairs”

You moaned and cursed on the mattress as he worked you up with his fingers. Making you come undone on them within minutes. How he figured you out so well and so soon you’ll never know. You hesitated and almost pushed his head away when his broad shoulders settled between your legs.

No one had ever gone down on you before. It was amazing, miserable and sensual at the same time. Just when you thought you’d achieve your peak he stopped making you whine. He lined his cock up to your entrance. Slowly sinking in. And you looked as you saw your juices smeared all over you mouth and beard. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

It was unlike anything you had felt before. It was never that good with Ray. Mike didn’t last long the first time but made sure to only finish after you. He cuddled you in your small bed before he made love to you again. Properly and slowly this time. Giving you both the time to truly enjoy yourselves.

You asked him to sneak out in the middle of the night so your mother wouldn’thave to see him leave. She did gave you an earful about having such relations with an addict. And how she couldn’t believe you actually found someone that was worse than Ray.

***

You knew that the next day Mike would pretend nothing had happened. You’d both probably forget about that night soon enough. You and the all your coworkers were stunned when he greeted you with a kiss on your lips. As if you’d been together forever.

He asked you to be his girlfriend at lunch. Which you said no to, obviously. You were a lady and you were to be wined and dined. Which he did. He took you out on several dates almost everyday. He took you to his house so you could spend some time together peacefully. And you immediately left seeing just how messy the whole place was.

“It just needs a feminine touch” He had said back then.

So you made him spend the nights at your place. After tolerating the sneers and snide remarks from your mother for a while, he quickly cleaned up his house, made proper cabinets and book shelf’s for all his scattered papers and books. He even got flowers to lighten up the place every once in a while. He didn’t need your mother third wheeling you both.

You were spending more time at his house than your own. He gave you your own drawer and you were practically living there. You were surprised at just how much of a ‘normal' boyfriend Mike was. He was always considerate of your needs. He did sometimes have a problem of giving you unwarranted advice when you bitched about your day to him

“When women talk they just want to be listened to” You shut him up and he threw his hands up surrendering to you. He didn’t give you any solutions or advice unless you asked for it.

He worked a lot more than you. So whatever free time he had he liked to spend with you. You were a bit worried that he didn’t really have any friends. Sure you could consider Paul to be a friend but they weren’t that close. And Paul barely knew anything about Mike.

The sex was... well amazing. Mike knew exactly what to do to make you putty in his hands. He had a high appetite and with the way he worshipped you, you had absolutely no problems feeding it.

“Say yes” He growled before wrapping his mouth around your clit furiously sucking on it.

“I can’t I – “ you could barely speak or even comprehend what was going on. It was the same fight on a different day. Him wanting you to move in with him. So you can spend more time together. And for you to quit your job, which to be fair was boring. Being the picture perfect 90s housewife couldn’t possibly be any worse.

So he stopped again when you were just about to meet your end. He edged you and you knew just how relentless he was. He wouldn’t stop until you said yes. “Yes! Oh god yes! I’ll do whatever you want Mike. Just please please let me cum” You wailed as tears escaped your eyes.

Shoving three of his fingers inside you he fucked you through your orgasm. You almost blacked out. He laid on his side next to you propping himself up on his elbow. He was grinning down at you. “You’ll quit your job too.” He stated but you knew it was more of a demand.

“I can’t do that. I said I’ll move in with you no” You looked at him before closing your eyes again. Still recovering from your earth shattering orgasm.

“Why not?” His grin dropped instantly and he frowned at you. “I will take care of you. I need you at home.”

“I – what if we break up...” you trailed off. Even if you didn’t want to entertain the idea. It was very much possible that you would.

“We won’t. Why? Do you plan on breaking up with me?”

“No I just” You rubbed your temples really needing a cuddle session and not this conversation “I just need security. It’s not like we’re married or even engaged” You sighed and added “yet” just so he wouldn’t think the worst again.

“Then let’s” He murmured tracing a finger along your belly button.

“Let’s what?”

“let’s get married” He pressed kisses on your jaw and down your neck.

“I – wait are you proposing?” You asked completely confused.

“I guess I need to spell it out for you” He gave you an unimpressed look “Marry me”

And really you couldn’t find a single reason to say no. He had battled his demons and won over them. He had a stable job which made him happy. He promised to take care of you. You were scared of the unknown future. But come what may you’ll both face it together.

***

Please note that my work is NOT to be reposted or published anywhere other than my Tumblr or AO3 account. Reblogs are most welcome though.

Everything - @patzammit @onetwo3000 @peaceinourtime82 @stargazingfangirl18 @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @navybrat817 @what-just-happened-bro @thehumanistsdiary @cheeseburgersstuff @marvelousell @evnscvll @lilbabycee @mrspeacem1nusone @maynay43 @caplanbuckybarnes @xolovegrace @turtoix @badreputationlove @lokiloyal @leaning-howto-be-myselfx3 @i-lie-here-charmed @bval-1 @wxstedhexrt @avengerhollows @lux-ravenwolf @coffeebooksandfandom @ynjimenez @call-me-baby-gir1 @nico-diangelo-grey @kendal178 @siriusjohnpotter @the-wayward-robot @aikeia @tenaciousperfectionunknown @charmed-asylum @1awesomeash @kiza4 @hevans-angel @linnyfromtheblock @youthought-iwasa-nicegirl @nerdwholikesword

Fic tags - @captainchrisstan @chaneajoyyy

[ofwolvesandbutterflies]

call you mine

Pairing: Lee Donghyuck x Reader

Genre: fluff

Tags: bestfriends!au

Warnings: lil bit of language

Synopsis: Donghyuck hadn’t yet mustered the courage to tell you just how often he found himself staring at you for longer than he should have. He hadn’t found the words to say that he cared for you in ways that were inappropriate for just a ‘friendship’. But he was back at it again, missing you like you owned the other half of his heart, yearning for your presence like you were his oxygen. 

A/N: happy birthday to the beautiful, the breath-takingly talented, the one and only, Lee Donghyuck! i love you with a whole half of my heart (the rest belongs to jaehyun whattt) you make me smile, you make me laugh, you inspire me. i wish you all the happiness and love and health in the world on your birthday!

// can I call you my own and can I call you my lover, call you my one and only girl // (x)

i.

There it was again. The strange thrumming in the center of Donghyuck’s chest. Buried deep within the recesses of his heart, it seemed memories of you were begging him to let them resurface. And he rolled over, eyes finally opening as the grey of the early morning clouds painted the entirety of the sky. Glancing around his room, he released an inaudible sigh. 04:29 

The sun had yet to come up. 

He fumbled around for his phone in the darkness of his barely lit room. The chances of him falling asleep again were close to none, Hyuck knew this from experience. So as he lay there, the sound of his heartbeat filled his ears and he gave in. A foreign dampness surfaced around his eyes as thoughts of you poured into the empty cracks and crevices of his heart. The secret smile he caught on your lips every time he said something dumb. The color of your eyes and the way you’d stare at him when he spoke, laughed, cried, sang. The way you looked in his clothes, when the hem of his shirts cascaded past your knees and his sleeves fell way past your hands. Oh, he loved that. 

He missed you. Donghyuck smiled to himself, albeit the bitter taste that filled his mouth when he found himself staring at your contact on his phone again. It was a picture of you. Not a selfie though. There you were, sitting on his lap in one of his large hoodies, a giggle frozen on your lips when you realized that he had had his phone out to record the fact you had laughed at the dumb joke Mark told him was much too cringe-worthy for anyone to even consider laughing at. 

There was no viable reason he was missing you so badly. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t seen you in a while. No, he saw you just a couple days ago. And it wasn’t as if the two of you had broken up. Donghyuck hadn’t yet mustered the courage to tell you just how often he found himself staring at you for longer than he should have. He hadn’t found the words to say that he cared for you in ways that were inappropriate for just a ‘friendship’. But he was back at it again, missing you like you owned the other half of his heart, yearning for your presence like you were his oxygen. 

Before his mind could convince him it was a bad idea, the sound of dialling filled the stillness of the room and increased the anxiety pumping through his veins. Shit. Had he really just pressed ‘call’? 

“Hello?” your tired voice filtered through the phone speaker after a few rings and guilt flooded him at the possibility of having woken you up. “Hyuck?” you yawned when he didn’t immediately respond. “Are you there?” 

“Oh-” a pretty pink blush bit at his cheeks at the sound of your low morning voice. “Yeah sorry, I’m here,” he mumbled. “Did I wake you?”

Your soft chuckle played through his phone and Hyuck swore his heartbeat sped up tenfold. “You’re good,” you said, the soft rustling of blankets reminding him of how soft your comforter was that one time he slept over. “It’s been hard to stay asleep recently.”

A grumble of sympathy sounded in the back of his throat. He was familiar with the struggle. After all, you had been occupying his mind recently. “Are you alright?” His voice came out low, concerned and he shifted in his bed, kicking off his comforter. The sound of a brief exhale came from your side of the line and it was a moment before you answered. 

“...you wanna come over?” 

Donghyuck’s heart jumped into his throat. “I can be over in ten if you need.” He half expected you to laugh at the giddiness he knew seeped so obviously from his response. But you didn’t. Instead, you stuttered, sounding almost unsure by his certainty. 

“I-I… are you sure? You don’t n- I mean, I don’t want to be a bother making you get up so early in the morning, too. Yo-you don’t need to, I-”

He laughed, a deep sound so rooted in absolute assurance that you stopped spouting nonsense. “It’s no bother, Y/N. I’d travel the world to make sure you’re okay. I hope you know that.”

The silence he was met with made him realize the magnitude of what he had just slip. Fuck. He thought. Early mornings truly made for no filter. Finally, you spoke, the shy smile obvious in your voice. 

“Well, I guess it’s good I don’t live that far away, right?” And the smile that bloomed on Haechan’s lips near rivaled the slowly rising sun. 

“I’ll be over in a few.”

ii.

It was 4:56 when Haechan called you. Truth be told, you hadn’t been asleep at all. It was one of those nights where there really wasn’t anything preventing you from falling into the clutches of unconsciousness, but the whispering of night continued to call you, distract you. Exhaustion was settling into your bones as the night had gone on for hours and your mind insisted on waking you up every other collection of minutes. From food to television to the newest episode of that one show… Anything and everything was on your mind. It was fine, though. 

Anything to distract you from Donghyuck. Once thoughts of him infiltrated your mind, there was nothing that could deactivate the ever present stream of cues and triggers that reminded you of him. A sliver of sun peeking through the cracks of your blinds could bring you back to the way his natural honey tinted skin gleamed in any natural lighting. The smell of freshly washed linen would hasten the slow jog of your heartbeat to a rolling sprint until you could no longer rid the thought of waking up, snuggled next to him as the credits of a movie played out silently. The fabric of your favorite black hoodie rubbing against the skin of your back could snatch your attention from anything and everything to the fading ghostly feeling of his nose pressed into your neck, breath hot against your skin, arms doing nothing but tightening around your waist.

And the moment the phone rang, your rigid body loosened. Your thoughts stilled, having been interrupted by the ringtone you had set especially for him.

--

Just as he promised, he was there within 10 minutes. A mirthful smile graced your lips when you heard the familiar knocking pattern. It sounded just like everything else about him when he was with you. Soothing. Gentle. Persistent. You padded down the hallway with bare feet, rubbing the remaining sleep from your eyes. You paid no heed to the early morning chill of the tile beneath your feet despite the fact your body was adorned only by one of his hoodies and the pair of panties you had fallen asleep in. 

Gentle, tired, and filled to the brim with unadulterated adoration was the smile you were met with as you opened the door. The drab monotony of the white-ish clouds hovering over the brightening horizon did nothing to block the smile full of life found on Donghyuck’s precious lips. He was dressed in a light grey hoodie and large black sweat pants that dwarfed his figure. And for a moment, you gazed at him, drinking in the way his large eyes smiled back at yours, glassy with sleep. His soft hair stood, still tousled from sleep, straight up. 

In that instant, you forgot that it was only 5 in the morning. But time was a social construct that slowed infinitely when you finally opened the door wider. It only took an instant for all the chill of the morning dissipate into nothing the second Donghyuck wrapped his arms tighter than ever around your body.  

“Hey Y/N,” he murmured against the shell of your ear, deft fingers smoothing over your hair, your body, the fabric of his extra large hoodie draped well past your thighs. “Is now a bad time?” 

A quiet chuckle reverberated in the husk of your chest and in turn, you buried yourself in the warmth only he could exude. “Don’t be ridiculous, silly goose. Being with you is never a bad time.” your words were mumbled, muffled by the thick layer of fabric separating your two bodies but you knew he understood. “Thank you for coming over,” you hummed, reveling in the steady beat of his heart. “I know this is kind of early.”

Hyuck pulled back far enough to shoot you a playful frown. “Don’t be ridiculous, Y/N. I was the one who called you this early anyways.” You smiled. 

“Oh right, huh?” Another few moments in his grasp and you would have most definitely fallen asleep. But a gust of wind curled through the front door that had been left ajar by your early morning visitor and you made a sound of displeasure. Slowly, slowly, and almost reluctantly, you extracted yourself from his grip. 

“Wait, what are you-” He spun about on his heels, watching as you stumbled around him to close the door. “Oh, nevermind.” Within seconds, your dear friend’s arms enveloped you again, this time snaking sneakily around your waist from behind. “I was like, what are you doing, trying to sneak away? I just got here.” 

You giggled, resting your head back against his chest. “I was just closing the door, don’t worry.” The cool of the brisk morning air slowly subsided the longer your relaxed into his cozy embrace. Before long, the soft pattern of inhales and exhales floating from both of your lips fell into a type of white noise... a type of rhythm-less music.   

“Right, because I was about to say…” his breath brushed down the exposed skin of your collarbone, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. “Even with you right here, it was getting kinda cold.” You nodded in agreement as another giggle escaped your lips and you twisted in his arms to look up at him. 

“Good thing you’re here.” 

“Why’s that, princess?” Donghyuck leaned down, resting his forehead against yours in such an intimate gesture that you nearly gasped in suprise. His bated breath danced across your skin and in that moment, you were made aware of just how close his lips were to yours. 

You tore your gaze off the boy before you, eyes bouncing off random things around the room to keep the blush threatening your cheeks at bay. “I don’t know... I guess, whenever I’m with you- you just- when you’re around, I’m always warm.” 

iii.

Waking up at 4, jogging over to your house at 5, falling asleep with you in his arms, and waking up again at one in the afternoon hadn’t originally been part of his plan for the day. But as Donghyuck blinked the sleep away from his eyes to see you in one of his hoodies with your messy hair splayed over your pillow and your body nestled securely into his arms, he couldn’t find a reason to complain. 

The curve of your lips twitched when he released an arm from around your body to brush a couple strands of hair from out of your face. A smile made its way up to his face when you woke, glancing up at him blearily. Warmth filled his belly as you gazed up at him through your wispy eyelashes, the upwards slope in your sleepy smile widening, the affection in your eyes glowing something fierce. 

It took a second for you to realize this - laying beside him with Hyuck’s arms resting firmly around your hips - was not a dream, not just another wistful fantasy you had woven together from the solitude of your single-ness and had yet to wake up from. 

The sun streaming through your blinds hit his mussed, auburn hair in such a way that it looked golden, like a halo, or a sun. One of his arms lay under your head like a makeshift pillow. His other hand grazed your cheek, tracing the outline of your face as you memorized the way he looked now - in all his lazy afternoon glory - beside you. And when the realization finally settled in, a slow, wonder-filled laugh left your mouth. Donghyuck propped himself up on an elbow, grinning down at you. 

“What’s so funny, beautiful?”

“Nothing,” you shook your head, the nickname flying past your mind, smile still playing at the edge of your lips as you rolled over to hide your burning face in his chest. “I just… this was the best I’ve slept in such a long time that I almost forgot you came over this morning, so seeing you was like… Woah, who is this dream man laying beside me? Am I still asleep?”

Biting back a smile, he hummed thoughtfully and pushed himself up into a sitting position. “Maybe I should sleep over more often then? You could get more sleep and a hot man to wake up to each morning!” 

You sat up with him, sleep drunk smile decorating your lips. Out of instinct, you found your hands reaching forwards to run your fingers through his hair, fixing all the silly little strands that stood up in all different directions. Had you been more focused on his face though, you would have noticed the light dusting of pink settling over his cheeks. You were so… close. And you felt so much like home. Donghyuck’s heartbeat pounded in his ears and he prayed you couldn’t hear it. 

“I mean, honestly, though-” you giggled in response. “-my bed’s always open for you, if you’d like. I know I wouldn't complain if I woke to this every morning.” Redirecting your gaze down to his deep, chestnut colored eyes, you leaned forwards to bop the tip of his nose playfully, giggling again when he blinked in surprise. “Now come on, I’m hungry and I wanna go out.”

But as you pushed yourself off your bed, Hyuck sat, pondering your words. Would you really be okay with waking up beside him every morning? He ran his fingers through his hair, sliding out of your bed to follow you out into the kitchen. 

God, he loved you. He loved the way you giggled, he loved the way your fingers felt in his hair. He loved the way you looked, wrapped his arms. He loved the way you gazed up at him through your eyelashes. Perhaps today was the day, then, he thought to himself. Maybe I’ll tell her today. 

Having jogged up ahead, you turned, any ounce of exhaustion from before completely dissipated into thin air. You smiled, wrapping your arms - still draped in his hoodie - around yourself. Donghyuck had fallen behind, eyes glazed over in thought as he moved sluggishly after you. 

“Hyuck, you bean-brain,” you called. He blinked the looming confession from the forefront of his mind and shook his head a couple times before realizing you had called him. 

“’Sup beautiful?” 

A pretty pinkish glow slid onto your cheeks just as a cheeky smirk fell over his lips. “I think I have some of your clothes in my closet if you wanna change.”

“Why?” he shot you a look before lifting his arm to sniff himself. “Do I smell or something? I could’ve sworn I put on deodorant before I ran over this morning.” 

You rolled your eyes, wrinkling your nose as if you had smelt something dank. “Yes, you smell horrid- no, you smell fine, Hyuck.” 

“Then why am I changing?” 

“So you don’t look like you just woke up.” It wasn’t like he didn’t look good, large t-shirt crinkled from cuddling with you. Donghyuck looked more than good. He looked angelic. He looked inviting and soft. Your eyes traced his well cut figure, taking the time to study everything. There was something about him and the way he stood, the way he looked at you, the way that little half smile quirked the corners of his lips up... there was something about him that just screamed boyfriend... and a shameless blush burned at your features when you realized you had been staring, again.    

“You look like you just woke up,” he pouted. “And I must say... you work it pretty well, cutie.” 

“Oh, shut up,” you growled playfully, turning back towards the kitchen. “Just go change, okay? You want anything before we head out?”

“Just for you to put some pants on,” he called on his way back to your room. You snorted at his comment from your precarious stance atop a dining chair. 

“Why? Your hoodie goes like almost all the way down my thighs.”

“Much as I love the way you look in my clothes, we can’t have other guys seeing what’s mi-” Donghyuck stopped, both physically and verbally right in front of your door. Shit, did he really almost say that? He had been mumbling, so there was a chance you didn’t hear him. Then, at the same time, part of him longed to call you ‘his’. 

“What’d you say?” your disembodied voice carried through his panicked thoughts. “I didn’t catch the last part.”

“Nothing.” He sighed in relief - albeit a little disappointed - the simple action releasing all the tension in his shoulders before turning back towards your room. No, he sighed, shuffling through your closet, a smile still very much present on his face. Today was already as good as it was going to get. He was spending it with you. 

Maybe not today.

a/n: part 2 anyone? 

[lovelyirony]

stranger with maybe rhodeytony in an au where rhodey and tony drift apart after MIT because obie pressures him to cut ties,,,and then they meet again after a couple of years and its breaks tony's heart that the man he loves has become a stranger?? actually yk what this isn't a prompt because its so specific and i feel rude asking you to write smth so specific but yeah i have this idea and i wanted share it with you

no like this is a good idea 

-like maybe they’re really good friends and tony can’t help but look at him as if he’s hung the galaxy 

-because someone like rhodey is so special in this lifetime, how couldn’t he have moved the stars? looked like a god returned, gently touching down to earth and looking at tony as if he has all of his love and attention 

-tony makes a mistake. 

a big one. 

-tony kisses rhodey behind a door and then it’s found out and well--obie finds out 

-obie advises that tony ditch rhodey and tony won’t because why the hell would he? 

-but people talk and obie spreads it around and people look at rhodey who has to staunchly deny it because he needs this position badly and tony pleads with him not to go because bad things happen 

and rhodey gives him a look because his family found out and his dad is “disappointed” and his mother is looking at different times to go to church so that no one has to look at her and 

“Bad things have already happened. Will this really make a difference?” 

Rhodey knows it’s cruel but he’s feeling cruel and Tony’s face goes slack because why had he trusted Rhodey? Why was he the one who moved stars and invented new constellations? 

“I guess not to you,” Tony says, voice sharp and biting. “Have a hell of a time in Air Force.” 

It is done. Severed. And Obie pats Tony on the back and says there are lots of pretty girls in the world because he didn’t need someone like Rhodey to...taint his role in society. 

“You mean taint my role in the company,” Tony bites back. “The only reason I’m even here is because Howard wants the business to stay in the family and nothing else. If I wasn’t his blood I’d be kicked to the curb by the time I was eight.” 

(And Obie gets a strange look on his face. A strange, strange look.) 

But Tony does what the future does: he tries to move on. And it’s hard because everything reminds him of Rhodey these days, down to his music taste and how Dum-E keeps looking for someone else and sometimes when he gets up Tony almost feels a press of a familiar body against his and he’s not home. 

This wouldn’t be his home anyway. They’ve fucked it completely up. 

No one talks to Rhodey about the rumors. The last time someone tried to, Rhodey had them flipped over to their backs and his teeth were bared with threats dripping down into the face. 

He’s terrifying. He’s one of the top recruits the superiors have seen, and he doesn’t seem to necessarily give a damn about anything but the mission. 

“That’s all that matters,” Rhodey will say, and they like that because secretly it feels horrible to send men off to die but if you can convince them that they themselves don’t matter in place of a nation, then you’re pretty set to go and you can tell the grieving family that and hopefully none of them see past it. 

He remembers the jokes that Tony used to say, the way that he cooked breakfast in the morning. He misses Tony. But he feels the shame burn at the back of his neck when only his sister will write him letters usually, and he moves on. 

You move on. And you hope like hell that whatever is following you doesn’t keep up your own pace (or give you nightmares). 

-

Years pass. Tony still thinks about Rhodey. Rhodey still thinks about Tony. 

No one calls Rhodey “Rhodey.” He goes by Jim. 

They engineer their crossing-paths to avoid each other or barely glance. 

(Tony thinks Rhodey still looks gorgeous. 

Rhodey still likes the way Tony talks with his hands.) 

- 

Tony Stark disappears. 

Rhodey knows he’s alive. He fucking knows it. Everyone says it’s a great mystery, he’s the next Jimmy Hoffa or Amelia Earhart. 

He manages to convince the US military that it’s not a waste of time to look for perhaps the man that could help save the world one day. 

“Is this personal?” One of the commanders asks. “I’ve heard certain rumors.” 

“Rumors,” Rhodey responds flatly. “Are you also in the habit of believing stoned out teenagers when they call in aliens, Commander?” 

“No.” 

“Then there’s your damn answer.” 

-

Tony is alive. He’s also incredibly pissed that he’s stuck in a cave and will most likely die, but he’s doing his best to ensure a possibility of not doing that.  

He remembers Rhodey telling him at MIT that he could survive just about anything after Tony fell down two flights of stairs in a frat house with nary a scratch. 

Different circumstances, although the cave is probably about as dirty as a frat house. Hell, it might be cleaner. 

Yinsen knows about him. About how Tony might still be in love even if he resents him and how really he understands the situation and how scared he was, but now’s not the time. 

-

Rhodey sees an explosion. He starts flying. 

There’s a man walking alone. Shirt over his head, stumbling. 

“Get your canteen out and have it ready, I think we found him,” Rhodey barks. 

His heart soars despite his plea for it not to. 

Tony is weak. He falls into Rhodey’s arm and it feels like home after a long time to him, but that’s not--it’s not quite right. 

Jim doesn’t say anything. He gets Tony to the helicopter and leans him against a seat and has someone else pour water for him. 

“Thank you,” Tony rasps out. 

“You okay?” One of the soldiers, Walters, asks. 

“Better than the damn Friends reruns,” Tony pants. 

Rhodey hides a laugh. 

- 

Tony gets back home to a silent home and he’s happy to just lay down and let Jarvis be concerned about his fluid and food intake. 

“Your heart...you created a new one?” 

“Helped,” Tony says. “Better for me, right?” 

“Depends on your definition, Sir.” 

Tony supposes that that is correct. 

He goes to a base to talk about his capture because they want to know all about it and how he escaped. 

Tony doesn’t feel much like saying that. He instead listens to men call Rhodey “Jim,” and realizes that life cannot go back to what it was and that Jim goes for drinks on Fridays and avoids looking at Tony on purpose for a variety of reasons, but Tony thinks one reason is that Tony nearly ruined his life. 

He also announces that he’s stopping weapon production because there’s a rat and that’s just not a legacy he wants to upkeep. 

“Until you find the weak link?” Rhodey asks. “You know that the company is the top provider for the US military.” 

“Permanently,” Tony answers, tone clipped. “My past is war, my present does not have to be. I’m sure you could get Hammer cheaper. Just like in college when it came to Smirnoff or Grey Goose. Might be a bit shit at times, but gets the job done.” 

-

Tony leaves and aches to ask Rhodey about what happened between them, but that’s not really something that he should be asking so he doesn’t and instead he leaves. 

But then two days later they send Rhodey. 

“I hope they know this is the least effective way to convince me,” Tony says. “And it’s not going to work.” 

“That’s what I said,” Jim says. “But they don’t listen.” 

“Well come on in if they’re wasting your time and mine.” 

Jim notices that there are no personal touches. Art is not picked out by Tony because he knows that Tony secretly hates modern art because it doesn’t feel like anything to him. There are sleek counters and no pictures and Tony is tired and wearing an old MIT sweatshirt that looks like....

It’s his. 

“How are you?” Jim asks awkwardly. 

“Oh I’m doing just peachy,” Tony answers, voice tight and strained. “How is the army treating you? You having a hell of a time?” 

“So far.” 

It’s silent after that. 

But Tony’s been thinking and Rhodey knows he’s never silent for long. 

“Why was the military looking for me?” 

He stops.

“You’re a valuable asset.” 

“That’s not it,” Tony says. “I’ve read their files on disappearances. I’m as good as dead when it came to the Ten Rings. So what happened?” 

“I knew you,” Rhodey answers. “I remember that you had a weird affinity for surviving through all kinds of bullshit. So I didn’t really think that you had died.” 

Tony pauses. 

It’s an awkward silence. 

“Okay,” Tony says. “Okay.” 

-

Rhodey goes back and says that Tony managed to get a few good shots in. 

He doesn’t say anything about Iron Man and shoots down suspicions that it’s Tony Stark, who he calles “Tones” sometimes if he’s slipping or tired. 

He also gets called Rhodey. 

It’s really not a surprise when he submits his two-week-equivalent and starts in Stark Industries as one of the rocket scientists. 

(And if there are rumors that War Machine is Colonel Rhodes, he’s not exactly going to confirm or deny.) 

[erintoknow]

i said peel the skin raw

fallen hero fanfic time again ~5.2k words [ao3] (9.8k/50k for nanowrimo)

title from [Ripe by Screaming Females]

–––

Dr. Mortum lets go of Jane’s arm as the two of them step into the laboratory proper. No experiments running in the background today. That’s different. Mortum glances back to her friend, a nervous smile to try and ease the tension. It doesn’t work. “Do you want a drink?”

“A drink?” Jane crosses her arms, scans the room. It’s been months since you felt the need to have Jane make a note of the exits in Mortum’s lab. Worktables, computer bank, a makeshift office space offset with fake-walls, everything is way too clean. “What’s with you today? We’re at your place now, can we finally talk about whatever’s going on?”

“I’ve got wine? Champagne, a nice Pinot Noir…”

“Mortum.”

“No? Alas.” Dr. Mortum exaggerates her shrug, brings a hand up to fiddle with her glasses. “How are you doing, mon amie? It’s been a while since we last talked. And a lot has… happened.”

Jane snorts, “Yeah, no shit.” Her expression softens, maybe that was a little too harsh. “I’m sorry. Things have been busy on my end too.”

“Mm-hm.” Mortum nods, not taking her eyes off the wine-rack she’s examining. “Adrestia keeping you busy?”

Jane falters, running her hands up her arms. Some scars, but nothing like yours, smoother. Jane can wear pull off a short sleeve dress like this without any fear. “Y–yeah. She didn’t cause any problems for you at the auction, did she?”

“You know how you advised me to just buy the teleportation gun?” Mortum taps a finger on one bottle, then pulls out the one next too it and moves to pour herself a drink. “She stole it.”

“Ah.” Jane grimaces. “I– actually, that’s part of why I needed to talk to you?”

“Oh? – Are you sure you don’t want a drink?” Mortum holds up the bottle. “Native Californian, 1979, summer before the big one hit.”

“Oh hell, fine.” Jane sighs and lets her arms drop to her sides. “My… my boss wants me to arrange a meeting. To, uh… return your gun.”

Mortum hands Jane a full glass and the two of them take seats around the workshop table. “She wants to meet? With me directly?” Mortum frowns. “In person?”

“Yeah. Tonight, actually. There’s this dinky bar on Melrose called La Catina, she’ll be there at six o’clock.”

“Do you think she suspects anything?”

“I couldn’t say.” Jane takes a sip from her glass. Need to steady her nerves. Need to calm down. Jane doesn’t get jumpy. “I watch my thoughts around her but… you know. How would I know?”

Dr. Mortum swirls the wine around her glass, thinking. “Will you be there as well?”

“I… have my own chores, I’m sorry.” This is a delicate rope you’re threading, but you need to sew these pieces back together before everything falls apart. “For what it’s worth, she’d be meeting you out of armor.”

That gets her attention, “Out of armor?”

“If she knew we were…” Jane makes a face, “planning on, uh, ditching her, I don’t think she’d be offering to trust you with who she was.” There’s a twinge of guilt for lying that blatantly. It’s for the greater good though. Right?

“Truthfully, Adrestia hasn’t been a terrible employer. Always paid on time, resourceful in finding rare materials.” Is Jane holding her breath, or is that you? “But she is dangerous. Liable to end poorly if my experience is any indicator. And then there’s the matter of your mandatory employment by her.”

“Th–that’s true.”

“Mon amie, how did you come to work for Adrestia, anyway?”

“W–what?” Jane gives an uncomfortable laugh and fiddles with the glass in her hands. “I mean, you know… girl on her own, looking to get a leg up in the world…”

Dr. Mortum downs the rest of her own glass in one go. “Do you remember when you asked me to look into that ‘Shroud’ character? Back right before the Auction?”

Something tightens in Jane’s gut. “Uh, yeah? Did you find something out? About her?”

“She’s Lord Ember’s number one enforcer in San Francisco. A tactile telepath with some kind of…” Mortum frowns to herself, “life… energy drain ability.”

“…life drain?”

“Not very scientific I know.” The woman’s frown only deepens. “Merde, what I’d give for the chance to study her.”

“Uh– Doctor?”

“Right, anyway, the people whose minds she… consumes, she can sift through their memories at will. I couldn’t say how long she retains the information but it makes for one very handy interrogation-execution package.”

Can feel the goose-bumps running up the back of Jane’s neck. That just talking about Shroud like this is producing a reaction in Jane is not helping your nerves in the slightest. “She… eats peoples minds…?”

“So it appears. What’s left is a body, weakened and comatose. Not something that would last more than a few hours without life support. That’s the basis for the rumors behind her having a ‘death touch’.”

“That’s… awful, when you put it like that. But it’s not exactly new information.”

“Have you crossed paths with her before, mon amie?”

“No. I mean – I don’t think I have?” Jane hunches over, “Seriously, doc, what’s wrong? There’s been something off with you ever since we talked on the phone last night.” It can’t be what it’s starting to sound like. It can’t be. There’s no way. There’s a mistake, somehow. A mix-up.

“I’m sorry, I’m just not sure how to approach this. Or… what to make of what I found.” Dr. Mortum eyes the wine bottle, plainly weighing the benefits of pouring herself another glass. “Maybe it would be best just to show you directly.”

“Show me? Show me what?”

Dr. Mortum puts the wine glass down, reaches a hand across the table to grasp Jane’s. “You really don’t know?”

Jane stiffens under the doctor’s touch but doesn’t pull her hand away. “I wouldn’t be asking like this if I did.”

She doesn’t let go of Jane’s hand, instead shifting her chair so they’re both on the same side of the table. With her free hand she gestures towards the monitor screen installed on the near wall. “While I was digging around, I got my hands on some footage through a contact of mine.”

“Footage?”

Jane watches as Dr. Mortum brings a holographic keyboard to life in front of her. The monitor flickers on as Mortum navigates through a series of files. “Here we are. This… might be difficult to watch.”

“Doctor,” Jane’s voice is dry, “just what on earth are you trying to… show… me…?” Voice fades to nothing as the video file expands to fill the whole screen.  The video is grainy and low quality, shades of grey like a cheap security camera. But the picture jostles and moves in strange motions, hand-held? No – almost first-person esque. Mods? An eye-camera?

The center of the screen is taken up by woman on a chair. Ziplock ties bind her by the wrists and ankles to the metal frame, and the chair doesn’t shift at all as the woman struggles. Welded to the floor? The woman on the chair has a black eye, bruises on her arms, chin. Curly hair framing a too-familiar face. 

There’s no way.

There’s no possible way.

You look down to your – Jane looks down to her hands, rubs her wrist with her fingers. No bruises, no marks. Not – not anymore. This is Jane. this is Jane’s body. This kind of thing doesn’t happen to Jane. She’s safe. She’s nobody. 

But there’s no tattoos on the woman on the screen.

The camera turns away and Shroud is stepping into the room. Too-fancy dress, veiled face, and long gloves. The camera steps back getting a wider view of the whole scene as Shroud steps around the woman in the chair. “Be reasonable Ace, all we want to know is how you did it.” The voice, tinny through the speakers, is still enough to set Jane on edge. Grinding her teeth, nails digging into her arms.

“Did what?” Jane’s voice. Fuck. Shit. Piss. “I don’t understand why I’m here.”

Shroud’s voice is slow, faux patience. “Two million and thirty three thousand. That’s how much you’ve lost Lord Ember.” The skeletal woman stops in front of – Jane? Ace? The woman tied to the chair. One hand tugging back against the fabric of her gloves.

“I’ve been playing fair. I’m just lucky.” Picture of hurt innocence. Literal.

“Hmm… Luck.” Shroud reaches out a hand, and someone off screen passes off a gun. A revolver. Even with the poor visual fidelity it looks like an antique. “Let’s see just how lucky you are.”

Without thinking about it, Jane finds herself reach out for Dr. Mortum’s arm, pulling the woman closer. Mortum shifts position to get closer, puts her arm around Jane instead, holding her tight.

There’s no one for the woman in the chair. Shroud, calm and silent as death itself loads a bullet into the revolver. As she points the gun at the woman’s leg, Jane flinches, buries her face in Mortum’s side. But there’s no ‘bang,’ no screams.

Another bullet loaded. Shroud humming to herself. Points at the woman’s shoulder. Jane cries out, hides her face against Dr. Mortum again. The woman on the screen remains stoic the whole time. No ‘bang’ this time either.

Third bullet. Pointed at the forehead. The chamber spins and now on the woman on the screen – Ace – flinches the color draining out of her face. Did Ace on the screen cry out that time or was that Jane again?

Shroud chuckles as she waves the gun in Ace’s face. “Don’t be a baby. It’s just rubber bullets, to see how long your luck lasts. It won’t kill you.”

Ace shrinks back against the chair. Jane’s own breathing is becoming increasingly harder, the body slipping out of your control again – like before. “You will, though.” Ace says.

“Hm?” Shroud leans back, a hand on her hip. She holds the gun out and again, someone off screen takes it from her. Both hands free now, she starts tugging at one of her gloves. “Not if you cooperate with me.”

“Liar.” Ace strains against her bonds again. It’s hard to breath, hard to watch. But something won’t let you look away either. “You’ll kill me, and that will be the end of you.”

“Threats? Really now? In your position?” Shroud’s glove is off now, and the camera person takes another step back. “I’ve looked into you, Ace. Bitter, lonely soul. No close family, no close friends. Nobody that will miss you.” Shroud pulls back her veil. Skin deathly pale and sunken, sallow features. Something like a walking corpse with a death’s head grin. “Nobody will avenge you.”

“Still not lying.” An impossible level of conviction in those words. Ace’s wrists are bleeding now, plastic cutting into skin. But there’s no getting away. No escaping. “Do your worst sucker, but that will be the biggest mistake of your life.”

“I’ve heard it all before.” Shroud says, bored, as she flexes her hand now. Too thin, too bony. “Now… let’s see what you’ve been hiding from me.” Her hand grasps Ace’s face and Ace  screams, and you can’t, can’t keep watching. Jane hides her face against Mortum’s side. Don’t look until the screaming stops.

Ace sits in the chair, breathing but limp. Sunken eyes, sallow cheeks, looking awfully like she did when you found Jane in the hospital. Shroud, in contrast looks radically different. Less a corpse and more a woman carved from marble. A wide grin across her face, making a show of licking her lips. “Boosts were always my favorite.”

“What did you learn?” The voice comes from off camera.

“Lone operator.” Shroud puts a finger to her head, eyes closed in a too familiar motion. Her sleeve falls back against gravity, not enough to reveal anything definitive but are those shapes hints of tattoos? Geometric. Someone else far too familiar. “Could see the numbers before the ball landed. Same with the cards.” Shroud shrugs, then smirks towards the camera. “Cute trick. Tell him that he doesn’t have to worry, she’s not one of Hollow Ground’s crew. Just someone who miscalculated. Badly.”

And it’s too much. Jane staggers to her feet. “I–I–I– I have to– I need a walk. I need to get a hold of myself. I need–”

The off-screen voice snickers. “Guess her luck finally ran out. What should we do with the body?”

Shroud flexes her exposed hand, slowly tugging her glove back on. “Sell her for parts, let her recoup some of the cost that way.”

Nausea riles up and Jane collapses to the floor, hands on the tiles, retches, then vomits. Did you just watch yourself– watch Jane, die?

“Mon amie?” Dr. Mortum hovers by your side, hands outstretched but not quite touching.

“I’m f–f–f–fine.” You insist. Tears falling from your eyes into the pool of ejected wine and bile on the floor, more running out your nose. Can feel your body shaking, arms struggling to hold yourself off the floor.

“Come on, mon amie, let me help you up.” There’s a brief pause and then arms reach around your shoulders, pulling you back to your feet, holding you steady even as you continue to shake. “Let’s get you to the bathroom.”

“S–s–sorry. I–I’m sorry.”

Mortum leads you out into the adjoining bathroom, “I’ll clean it up. You just take a moment, okay?” A light touch to your back makes you jump, and Mortum hesitates, clearly at a loss for what to do. 

So are you.

Stare at your face in the mirror. Hair a mess, eyes red, a mess. Everything’s a mess. This face that’s yours but not yours, Jane’s face. Or Ace’s face? Hold yourself up with your hands bracing against the bathroom sink.

What do you do?

Clean up. Clean yourself up. Clean Jane up. Get it together. Get a hold on yourself. Jane sucks in air until her lungs hurt, then slowly lets it all out. Does it again. Third time. Mortum leaves to clean the mess on the floor.

Never felt more like a puppeteer as you do now, putting Jane through the motions. Blow the nose, water on the face. Wash off the tears, snot, vomit, ruined make-up. Hyper-aware of the differences between your face and hers. Smaller nose, rounder face, no freckles, softer eyes. Just fooling yourself this whole time – some sort of sick fantasy on your part. Letting yourself getting lured in by a shared hair and eye color, a similar inability to tan. 

Sometimes, in these more emotional moments it gets difficult to remember Jane is an act you’re playing, a mask you’re wearing. Not that you’ve ever been good at separating your feelings. The fiasco with Julia can attest to that.

Can’t say you were prepared for ‘interrogation by a Farm-trained telepath’ to be another point of blurred boundaries between the two of you. Grab a wash cloth off the hook, take a deep breath then bury your face in the fabric to muffle your scream. When Jane runs out of breath, she finishes drying off her face, adjusts her dress before walking back into the lab.

Mortum gives Jane a sheepish wave as she spots her, “Do you need a drink?”

“I’m going to need something harder than wine this time.” Jane replies, rubbing her hands over her face.

“I was thinking similarly.” She’s already back by the kitchenette. Jane slumps into the nearest chair, listening to the sound of glasses being poured. “I’m sorry,” she says, “I should have given more warning. I just…”

“I don’t think there’s a warning adequate enough for something like that.” Jane suppresses a shudder, only looking up to take the –very large– glass of whiskey offered to her. “So that was really her… death-touch deal?”

Mortum nods, nursing her own large glass. “Yes. It was passed along to me as an example of Shroud in action. But I wouldn’t have bothered putting you through that except for–”

Jane cuts her off, “who the the victim was.”

“Mm.” Dr. Mortum watches Jane carefully over the rim of her glasses.

“How old is the video?”

Don’t say three years, don’t say three years, don’t say three years.

“About three years.” Mortum answers.

“Fuck.”

“Mon amie?”

“Goddamnit.” Jane laughs, high-pitched and frantic. “So then that person on the video, Ace, that was…”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Well.” Jane takes a long drink, gasping for air when she puts the glass down on the table. “I get why you wanted to just show me the video.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

That gets another, more bitter laugh. “We kind of have to, don’t we?”

“Mon amie…” Dr. Mortum’s voice is low, face furrowed in worry. “How far back can you remember?”

“I…” Jane hesitates, then clenches her fists. “About three years. Woke up in the hospital. Everything hurt. My boss got me out.” What would have happened if you had waited to come back the next day? Or snuck in a day earlier? It had been… sheer luck you had been able to steal away Jane’s body when you had.

Had it been luck?

Jane exhales, a long shaking breath. “I don’t remember anything before that.”

“Saving someone’s life is certainly one way to ensure loyalty.” Dr. Mortum’s voice is soft, low. When did her hand find Jane’s? How long has she been holding it?

“I don’t– I’m not sure that she did.”

“Did what?”

“Save my life.”

“You’ll be free of her one day.” She squeezes Jane’s hand.

Jane only flinches, pulls her hand back. “That’s– that’s not what I mean. I… oh god. I don’t know how to say this.” Never mind how to say it. What to say is the more pressing issue. 

“I’m not sure I’m following, mon amie.”

“Of course not.” Jane snaps back. “You don’t exactly have the full picture – I mean, neither do I but I’ve got more of the – the goddamn puzzle pieces, fuck.” Another long drink ending in a gasp for breath. Try not to think too much about worried concern on Mortum’s face.  This is stupid. What are you doing. Shut up Ariadne. 

Dr. Mortum says nothing, confound her. No well-meaning advice, no comforting words. Just a worried look.

“Look I – I haven’t been entirely honest with you.”

“Well, that’s hardly a surprise, considering our respective businesses.”

“Just… let me finish. I don’t – I don’t really know how to sell this. You aren’t going to believe me.” Jane’s smile is brittle, hands hugging her sides.

Mortum shakes her head, “Try me.”

“Okay. Well.” Jane fiddles with the hem of her dress, fingers worrying the fringe. “I’ve told you I can’t just… quit my job with Adrestia.”

She nods.

“And I knew Adrestia…. had saved my life, I just… had no idea to what extent.” Jane pauses, chewing furiously at the inside of her cheek. “I don’t think she knew either. But. Okay. So. Three years ago, Adrestia springs me out of the hospital…. who knows, maybe days, maybe hours, before I was due to get carved up for organ replacements. Following me?”

“I’m following.”

“And– and I was weak. I was real weak. It took me months just to get well enough to get out of bed again, to walk, a whole year before I could even begin to start doing the simplest jobs for her. But– but there’s still…”

“The question of how you survived Shroud at all.” Mortum finishes and Jane nods.

“Except, that’s the thing. I didn’t. I didn’t survive. I’m not some special exception.”

Mortum’s hand finds Jane’s again, a light touch, a chance to pull back. When Jane doesn’t, she holds tighter.

“My… boss is a telepath, right? A very powerful one.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Well… She can… Adrestia can possess people.”

That gets a quizzical look, Mortum’s eyebrows furrowing together. “Possess people?” She echoes back.

“It’s– It’s the next step up, I guess, from just tweaking someone’s thoughts.” Jane winces as Mortum’s grip on her hand tightens. “Only… most people, you know, there’s someone already home. It makes possession difficult. And the longer you do it, the harder it gets.” Jane’s voice drops, “And it’s… it’s horrific for the victim. Watching their body move without their say so. Trapped in your own mind.”

“Jane…” Mortum’s voice is barely a whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

Jane tenses up, eyes wet as she laughs. “You really shouldn’t be. Shroud… evicted the previous tenant, and I? I moved in. Made myself at home.”

“What? Mon amie, I don’t understand.”

“What’s not to get doc?” More nervous laughter. “I’m the man behind the curtain. I am my boss.”

Mortum lets go of Jane’s hand, the absence hurts worse the pressure she’d been applying before. “I don’t understand. You’re not telepathically sensitive.”

“Jane isn’t my body. Adrestia is. Possessing her. Me? I’m… not so sure anymore.”

“What? Use your words.”

“Shroud.” You spit the name out, feeling the bile in the back of your throat. “Killed Ace. We both saw it,” Jane gestures at the monitor. “And then, I came along. I needed… I needed a face. I couldn’t risk being seen. Being recognized. And– and here w–w–was this body. This empty body, just waiting.”

“A puppet.”

“Yes. I stole her. Me?” You stare down at Jane’s hands. “I didn’t even know who she was.”

Dr. Mortum’s face has gone cold. A careful blank mask. Unreadable as she stares you down. “So.” Her voice is even, controlled. “Who am I talking to right now?”

“I’m– I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for– for lying to you this whole time.”

“But… why would you do that?” Her voice strains, cracks against the pressure to keep an even tone.

Jane looks down, stares at the floor, hands helpless in her lap. “This… whatever this is, wasn’t supposed to happen. I just needed someone to build my armor. You weren’t supposed to be…” Jane makes a face and you wonder if she looks as helpless as you feel right now. “…nice.”

“Nice? Nice?”

“I liked you, okay?” You response comes back quick, defensive. “You could be funny. And you’re smart, didn’t pry much but you also cared. I wasn’t ready for that. I had been… alone. For so long. And I didn’t want to let it go. I was afraid to let it go. Even though I knew I should have.” Jane’s voice drops, “I should have told you months ago. But I… I liked how I was around you. I was afraid of how things would change.”

Mortum pushes up her glasses to rub at her eyes. “And that’s different from how you normally are, I take it?”

“It… it reminded me of how I could be, before I died.”

“Before you… died?”

“I mean, before Adrestia died, not Jane. Ugh, different disaster. Even longer back.”

“I’m afraid I’ve lost the plot on this one.” It almost sounds like a joke, but Mortum doesn’t smile.

“At heart… I’m kind of a coward.”

“Lying, hiding behind other people’s bodies… I can’t say I’m inclined to disagree right now.” Mortum pushes her glasses back up her nose, eyes boring holes through you behind orange-tinted lenses. “I can’t say I appreciate being made fun of much, either.”

That one hurts. “It wasn’t like that!” You clench your fists, can feel the tension in Jane’s shoulders. “I meant everything I said.”

“Even about your boss?”

“Is it really a surprise that I don’t like myself?”

Mortum doesn’t respond, beyond a “Hmm.”

“And then you said you were going to stop working for Adrestia. That you wanted me to quit with you. And I– I tried to tell you. I couldn’t. I literally couldn’t quit. I literally can’t stop being Adrestia. No matter how much I want to. So… when you said you had a plan, in case she – In case I did something against you and me – Jane, I needed to know what it was to-to-to defend myself.”

“Hence stealing my teleportation gun from me.”

“What? No!” You wave your hands, desperate for her to believe you. “That was an accident. I w–w–was serious about returning it. I– I wanted to try and fix things but I… I don’t know how.”

“Sometimes, Jane, the only way to fix an experiment is to trash the whole thing and try something else.”

“I…” Your voice falters. “I don’t know how to interpret that.”

The silence that stretches out between the two of you is physically painful. Finally, Dr. Mortum breaks the tension, rapping her fingers on the worktable. “So.”

“I’m sorry.” “Why not just approach me as yourself? Why this farce?”

“I couldn’t!” You hold your head in your hands, pulling at your hair. “Too many people know who I was before. I couldn’t be sure I could trust you. That I could trust anyone. And by the time I thought I could…”

“I had already decided that I couldn’t trust Adrestia.”

“Yeah.” You shift in your seat. “I just… you let me feel real, at least for a little while. That I could have friends.”

“Friends.” Her voice is flat.

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” Your smile fades, “Were friends, I guess. Even if you don’t believe anything else I’ve said, you have to believe me on that. Please. I just… I know it’s selfish but I just wanted to be happy for once.”

“You’re going to have to try harder than that.” There’s a desperate edge in Mortum’s voice now. You can’t bring yourself to lift Jane’s head to see the other woman’s face.

Jane shrinks back in her seat. It’s weird. You keep expecting your usual panic symptoms whenever things start to skirt too close to the truth. “I don’t know what else I can say… when we first met, I didn’t even think of myself as human, never mind a woman.”

“Human? You’re going to have to explain that one to me.”

“Fuck, I– I guess I better.”

“Stalling.”

“This isn’t easy, shit!” Jane chews her cheek, hugging her arms tight against herself. “Okay… um…” You glance at the image on the monitor, still frozen. “Scroll back, like thirty seconds on the video?”

“Still stalling.”

Jane groans, a pleading look on her face. “Please, just… humor me on this, okay? I’m going somewhere with this.”

Dr. Mortum sighs. With a gesture the keyboard reappears beneath her hand and the video snaps back, frame by frame.

“There!”

Mortum stops the rewind. “Alright, what am I supposed to be looking at?”

“Look at Shroud’s sleeve. Where it falls back, and right before the skinsuit starts on her arm. Do you see anything?”

You don’t look at the screen, instead watching Dr. Mortum’s face as she scrutinizes the grainy image. “I don’t…”

“Those designs, just poking out the top there?”

“Okay…”

“Re-gene tattoos.”

Sharp in-take of breath. “Truly?”

“I’d recognize them anywhere.”

“I see them now…” A tight frown settles onto the doctor’s face. “Do you think Lord Ember is aware he has a regene in his employ? An escapee or…?” She stops, shakes her head. “Where are you going with this?”

“I’m the s–s–same as– the same as Shroud.” Jane clenches her hands. “The– the other me, I mean.”

“…A re-gene?” What does that look on Mortum’s face mean?

Jane nods, then shakes her head. “Do you know what a cuckoo is?”

She narrows her eyes at Jane. “I… might be aware that they exist.” If anyone knew what a cuckoo was, trust it to be Dr. Mortum. Yet another reason you couldn’t have trusted her with the truth at first.

Jane spreads her arms wide, you choke back a sob. “Well, you’re– you’re looking at one right now. I couldn’t– I couldn’t let them find me. My other body is… I mean, my real body is just…”

“Mon dieu, how long have you been on the run?”

“A few years… before, uh…” You swallow back the bile in your throat. Might as well go all in. If she’s going to fire a gun at you, better make sure it’s a headshot. “Before Sidestep.”

“You have got to be kidding me.” Dr. Mortum groans, rubbing her nose. “No. Of course. All the pieces fall into place. Merde!”

“I g–g–got caught once, already. I can’t go back. Not again. So… stay out of sight. Use a go-between.”

“I understand that, mon amie, but I wish you would have trusted me.” Dr. Mortum groans. “For both our sakes.”

“I know.” You run your hands over your face, avoiding the doctor’s gaze. “Look… if you– if you want revenge, I’d rather you just… shoot me then tip them off. I’ll die before I go back.”

“Did you seriously think I could ever hurt…” The doctor hesitates, “her?” 

“Yes.” You whisper, unable to raise you voice any louder. “I’m… afraid. Always. All the time. But– but I’m telling you now. You deserve the truth.”

“Even if it ends up killing you?”

“I wouldn’t argue that I don’t deserve it.”

“Okay…” Dr. Mortum scrunches her face up. Deep in thought. “You were planning to meet me tonight. In your own body.”

“That’s right.”

“Were you planning to tell me then?”

“If I didn’t chicken out again. Neutral ground. It was– It was supposed to be safer.”

“Safer. For you maybe.” The disdain is plain in her voice. “This is a lot to process.”

“I know.”

“I need–” The doctor’s voice cracks as she struggles to keep her composure. Furious at you, to be sure. Can’t blame her. “I need some time. Mon dieu, I need some fucking time.”

“I… understand.”

“I will keep your secret. And I will do you the favor of pretending you don’t know how to get into my lab.” Dr. Mortum raises a pointed finger at you. “But I need some time. To… think things over. To figure out how I feel about this whole… disaster.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you sorry for lying to me or sorry you got caught?”

Jane pulls back, frowning. “I didn’t– I didn’t have to tell you any of this. I chose to…”

“Shoot yourself in the face.”

“I guess.”

“Right. I’m trying to keep that in mind.” Mortum gets up, turns her back on you. “Just. Go. Get out of here. I’ll contact you when I’m ready to talk.

“Do you know whe–”

“I don’t know, Adrestia! It could be a week, it could be years! It could be never! Let me think!”

“Okay.” Jane pulls herself to her feet. You feel hollow, empty. “You… know how to reach me.”

“Just go.”

“I’m sorry.”

You manage to hold yourself together long enough to get Jane back home. Don’t even bother undressing before collapsing face first into the bed. The best you can hope for is that Dr. Mortum doesn’t sell you out. But there’s no recovering that relationship. Christ. If this is how it goes with Mortum, how will Julia take the truth?

Julia deserves to know.

Her knowing will kill you.

You roll over onto your back, close your eyes as you slowly untether yourself from Jane’s body.

Would dying really be so bad? Compared to this?

[vaingloriosa]

God Shot

Connor x Reader

Words: 1,807

Summary: The moment he stepped into your humble coffee shop, you knew you were done for. The moment his eyes met yours, Connor was done for.

Prompt: “So… you come here often?” “I work here.”

Author’s note: most of this was written after i got a root canal done so if it sounds wonky, blame my root canal self. she....she’s still valid ://

God Shot: a shot of espresso that is so good, and inexplicable, that it is believe to be blessed by God

masterlist

When Hank gave up drinking a few days ago, he traded in alcohol for coffee.

Connor would scold the Lieutenant about the effects of coffee by listing off the harmful effects of caffeine consumption. Though, after the third attempt to get Hank to reconsider his decision by reminding him the addiction to caffeine is real, Connor gives up as Hank pours himself another cup while making direct eye contact with him.

It’s on the sixth day when Hank brings Connor along for his “new” morning routine.

Hank never noticed the small coffee shop down the street that apparently opened two months ago until turning over a new leaf. Connor had noticed the construction of the small shop but didn’t pay much attention due to the nature of his chaotic lifestyle. The bell on top of the door signals their arrival and Connor takes in the homey autumn decorations all around the shop. Several patrons sit quietly along the window in hushed tones, light pop music surrounds the room, and the sounds of fingers typing over keyboardless keyboards and coffee grinders blend together in odd harmony. The air is thick with the smell of ground up coffee beans with a hint of spices, pumpkin, Connor supposes. A sweet voice that exclaims Hank’s name lifts him out of his observation.

Connor turns his attention to the barista before him and feels his thirium pump skip a beat. Unusual.

“Good morning! Looks like you brought a friend this time.” You nod your head over to address the man besides your usual customer. You notice him swallow thickly and bashfully nod his head, extending his arm out for you to take.

“I’m Connor.”

Connor.

Your name leaves your lips as you shake his hand with a firm grip. The touch of his skin against yours makes you develop goose skin and you tell yourself you can’t be developing another crush. You bite your bottom lip and curse yourself for getting hot in the face.

“Connor’s my partner over at the precinct.” Hank gives you a side smile as he picks up on the way you look at him.

“Ah, it’s nice to finally meet you. Hank has mentioned you a few times, nothing but nice things of course, and it’s, uh, nice to put a face to a name,” you manage to say among the heart palpitations you’re currently experiencing. Connor looks over to the Lieutenant then back at you with an arched eyebrow.

Hank shrugs at his odd behavior. “What? Would you rather I talk shit about you behind your back?”

You snicker at their exchange as you whip up Hank’s regular order of black coffee with three sugars. From your peripheral, you can tell the two are exchanging some “heated” words and you can’t help but feel your ears burn. Sometimes you wish you didn’t have such a hopeless romantic heart.

You slide the coffee cup across the counter just as the argument dies down on their tongues. Hank gives you a few dollars and tells you to keep the change. You smile, waving a goodbye to Connor who lingers a bit after Hank heads towards the door. Connor feels the breath caught behind his throat as he notices that you’re actually waving at him. He waves back as a small smile graces his lips and you swear if other people weren’t around, you would have melted on the spot.

Connor can’t get you out of his mind.

When he notices that Hank isn’t going to the shop anymore, he passively asks what happened to the routine he had going for him. Hank waves him off, saying that work has gotten in the way and had settled on the filmy black liquid in the break room. Now Connor doesn’t have an excuse to see you.

Or does he?

Three days into a tough investigation involving a series of murders, Connor looks up to notice Hank nose deep in several files with fingers carding his grey hair. His eyes shift towards the empty coffee cup on half-haphazardly abandoned near the edge of his desk.

“Do you want a refill?” Connor asks in a non-conspicuous tone. Hank lets out a huff and waves his hand in the general area of the cup and leans back on his chair. Connor gets up and makes his way towards the break room. He makes sure that no one is watching him as he removes his synthetic skin to touch the coffee maker. In a matter of seconds, Connor causes the appliance to break from the inside.

The break room needed a new coffee maker that didn’t violate several health and safety codes anyways.

With his plan set in motion, Connor waltzes over to the Lieutenant’s desk with newfound purpose. “Unfortunately, the coffee machine is broken. Could I-”

Before he can finish his thought, Hank shoves his hands into his jacket pocket and slams a few dollars on the hard surface for Connor to take. He waves for him to scram, dismissing him to do what needs to be done in order for him not to crash and burn. A small smile creeps along the corners of Connor’s mouth as he finds another peep in his step.

His plan is finally in motion.

It’s an overwhelming sensation to try and figure out humanity at its core. What it means to feel, to show emotion, to say the right things and do what is appropriate for that scenario. Even a year after everything that has happened, Connor is still learning about the world around him from a different, LED-less perspective. He’s still bound to fuck up on some things.

Like when he nearly loses his composure once he sees your face. The always graceful android is mere thrium mush when he’s around you. Your smile brightens up the room with a halo like aura around you.

You’re absolutely stunning.

And you’re absolutely stunned when you find Connor alone without his friend.

Your mouth becomes slightly agape but you catch yourself by smiling. You weren’t expecting him after a few days absence. You thought that maybe they finally grew tired of the coffee shop you own and perhaps forgotten all about it. You even thought that you would never see Connor again and you would be lying if you said you didn’t feel the heaviness in your chest.

“Hey, Connor! Long time no see, eh?” Eh? Really? You really went with such a stupid noise as “eh”? You want to slap yourself for making a fool out of yourself in front of your crush. Connor lets out an airy laugh and places his hands along the smooth white marble counter.

“I apologize. A tough investigation has our hands tied up,” Connor explains but the ending of his sentence isn’t lost on you; making you raise an eyebrow. Connor squints a little at your facial expression, unable to decipher such an odd response. You find the confused look on his face cute and you can’t help but snort out loud. You press a hand on your lips and shake your head.

“Um, never mind me! There’s no need to apologize, really. It’s just....good to see you again.” You quickly change the subject as you shift your gaze from his earthy brown eyes to the counter top. Gosh, you wish you would stop getting hot in the face every time you make eye contact with him.

“It’s nice to see you again, too,” Connor says your name and you feel as if you ascended to heaven once more. You peer over to him as a fond smile forms on his lips. You can’t help but reciprocate the action and you go back to feeling of weak knees and goosebumps that form along your arms.

“So,” you perk up immediately, “what can I get for ya?”

He reaches into his suit jacket pocket to fish for Hank’s money. “Hank’s usual, please.”

As you turn your back towards the coffee machine, Connor looks at both his sides to make sure no one is staring. Even with an encyclopedia for a mind, there’s a difference between knowing the connotation of a word and actually performing said behavior. He props his elbow on the counter top and rests his head on his closed fist. Connor relaxes his body so that he’s crossing his legs to be suave and without all the tension in his shoulders. When you return with the cup of coffee, your heart stops as your eyes lay upon Connor’s.

Upon your return, his mind gets wrapped up by your presence and all logic gets thrown out the window.

“So… you come here often?”

You place the coffee cup down on the counter. You can’t help but grin at Connor’s attempt at flirting. “I work here.”

Connor shuts his eyes and licks his bottom lip. Your breath gets caught in the back of your throat and you brace yourself by placing your hand on the cool marble.

“That’s right, you...yeah.” Oh, he most definitely blew it. Connor tries to play this off coolly and swipes the coffee cup into his hands then tries to leave.

“Wait!” you say, gesturing with your hands for him to stop while you raise the wooden door of the side counter. Connor turns to you and tilts his head. He can feel his thirium pump quicken but he’s aware of the sensation already. His whole body seems to cinch as he watches you approach him. Connor has never been this close to you before and he’s afraid he might shutdown because of it.

“Hey, I, um, I thought what you did was cute. Most of the time flirting can be awful but, sometimes it’s not all that bad when it comes from the right person. A genuine one at that.”

You press your hands against your cheek and chuckle at the fact that you’re really doing this. “When will I see you again?”

It’s Connor’s turn to be a flustered idiot. You can see a visible blue tint along his cheeks and you bite down on your tongue to stop yourself from screaming out loud. Gosh, he’s just as nervous, isn’t he?

“Well, I can come by tomorrow if you’d like?”

You beam up at him and you place your hands behind your back. “I’d love that.”

You two bid farewell for now. As you two separate, both of you go into your own type of giddiness. You dance a little to the soft music on the speakers as you return to your post behind the counter. Connor can’t help but smile at what just unfolded in a matter of minutes. He looks down at the coffee then realizes something scrawled on the brown sleeve.

It’s your phone number.

You didn’t need a pickup line for your own plan to be set in motion.

It worked.

Tagging: @kwaiky, @chrisevansthedoritobastard, @black-widow-fangirl, @yonaih, @wiredhawkes, @heysliver, @justadweebwithashittydream, @deviantramblings, @deviantsupporter, @divadonadance1

if y’all ever wanna get tagged, send me an ask!! i only tag those who actively interact with my work even if y’all didn’t ask. if u don’t want to be, send me a message as well.

[elderxprice]

Connor steps onto the balcony, plastic-cup of wine in hand. Kanonkop Pinotage, from South Africa. Kevin had frowned at the seventy-nine-dollar price tag, but Connor thought nothing of it as he swiped his Magic Band and took his receipt. I’m going to need this, he’d explained, tucking the bottle under his arm; and you will too, I guarantee it.

Four bottles later, Kevin still won’t admit Connor was right, but the wine on his lips speaks volumes; they are both tired, both sore, and both very overwhelmed.

Walt Disney World with a two-year-old is nothing like what they envisioned. They are making memories, sure, but so far most of them have involved tears and tantrums and a few untimely accidents that made Kevin throw his arms up and quickly pass the blame: you said he was potty-trained, Connor! like it is somehow Connor’s fault their toddler decided he had to pee the second they got on it’s a small world.

Still, it is not all bad. The look on their son’s face when he saw fireworks for the first time is something Connor will never forget; and the picture he took of Kevin walking towards the castle with Matthew on his shoulders is going to be blown up, framed, and hung over their ornamental fireplace the second they’re back in New York.

“Well, it took an entire hour, but he’s finally asleep,” Connor says, relieved. He takes a sip of wine, then leans down to kiss his husband.

“We’re not talking right now,” Kevin says, turning his head; Connor’s lips press against his cheek. “We’re fighting.”

Connor frowns, lowering himself into the chair beside Kevin’s. “Oh,” he swirls the wine in his cup, trying – and failing - to remember what about. “Why?”

Kevin rolls his eyes, then shows Connor his phone. Instagram is open, displaying a picture of Connor pushing Matthew in his stroller tagged as #strollermeat. “Okay,” he ventures, feeling confused. “It’s a picture of me; so what?”

“So,” Kevin says, clearly agitated; “I didn’t take it!” He winces, slowly glancing over his shoulder to ensure the volume of his sudden outburst did not wake their son. “Someone else did,” Kevin continues, in a much lower voice; “and posted it to dilfs_of_disneyworld.”

“Oh,” Connor says, again. “Is that why we’re fighting?”

“Of course, that’s why we’re fighting!” Kevin drops the phone onto the small table between them, crossing his arms over his chest in frustration. “Every other gay couple is on there, together; but I must not be ‘strollermeat’, enough.”

Connor brings the cup of wine back to his lips; he has to, to keep himself from laughing. “What does that even mean?” He takes a sip; then offers the rest to Kevin, who takes it gladly. “Honestly, Kevin, it sounds disgusting.”

His husband finishes the wine in one swallow, tossing the plastic cup behind him. Fortunately, it lands back in the room. “Well, it’s not. It means you’re a dad I’d like to fuck, who just happens to be pushing a stroller.”

“And here I thought you’d be happy to have such an attractive husband,” Connor teases, picking up Kevin’s phone. He has to admit: it is a really good picture. His hair is slightly wind-blown, and his clothes are stuck to his body in sweat, showing off what muscles he’s managed to attain by lugging baby stuff around for the past two years; - plus his calves look amazing. “But I guess if you don’t want to fuck me, wh –“

“I never said that,” Kevin interrupts, looking affronted. “I said we’re not talking. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

Connor hums; “Is that so?”

“Absolutely.” Kevin leans across the table, pressing a hand between Connor’s legs. “It’s absolutely so.”

This, right here, is another reason Connor is glad to have invested in so much wine. “You’re impossible,” he sighs. “Go run the shower; I’ll be there in a second.”

Kevin’s face lights up like it always does when he gets his way. “Sure thing, strollermeat,” he purrs, giving Connor a squeeze. “See you in five.”

Sex with Kevin is always an experience; more so, when he feels he has something to prove. Connor ends up bent over the sink, biting against a fist as Kevin winds a hand into his hair. They catch each other’s gaze in the mirror and Kevin smiles, mouthing an I love you that is accompanied by a particularly hard thrust. Connor rolls his eyes but smiles back, drawing a heart in the steam on the mirror. He gladly gets lost in the feeling.

When it’s over, Connor assumes Kevin’s pity-party is, too; but he’s proven wrong the next morning when he wakes up to Matthew and Kevin wearing the exact same outfit: grey Mickey Mouse t-shirts, and khaki cargo shorts.  

“From the gift shop,” Kevin explains, hiking Matthew further up his hip. “We look good, right?”

They do look good; but Kevin’s shirt is a little too tight, and his shorts are a little too short, and his hair brings Connor back seventeen years, to the first time he ever laid his eyes on Elder Price.

“Matthew looks good,” Connor says tiredly, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You look like you’re wearing children’s clothing.”

“It’s an adult medium; you can check the tag if you don’t believe me.” Matthew buries his face in Kevin’s shoulder, whining that he’s hungry. “He’s hungry,” Kevin says, stating the obvious. “I put some clothes out for you. Get dressed and meet us in the lobby, alright? We have a long day ahead of us, and this little guy needs his breakfast, huh?” He tickles Matthew’s stomach, making him laugh.

Connor shifts his gaze to the other bed, where Kevin has laid out orange plaid shorts and a bright pink polo with a blue stripe across the chest. “That’s the ugliest combination I think I’ve ever seen,” he says, throwing back the covers. “But I’m sure that’s what you were going for.”

Kevin shrugs, gently setting Matthew in his stroller. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m sure you don’t.” Connor sighs; “Can I at least brush my hair?”

“Sure, if you can find the comb.” With that, Kevin leaves; and Connor begrudgingly gets dressed in an outfit meant to make him the opposite of strollermeat. But it doesn’t seem to work; when he meets his family in the lobby, only Matthew seems happy to see him.

“Unbelievable,” Kevin complains, tightening his grip on the stroller. “Your hair’s a mess, your outfit is nauseating, yet you still look really really good.”

“Are you honestly surprised?” Connor pats Kevin’s cheek, then gives him a kiss. “I made Uganda look good, remember? You said that.”

“I was drunk,” Kevin points out, but smiles anyway.

“You’re an honest drunk.” Connor pries one of Kevin’s hands off the stroller, taking it in his own. “Now - lead the way,” he says, to Matthew’s excited clapping. “We have a kid to feed; - and an ego,” he adds under a breath.        

They spend the day at Epcot, leisurely strolling around World Showcase while sipping Grand Marnier & Grey Goose Orange Slushes from France. The drink takes some of Kevin’s edge off, and Connor finds himself having fun despite looking like a fool in all their pictures.

“We can always photoshop your shirt a different color,” Kevin suggests, before the guilt prompts him to buy Connor a new shirt from Mouse Gears. It is the same one he and Matthew are wearing, and Connor finds himself feeling emotional the second he puts it on.

“Papa’s crying.” Matthew’s lower lip wobbles and Kevin ducks down to tickle under his chin, hoping to avoid a meltdown. Are you okay, he mouths over his shoulder.

Kevin looks worried, Matthew looks sad, and all Connor can do is cry.

“I’m perfectly alright,” he says, pressing the heel of his hands to his eyes. He does his best to compose himself, before crouching down in front of the stroller. “I’m crying because I’m happy,” he explains, tickling Matthew’s sides since Kevin has his chin. Their son giggles, kicking his legs and sending one of his lime-green flip-flops flying. It lands on a display table. “Silly, right?”

Matthew nods, laughing until the tears in his eyes are no longer sad. “You’re silly,” he agrees, making grabby hands for Connor who gladly picks him up.  “Papa’s silly.” That’s addressed to Kevin, who slides the sandal back onto his foot before Matthew rests his head on Connor’s shoulder. It does not take long for their son to fall asleep.

Connor smiles against the top of Matthew’s head, before looking up at Kevin. Years later, and he is still the most beautiful man Connor has ever had the pleasure of knowing. “You’re strollermeat to me, you know,” he says, quietly; only mildly embarrassed at having said the word aloud. “Why isn’t that enough for you? And is it really that bad if someone thinks I look nice? Jesus, Kevin. Next to you, that never happens.”

He tries to keep the hurt out of his voice, but knows it comes through when Kevin’s expression falls.

“No, of course not,” he says, genuinely, cupping Connor’s chin. His hands are sweaty, and Connor can taste the salt on Kevin’s skin as he trails a thumb along his bottom lip. “I just wish they thought we looked good, together. That’s all.”

“Kevin, you’d look good with a rotting goat carcass, alright? I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical explanation for why you’re not in that picture.” With his free hand, Connor pulls Kevin’s phone out of his pocket and opens Instagram. He rolls his eyes when a post from dilfs_of_disneyworld is the first on Kevin’s feed. “Honestly, Kevin,” he murmurs, filtering through their pictures. There’s been quite a few posts since Connor’s picture was last night, but he finds it easily enough; and with it, he finds just the slightest bit of Kevin, at the edge of the picture and quite a ways behind them.

“Well, there you have it,” Connor says, shoving the phone in Kevin’s face. “You’re crouched down, tying those God-awful boat-shoes. No wonder you’re not in the picture. They probably didn’t even realize you were with us, since it’s pretty clear just by looking at me that I would never associate those things.” Except for how he very clearly does.

Kevin snatches the phone from Connor’s grasp, looking visibly relieved. It’s beyond ridiculous, but Connor keeps himself quiet. With any luck, they’ll be able to continue their vacation without Kevin’s cloud of jealousy looming over them at every turn.

“Huh,” Kevin says. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Of course, it makes sense,” Connor agrees, carefully setting Matthew back in his stroller. Kevin takes the reins again, pushing their son out of the store and into Innoventions.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, pointing towards the bathrooms. “Watch him?”

Connor nods, sitting himself down on the floor, beside the stroller. Pulling out his phone, he opens Instagram and uploads the picture of Kevin with Matthew on his shoulders. He tags it as strollermeat and dilf and disneydad, then captions it, quite seriously: here we have some casual stroller meat with a little extra arm sauce, searching for a good ride ;)

He thinks it will make Kevin happy when he sees it; or, at the very least, knows it will get him laid.

[prettywitchiusaka]

Alrightee, so I went to see Captain Marvel last weekend, it was my friend’s birthday last Saturday so we all went to the theatre.

And...well...I enjoyed it.

Okay look, I know this movie is really divisive! And I can already see you pointing your guns, and your sabres, and your...other melee weapons at me! So if you wanna send me hatemail, fine! But before you do, all I ask is that you hear me out first before you do!

Everybody got that?

Good? Good.

Okay, so I think this is a good movie. Not great, but good. There were a lot of good things in it, but there were also some things I didn’t particularly care for.

Is it one of my favourite movies in the MCU? I don’t know yet, I think I’d have to watch it a few more times before I can really make that judgement call. But it was a movie I enjoyed watching, and for that I think it deserves at least a watch.

I could go on, but for simplicity’s sake I’ll just highlight what I liked most about the movie.

- Carol Danvers herself. I admit, I was a bit skeptical of Brie Larson in the role (more so from trailers than anything), but I think she did a decent job for a first time out. Where Carol shines (and where I feel Brie really excels) is when she’s allowed to be herself; a spunky, determined smartass who gets back up and tries again every single time.

- Young Nick Fury. Look, I know it’s a little inconsistent with how he’s been portrayed throughout the rest of the MCU, but I really liked seeing a Fury who’s a little more inexperienced and soft around the edges. Plus, I have a weakness for naive, young men so I couldn’t help finding him adorable in this movie. Especially with Goose and how he was with him...save for that one scene but we’ll get to that.

- I loved the chemistry between Carol and Fury. It’ll be nice to see what their relationship will be like Post-Endgame (though I doubt Fury won’t at least be in the movie somewhat). Ten bucks says she, Maria and Natasha all become great drinking buddies!

- Goose. He’s an eldtrich abomination who looks and acts like a kitty cat, what’s not to love?

- I actually liked the twist with the Skrulls not really being the bad guys. I know it’s not comic accurate, but quite frankly it’s not the first time the MCU have changed things from the comics and it certainly won’t be the last. Besides, there’s always room for a Skrull invasion in a future Avengers movie or future Captain Marvel movie. I mean just because the Skrulls are the victims doesn’t means not all of them are refugees just trying to escape. It’d be interesting to see some more shades of grey later, and I think it’d be a wasted opportunity not to. We can get our own MCU Scar analog, how cool would that be?

- Carol’s relationship with Jude Law. I actually loved that despite being evil, he actually seemed to care for and respect Carol (to an extent). That bit at the end where he he looks like he’s about to have a Mono a Mono with Carol, only to subvert expectations by saying “I’m so proud of you!” and challenging her to a fist fight was great!

.......................

Anyway, that’s my (largely) positive review for Captain Marvel. But we’re not done yet, my friends. Oh no, we still got one more thing to talk about.

And it’s Nick Fury related.

And trust me, it’s gonna be divisive to say the least, so stay tuned.

[blogs-of-our-lives]

Season 53 Episode 95: Lani Has A Secret

           I like to describe my relationship with Beth as ‘friends with benefits,’ only instead of sex the benefits are that we get drunk and watch Scooby-doo. Off the top of my head, we’ve watched the entire original series, the majority of What’s New Scooby Doo, Scooby Doo and the Witch’s Ghost, Scooby Doo and the Loch Ness Monster, Scooby Doo and KISS: Rock and Roll Mystery (yes, that KISS), and a pretty big portion of Scooby Doo and the Reluctant Werewolf. That’s a lot of Scooby Doo. So when we hit rock bottom (Reluctant Werewolf), we kind of silently agreed to find a new hobby. I suggested Mothman Prophecies, starring Richard Gere (who should have known better than to be in the movie). For whatever reason, Beth wasn’t interested. Killing time one night, we discovered Days of Our Lives. All the most recent episodes are available on the NBC website, dating back about a month or two, if anyone is interested in watching them. Otherwise it’s on at two in the afternoon most days.

           Now, Days has been out since 1965. By the time we landed on the moon, the United States had been enjoying a solid four seasons of Days of Our Lives. Martin Luther King Jr. might have seen a couple of seasons. And I’m willing to bet that someone at Woodstock had enjoyed a few episodes. So naturally I was unwilling and unable to start from the beginning of the series. If I watched an episode a day every day, I wouldn’t be caught up for over 30 years, and that’s not counting the fact that they’re still producing episodes. If I watched Days of Our Lives all day every day, it would take me 418 days to catch up.

           I started with Episode 95… of Season 53. Holy shit.

           This might help put into context how old this show is. There’s a character in this episode named JJ. It’s hard to guess his age, but I’m going to say that he’s – at the youngest – only in his mid-twenties. He’s the child of Jack and Jennifer, two characters of the show. Jack and Jennifer started dating, got married, had a child, and that child was JJ. He then grew up as the show went on, until he is old enough now to consider marriage. There are characters that are born into the show, and the show begins to follow them after they age to an adult. I’ve never seen anything like it before. It’s like the children are born into a nightmarish hell of being forced to continue where their parents left off. This show has outlived many. People have been born into the shadow of Days of Our Lives and have died under its inky wings of death.  

           The description of the episode I watched is “Gabi is booked on murder charges; Brady and Eve go on their first real date; Lani makes a confession to Eli; Claire realizes Ciara and Tripp are keeping a secret.”

           I admit, the murder charges bit caught my eye. I like a little bit of mystery, especially when I expect the rest of the show is filled with love triangles and comparatively boring day to day minutiae. I was terribly wrong with that assumption, but I’ll get to that later.

           Now, Days is pretty self-aware. It knows that nobody cares enough to watch each episode. So the characters use names enough for the casual viewer to catch on quickly. I learned who Gabi, Lani, and JJ were pretty quickly. Ciara, Claire, and Tripp don’t make an appearance until the end, which I didn’t mind, because his name is Tripp. Anybody who names their child Tripp doesn’t deserve to have a child.

           Gabi seems to be a person of interest in some kind of investigation. At first, I suspected some kind of white collar crime, but I was wrong. They’re reviewing security footage. A character named Rafe tells Gabi that she may be a suspect.

           And all of a sudden we’re with Lani and JJ, who are eating together at some kind of café. Wait, what? Mid conversation, after just a brief lull, the viewer is immediately taken to a different set with different characters and a different plot. There was no segue, nor even a real stopping point. It may have been mid-sentence for all the sense it made. It was about as jarring as if the whole episode was just a long and complex intro to a Scooby Doo movie I was tricked into watching. You quickly get used to the storyline jumping, however.

           JJ is without a doubt my favorite character, because in the few episodes I’ve seen of him. He doesn’t really do anything. When he speaks with Lani, she goes on a long rant about how difficult being pregnant is, despite the fact that she’s about two weeks pregnant. Note the word choice I used. She ranted to him. They didn’t have a conversation, because that implies he participated. She spoke at him. There’s only one circumstance that makes it okay for someone to talk to you like that, and usually you call the other person “professor.” But that’s not why I like him. I like him because it happened to him with another character. This poor guy’s luck, that he just happens to run into the two most narcissistic and talkative people alive. The guy probably hasn’t been home in three days, his boss is calling him wondering why he hasn’t shown up for work, his family is texting him worried sick, the police are starting a missing person report because these two people just have to have JJ be the one sitting across the table as they talk pretty much to themselves.  Meanwhile, JJ nods.

           In a flashback, Lani is speaking to an older woman, possibly her mother. Lani’s character is keeping some kind of secret, though it’s unclear from whom. Her father? JJ? Any of the other male characters? “If you don’t tell him, I will,” her mother ominously warns.

           After there’s a pause in the baby conversation, we’re back to Gabi and her investigation. Apparently she’s suspected of murder. “I can’t go back to prison,” she said.

           Did you say back? You’ve been to prison before? Honestly it doesn’t even matter at this point. We’ve burned through about half a bottle of Grey Goose between the two of us, and I don’t even care if Gabi goes to prison anyway. I’m all about JJ and Lani, and whatever secret she’s keeping from him right now. Beth, if you’re reading this, martinis are gross, and I wish you liked tequila so I could make a better mixed drink. If anyone has any good vodka drinks, for the love of god let me know.

           Throughout all this there’s a date between Brady and Eve in the background. Apparently they used to have a no strings attached type arrangement. Neither are particularly interesting characters and the date is terrible. At some point they turn it into a business meeting and start brainstorming ways for their magazine to reach out to the young white woman demographic. Their waitress (who happens to be Claire) is a young white woman, so they ask her what product would interest her. She answers, “Um… a time machine. Definitely. Yeah my boyfriend and I are in the ultimate long distance relationship.” This is really interesting for several reasons, one of them being that a few episodes later the thumbnail is her, naked in bed with Tripp. I don’t have a good feeling about their relationship.

           “Poor girl,” Eve said afterwards. “Probably thinks that she’s the only person in the world right now that’s alone.” I’m noticing that about once an episode there will be a really well written quote. Every so often they’ll strike gold, then go back to their usual writing quality.

           The best part of the date is that Eve has a glass of wine in front of her, without any condensation on the glass. Which makes sense, because as time goes on, the condensation will change, and the viewer can tell when different takes are being used in the final cut. For the same reason, movie studios have employees making sure that costumes and props stay consistent from scene to scene (making sure a watch doesn’t switch hands, for example, or that the actors don’t move their silverware). So Eve’s glass of wine is probably just a glass of apple juice at room temperature. Brady, on the other hand, has a mixed drink filled with ice, which he frequently drinks from. In conclusion, I’m pretty sure the actor who plays Brady had actual alcohol in his glass. I can’t say I blame him.

So now we move onto Tripp, Ciara, and Claire. Ciara is Claire’s aunt (they’re the same age, both mid-twenties), and for some reason they both live in an apartment together. That’s fine. Tripp also lives there. Also fine. Claire looks like Elsa Jean. Like, a spitting image. If you don’t recognize the name, don’t bother googling it. She just has light blonde hair and a VERY strong jawline.

           Ciara and Claire get an invitation for Rafe’s wedding to… Gabi I think? Ciara invites Tripp to be her plus one. “Too bad Theo isn’t going to be there,” she said, looking Claire dead in the eyes. “You’ll have to sit all on your lonesome.”

           Wow. That’s a real bitch move, Ciara. Capital B. Worse, that was a binch move.

           Not much interesting happens in the Claire, Ciara, and Tripp storyline. Tripp seems to like Claire. Ciara seems to like Theo. Judging from his body language I get the sense that Tripp is into Ciara as well. There’s nothing else worth noting, which is perfect because the next (and final) 5 minutes are the most exciting.

           Lani’s father, Abe, is walking down the street with Lani’s mother. Back in the 1980s, Abe was murdered by a character known as “The Salem Stalker.” I’m not making that up. Abe was killed thirty years ago. He’s alive now. I’ll explain why some other time.

           JJ stops him. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a wedding ring. “I’d like to have your blessing to marry Lani.” Dun dun duuuuun.

Gabi is arrested on suspicion of murder. She’s led away by Rafe, while Eli watches from his office. Lani comes in, teary eyed. Every time we’ve seen her character, she looks like she’s on the brink of crying. Her hand on her stomach (which isn’t showing because, as I mentioned before, she’s like two weeks pregnant), she tells Eli it’s his baby. GASP.

           He has a terrifying series of emotions over the next couple moments, ranging from excited, guilty, and furious. Eli seems like an okay dude, but he doesn’t seem to be the most emotionally stable. The episode ends before he can say anything.

           Just like that, I was hooked. Up until that point, it was just a mediocre show. It was no Scooby Doo, and it was no Mothman Prophecies. But then in those last five minutes, a character gets arrested (again) for murder, Lani reveals she’s pregnant with Eli’s baby, and JJ asks Abe for his blessing. What a way to close out an episode.

           Next episode has spies in it. It’s up to you to figure out if I’m joking or not.

[coolpencilpie]

One Hand, One Heart

Summary: One hunt leads to another and so does one proposal.

Pairing: Dean x hunter!reader

Word Count: 1,7k

Warnings: language, violence, very light smut

A/N: This is for @impala-dreamer ‘s Title’s Are Hard Challenge. It didn’t turn out the way I wanted it to but anyway, here it is. Feedback would be great!

“Hey, dumbass! Watch out!”, you shouted warningly. As the blond man ducked down to save his head getting eaten by a vampire, you struck out and beheaded the blood-thirsty thing. “Thanks.” He exhaled. You bowed down a bit sarcastically and wiped some red spots out of your face. “Always at your service, pal”, you said, giving him a flirty wink. With that you turned on your heels and made your way out of the rotten house. While making fast steps, you straightened your skirt. It was a lovely skirt, black fabric with some decent flowers on it, fitting gloriously to your eye colour. Sadly, the flowers were now sprinkled with blood but wherefore were washing machines invented.

“Hey, wait!” Loud footsteps were approaching behind you. “Anything else, handsome?” You asked, as you turned to him looking him right in the green eyes, cocking your head a bit. He started smiling. “What’s your name?” He asked. “Guess.” “What?” “Wrong. You have a strange conception of names, my friend”, you laughed. “Eh…I…”, he stumbled. You made a loud buzzing noise. “Where are you from that your people are called like body parts?” He just stood there like a child, completely speechless. The simple look on his face made you chuckle. “Y/N”, you said in a soft voice, leaning a bit forward.

“Dean”, he said. Now it was awkward. Your eyes shifting from left to right, not quite sure what to do now. You cleared your throat, “Ok so, we’re finished here?” You asked, trying not to sound rude. “Eh, yeah, sure. Unless of course…”, he started smirking at you, his gaze scanning you from your ponytail to your boots. “Excuse me?” “You want to, you know, drink a coffee or something?” His body language got very fast very confident.

“What makes you think I’d say yes, handsome?” You set your feet parallel and turned your shoulder, showing him your back a bit. It seemed like he didn’t know the answer, when he looked to the ground, so he avoided your gaze. To relieve Dean from this situation you blinked with your right eye and giggled. His face lit up, causing his woodruff eyes to sparkle.

 This was two years ago. Two years full of laughter, anger, sorrow, killing and temporary partition. He broke your heart as many times as you broke his, you cried so much but you also had the best time of your life.

“Hey, Y/N. Remember that one time I wanted to…” He broke and coughed, spitting blood on the dark grey floor.

“It’s ok. Just relax”, you said softly. Your voice was low and powerless, probably caused by the retching the demon did to you. However hard you tried to free your body from the ropes around you, bonding you tightly to the chair you were sitting on, you were not able to move, which made you indeed very uncomfortable. At least you weren’t injured as much as Dean was, which wasn’t an advantage, if you think about it.

“No, can you remember? I…I made you breakfast and wanted to surprise you and you…you were still sleeping and then you…”, he laughed, even if it was rather a tired exhaling, “you just kicked and it was all over the bed and, sweetheart, it was such a mess. But we couldn’t…”, he coughed again, “we couldn’t stop laughing. Do you remember that?”

“Of course, I do! That was the day, I officially moved in”, you said, trying to sound calm.

“We might die here, you know?”

“Very enthusiastic, Dean.”

“Just saying.”

“Then stop talking and think of something.”

And he really stopped talking. Which surprised you because…when does Dean ever stop talking? Your chairs were tied to each other, so you couldn’t see him. Your heart froze for a moment.

“Dean?” You asked. No response. Your stomach turned. No, not now, not here. “Dean! Hey!” Your whole body was shaking, your knees weak, your mouth dry.

“Will you marry me?” Why did you say that? Why on earth did you say that. Shocked by your own choice of words, you stared straight ahead in the darkness, there was one nearly useless lamp above you, so you didn’t see a thing anyway.

“Yes.” A muted word caught your attention, it was almost not understandable, so quiet. Wait, what.

The demon from earlier entered the room, smirking. “Seems like your boyfriend passed out. Hey, wakie, wakie, big boy!” With those words the black-dressed, middle-aged man walked up to Dean, standing right in front of him.

“Leave him alone, you bastard!” You shouted. In that exact moment you heard a knock, causing your chair to shift a bit. A thud of a body. “Ah, son of a…”, Dean groaned.

“Did you just give a demon a clout?”

“Good deduction, Sherlock.” Still the funny ass, even though he was beaten up to the ground.

“Can you reach me and grab my knife?” You didn’t see it but you could sense he turned his head to the right, trying to look at you.

“You had a knife the whole time?!” You shouted upset. Still, you reached out as far as you could, grabbing that knife and cutting through the ropes. As you stood up, you felt dizzy at first, making you tremble, faltering a bit around. By the time you got the control over your body back, you freed Dean, too and helped him up.

“You ok?” Your voice was soft again, a worried look in your eyes.

“Always”, he answered and gave you a short kiss on your forehead. Such a bad liar.

When you made your way out of the building, you got your weapons back and killed the backup of the other demon.

Eventually you were back in the Impala. “Wow, we actually survived.” A breath of relief coming out of your lungs.

“Did you mean it?” Dean looked right into your eyes, his sight pretty serious.

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t remember the proposal?” The what. Like, what. Instead of an answer, you just made a strange ‘eh’-noise. You looked out of the window on your side, full of shame, causing your cheeks to heat up, showing some red colour.

“That was…nothing. Just me, joking around, you know.” You let out a pained laugh, still not daring to look into his face.

“Uh-huh, if you say so, Y/N”, he said and started the motor. The whole drive, both of you didn’t say a word. It gave you sort of a bad feeling.

Later, it was in the middle of the night, probably something between midnight and 2am, you laid in your bed, next to Dean, completely awake. You tried to see his face but it was pitch-black, so you couldn’t capture a thing. As quiet as possible, you crawled out of the blankets, leaving the sleeping man behind. You walked into the library, a good book would bring you back to sleep. That turned out as wishful thinking, as you felt like you sat there for hours.

“What are you doing, Y/N?” A rough voice appeared behind you.

“Can’t sleep.”

“What’s wrong, baby?” He walked around you, sitting down in front of you and searching for your gaze.

“Are we good?” You lifted your vision, “because I…I feel like, it’s different. Yesterday, this hunt, I thought I lost you.”

“On every hunt, you could lose me. And I could lose you, that’s our life.” His words weren’t mean but still, they hit you in the gut. How could this be so ordinary for him? Like it was no big deal.

“I thought you were dead, dumbass!” You shouted and stood up, full of frustration. As you looked down on him, you saw the worry in his look. You turned away, not bearing the situation. You teared up and felt from one moment to another weaker than ever. “I can’t stand the thought of being apart from you. You are everything to me. If you were gone, I…I don’t know if I could survive this.” You sobbed quietly, trying to stay strong, as you always do. You felt warm hands on your waist, giving you goose bumps. Slowly they turned you around. Dean gave you a soft kiss on your cheek. And then, something happened, you wouldn’t forget in your entire life. He kneeled down, not breaking his glance to you. “Y/N Y/LN”, he took your hand and planted a small kiss on the surface, “do you want to be my wife and marry me?” You stared at him, not knowing how to react as you felt your voice was gone. You nodded quickly. You didn’t know what to feel, what to do, you just saw Dean’s face lit up. He stood up and gave you a hug. “What did just happen?” Your mind was blank. “We are engaged. Well technically, we’re engaged for the second time, you proposed first.” He started to grin. “I hate you so much!” What started as an angry exclamation turned undeniable into loud laughter.

“What? I’m going to be your husband! You can’t hate your husband!”, he stated, starting to tickle your stomach. You walked backwards and turned around to run away, as he didn’t stop. He hunted you through the whole bunker until both of you couldn’t run anymore from laughter. “Ok, timeout, I can’t…”, still giggling, you reached your hands out, then supporting your lungs by staking them on your knees. Dean made a giant step to stand in front of you, as he leaned down to give you a deep kiss. He pulled away a few seconds but stayed close to your face, catching his breath, as well as you. You laid your hands on his neck, running a few fingers through his hair, as he held your waist, his hands moving up and down slowly in the rhythm of your kiss.

Finally, you made your way back to your room. What a night. By the time you laid back in bed, warm and comfy under the blanket, you snuggled against Dean’s chest. You could hear his heart beat, calming you down immediately. “Are we actually going to marry?” You asked, still a bit of doubt in your head. “It was your idea, sweetheart”, he chuckled and gave you a kiss on your hair.

“No, seriously, Dean.”

“I want to share everything with you. You are my partner in good times and bad times. Until death does us apart.”

“That was cheesy.”

“Sorry – no, not really.”

[ghost-chance]

This chapter may just kill me if I don’t kill it first.

Excerpt from an upcoming chapter of “A New Lease on Life.” SPOILERS, people, don’t read this if you don’t want SPOILERS.

This scene is completely rough-draft and entirely unpolished. It kinda sucks for the time because rough drafts are supposed to suck. TBH, I don’t normally SHARE unpublished scenes that WILL be published in time, but I’ve spent enough days staring at this one to make my eyes bleed. Maybe by throwing the mess out into the internetz, I can goose my mental hamster and get around the block keeping me from making progress on this. I REALLY need to learn to work around my ‘can’t write serious angsty tense scenes when life’s in the crapper’ weakness. This chapter’s been coming literally from the very moment I killed off Amber O’Brien and now...stuck. And STUCK rhymes with FUCK which is the word this chapter is eliciting most. >_<  This excerpt only shows a couple scenes - if you’re not familiar with the ANLoL storyline, you will be left with questions or left to fill in your own blanks. Full story can be found on my Fanfiction.net account and HERE: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10489776 

To make up for the roughness, the lack of translations of Amber’s relapses until publishing the whole chapter, and my subsequent bitch-fest after the excerpt, I’m including my most recent piece of concept art as a ‘please forgive this mess’ offering. :P Feel free to skip the bitchfest and ogle the snazzy abstract doohickey thingiemabob at the end.

A New Lease on Life chapter from Hell excerpt -

53: When the Music Stops, There’s Only the Sound of the Rain.

Willsdale Cemetery was always a calming place to Amber O'Brien—a place for quiet reflection on lives that were gone and renewing appreciation for being alive. Now, two years after her death, the cemetery was much the same as it was in her lifetime but the feeling was different. After all, she realized with a strange sort of cringe, she was buried in this cemetery now and visiting in a new body. Once she was sure her new life was like a particularly horrible fanfiction; now she was starting to think it was more of a travesty or an exercise in irony. Either way, it was entirely screwed up.      

Logically, she knew she was buried in the grave before her—buried beneath that speckled grey headstone inscribed with her name, beneath the nosegay of locust blossoms and the bouquet of more domesticated flowers—but she also knew she was standing above that grave alive and well. Faced with proof of her death - a sagging grave housing her rotting corpse and her name on a headstone engraved with some ambiguous flower - she cringed and struggled to wrap her head around it all. She was dead…but she was alive…but she was dead…she needed a drink. Amber shook the thought away and turned to seek out Ellis Ross' grave as promised, but stopped in her tracks. Mere yards away stood a tall, stately Yellowwood Tree already decked with bunches of delicate white blossoms; beneath the tree waited a wrought iron bench bearing a memorial plaque. Upon closer inspection, the message became clear: This rainy day, too, shall pass. It was something she often told her loved ones in her previous life—a promise that hard times wouldn't last forever. Sure enough, the connection wasn't just in her head—the placard also bore the words "In Memory of Amber O'Brien." A sad smile tilting her lips, Amber reflected on the sight. Sure, it was proof that her loved ones remembered her and missed her, but more importantly, it was proof that she finally managed to get through to them—that her reminders of patience, faith, and determination got through to them over time. Shame she had to croak for it to sink in. 

Enough brooding over her fucked up existence. She made a promise to Mercy – promised to visit the grave of Mercy's stepfather and deliver to him proof of her success in her life after death. Upon turning her back on her gravesite, finding the Barret family plot was easy enough – Clarity Ross' birth family was one of the only local families well-off enough for their own plot, and in a coincidence that surely infuriated Clarity, Amber's grave was right outside the Barret plot's wrought iron fencing. Amber was sure Clarity would have insisted on her second husband being buried in that plot.

Sure enough, the gamble paid off – a simple stone marker bearing the name of Ellis Ross stuck out among the more elaborate stones bearing the name Barret. Beside Ellis' headstone, barely a yard away from Amber's grave, stood another – a pink granite marker engraved with the name of the also-somewhat-dead best friend Amber left behind in her new world. "Angela Mercy Ross,” she greeted the unhearing occupant of the grave with an odd smile and laid her offering of wildflowers across the top of the marker. “Funny seein' you here, Merse - yer here but I just saw ya yesterday. I know yer holdin' down the fort for me like ya promised. Just hope that you an' Raph aren't givin' Leo too much shite while I'm not there to feign disapproval."          

Shaking her head and reminding herself of her purpose in the cemetery, the braided other-worlder turned back to Ellis' gravestone, retrieving a small round object from her pocket – Mercy's eight-month sobriety chip. "Hey, Mister Ross. Long time no see, huh?" Amber nervously glanced around the cemetery feeling a bit ridiculous for talking to a rock, but continued anyway. "Mercy says hi—I'm takin' care of'er for ya, just like always. She misses you – you an'er Ma both though she won't admit it. She always did have more heart than she knew what to do with, huh?" Enough heart, even, to worry about her abusive mother's safety, but too much pride to outright ask Amber to check on her. Typical Mercy…and typical Amber to pick up the unspoken request anyway.        

 "Mercy was always a strong woman," Amber continued fingering the metallic red chip. "She's even stronger now…she's learning to get past everythin' yer crazy-arse wife did, learnin' to fight the demons her own mother couldn't. It's sick that Merse got stuck in an alcoholic's body after everythin' Clarity put'er through, but she's making the best of it…she wanted you to have this, proof she's happy and safe." With another awkward glance around the cemetery, she laid the chip atop of Ellis' headstone; ridiculous as it sounded, the metallic surface seemed to wink at her in the bright sunlight as though Ellis' spirit was thanking her for the message. "I never thought I'd see the day, either, but there's more…she's found someone to love. Your little Blundie is in love, Mister Ross, after so long of bein' terrified of it…she's finally realizin' love ain't gotta hurt. Raph treats'er right, too, so ya don't have to worry about'er anymore. She's among friends an' we're takin' care of'er for ya, every one of us. Heck, even my Donnie's got’er back an’ their personalities are complete opposites.         

 "Angela?" Amber froze, easily recognizing the hoarse, slurred voice from her previous life; her blood shot straight from warm to frigid in a single breath. Instantly sharp eyes shot over her shoulder to the pale-haired woman standing in the entrance to the Barret plot. Hovering just inside the open gate, the sickly woman visibly shook herself from some delusion or inner turmoil. Once she was lucid again, her pale blue eyes focused on Amber's moss greenss, sharp as glass. "Wha--Who are you?" the woman demanded shortly. "What are you doing here? This is a private cemetery plot!"

Clarity Alma Ross…of all the people Amber didn't want to run into. Worse yet, Clarity was clearly struggling with the deaths of her husband and daughter—she was visibly sloshed, the stench of stale tequila clinging to her disheveled clothes and her long hair coarse and slick from lack of care. As if all that wasn't proof enough she was falling apart, her hair was undyed—her natural pale ash blonde shone through the grey instead of the jet black she always wore when Mercy was alive. Clarity lost everything that ever mattered to her and she was falling apart. It was almost enough to make Amber feel sorry for her…almost, however, was overruled when she recalled the many times she found Mercy hiding in her back yard, terrified out of her wits and nursing yet another new bruise or scar.        

 "Funny," Amber remarked to the sallow-skinned woman, quickly countering the other's hands-on-hips posture with her own crossed-arms stance. "I wasn't aware I needed written permission to visit the grave of my friend…or did I, perhaps, need to purchase a ticket from you?" Predictably Clarity scowled, eyes darting to Mercy's gravestone then back to Amber.         

"You're too young to have known my Angela," the older woman snapped, "and she'd never be caught dead in the company of a hussy like yourself. Your hair is a disgrace—you should be ashamed." Defying the other woman's declaration, Amber reached up to catch one of her many greyed locks; thanks to Mercy herself, those grey streaks shone vibrant blue and soft purple amidst her natural brown hair. Clarity was so sure her daughter would share her mother's small-town distaste for the slightest sign of abnormality, but just the day before, Mercy was all in favor of dying Amber's hair into an eye-scarring rainbow. Thankfully Kimber's 'dye' stash only had a few flavors left.         

"If my hair's a disgrace,” Amber retorted tucking the dyed lock behind her ear, “then you're a forkin' crime against humanity, ya sadestic shite-breened cow!" The insult—one she often threw at Clarity before her death—slipped out before Amber could hold it back. As so often lately, her temper triggered another relapse—a taint of the gruff burr she earned from her family. Predictably, Clarity blanched, confused and concerned, but Amber couldn't quite make herself regret it yet; still, she focused on speaking clearly, well aware she was already caught alive. "Ya did yer damndest to keep Mercy away from me in life, Clair'ty—would ya still keep'er away in death? Unlike you, I never hurt her!" Time to leave—she needed to get the heck out of that graveyard before she blew her cover even more. Intent on a swift retreat, Amber stalked past Clarity, cringing away lest their sleeves touch. Clarity gaped after her, visibly torn between bewilderment and horror.         

"Who…Who are you?" the older woman demanded, her voice cracking and her pale blue eyes wide in open fear. For Mercy…this was for Mercy, Amber reminded herself with a silent snarl. Mercy mattered more than Amber's grudge against Mercy's mother.        

 "Y'already know the answer to that ya blootert boot," she answered instead—admitting nothing and answering even less. "Go home, ya jakey—yar honkin'a worm." 

--------------

        It no longer mattered what Ginny O'Brien and Glen Devon fought over. In their eyes, nothing mattered ever since Ginny’s only child was killed—nothing could make her and her father see eye to eye before, and that impossibility was even firmer now. This was just another such instance, a moment when Glen was stubborn, Ginny decided to be more stubborn, and the two butted heads when they couldn’t out-stubborn one another.

         Hurtful words flew between father and daughter in a near-constant volley. Sharp tongues spat poison at one another, the din filling the entirety of the upper floor of their home. Over on the stairs, Amber O’Brien stood frozen, eyes locked on the open doorway of her childhood bedroom in dismay. One hand clenching the wooden banister for dear life, she took in the sight of her mother and grandfather, struggling to comprehend that she was seeing her own kin. Half of her didn't want to believe it—half of her was sure her family would never have turned on one another over her death. The other half, however, realized that Glen, Ginny, and Douglas O’Brien fought almost constantly even while Amber was alive; without a reason to continue pretending to get along, all bets were off.

         "Put yer hands where I can see'em."

          The sudden order from behind, coupled with the bitter cold of a gun muzzle against the nape of her neck, jolted Amber back to herself. Glen and Ginny fell silent, turning to confront the intruder Douglas cornered on the stairs. This wasn't going to get any better, Amber realized with a dry, forceful swallow—not unless she could diffuse the situation. Shaky arms lifting in cooperation, Amber locked eyes with her grandfather. She never intended to get caught—never intended for her family to realize she was really there. The whole plan was to leave them messages of patience and maybe, if she found someone sleeping, to wake them and pass off their visit as a dream. Of course, since when did anything ever go according to plan?

       Parallel worlds do not collide. Travel between worlds and times is not possible even with secret ninjitsu techniques. The dead do not rise and the living can not hear the dead. All these were plain to Amber in her last life - her very world revolved around those facts - but this was no longer her world. She died in this world. She rose in another world to try again. She came to the defense of her grieving loved ones to save them from themselves. Now, one of those loved ones held something cold and metallic to the back of her neck in warning.

         "Who are you?" Amber’s father demanded from behind her. His voice was even raspier than she remembered; she already knew he was drinking more, but the increased rasp in his voice suggested he also picked up smoking again. "What're ya doin' in my home?" Amber's eyes drifted to the floor; there was no alternative. Her new body – the body of her counterpart Kimber – was very different from the one Amber died in, but there were still similarities. Ever since her revival in her new world, Amber forced herself to not consider those similarities and differences; now her very life depended on those similarities and the differences could easily get her killed for invading her own home.

         "Da," she mumbled to her father with shoulders sagging. "Mum, Gran'da…it's me…ish yer Ahmber."

...and shortly after that is where the story went plotz. Somewhere I once read about Victor Hugo’s struggle in getting his masterpiece Notre Dame de Paris completed on schedule, and just like old Vic, I’ve fallen into the same trap. I’ve spent over 80% of my waking hours over the last 2 weeks stubbornly intent on finishing this chapter. I have avoided cooking. I’ve kept the music off while writing. I’ve ignored the internet while working. I’ve even warned away Cold with a blunt (and false) “Leave me alone, I’m writing porn!” That usually works. Instead, I have spent all those noted hours staring at the same farking paragraph as though searching for the meaning behind a Jackson Pollock painting.

I have written one new sentence. TWICE. This has GOT to stop. It especially sucks right now because I’ve had no sleep - my brain literally kept me up all farking night working through this chapter. I’ve tried cramming, I’ve tried sitting back and taking a break, I’ve tried moving on to other stories - I’ve even ingested more tea over the last week than I usually drink in THREE. At this rate I’m going to have to either break out the Blackberry Jasmine Oolong or redo the problem scene entirely!

So here I stand, chugging down my usual sedative tea laced with extra catmint, lemon, and the last of my homegrown sweetmint, and inwardly visualizing myself setting the entire scene on fire and dancing on the ashes.

During my final years in college, my Creative Writing and Modern Literature professor bragged during one class “Writer’s block doesn’t exist - it’s just a flimsy excuse to whine and not make any progress. I’VE never had writer’s block and I’VE got an entire SERIES published. What’s your excuse?” That’s when I realized I was studying under the wrong professor and confronted her about her claim. “Lady, I‘ve read every book in your series - the campus library has’em all. If you’re saying ‘to be a successful writer you have to write like I do,’ you’re unqualified to teach this course. If your way of being a successful writer means piss-poor characterization, no attention to plot development, a complete disregard of centuries of skills and studies, back-to-back ‘bodice-ripping’ smut scenes, and writing every book from a LITERARY RECIPE, then I’d rather be a fuckin’ plumber.”

I’m not a plumber. I AM, however, permanently on that woman’s shit-list AND unlike her, I was published in the campus literary journal. If writing isn’t hard, you’re doin’ it wrong. If it feels like you have to carve out every sentence from the inside of your own skull, keep it up, you’re actually writing instead of vomiting up words onto the screen. In the mean time, though, it would be nice to conquer that one repeat struggle.

Rant over. Have some ANLoL concept art.

http://fav.me/dc6u52e

Lyrics from Clint Black’s “Like the Rain.” Couple blocked out are the main pairing, Donnie and Amber. Link leads to a larger, better quality image because this looks really fuzzy. Maybe I’m just tired? Nah. Couldn’t be. Ciao, kids, Ghost is givin’ up the ghost for the night.

[writsgrimmyblog]

Ficlet: Straight Through Crew

Here’s the third of my Wednesday Night Drabbles/Ficlets which have turned into Thursday Ficlets. The first two are Chicken and Chips (Louis/Nick) and Always You (Harry/Nick) and there are a few more to come. This one is for the lovely @alligatornyc who left some amazing prompts for me to choose from. I tried to combine two of the prompts, Louis returns to Radio 1, Nick wears a track suit in his honor, and the booth pictures capture an unexpected soft moment between them and Nick and Louis are seated next to one another at the Brits. Cordon roasts them and dares them to kiss. I hope you enjoy it!

Straight Through Crew (Nick/Louis)

Content Warning: Hint at past Louis/Harry, straight Harry

“Evening, Louis Tomlinson.” Nick slips into the seat next to Louis and he reaches for a beer. “Looking lovely tonight.”

Louis narrows his eyes at Nick and takes in the blazer (velvet) the shirt (silk) and the hair (taller than the fucking Empire State). He rolls his eyes and has a drink. “Evening, mate.”

“You’re in the cheap seats tonight if they put you next to me.” Nick nudges Louis with his elbow. He’s all arms, legs and quiff. He’s loud, annoying and Louis doesn’t like him at all.

“Seems that way.” Louis gives Nick a smile. The sort of smile that says why the fuck are you wearing velvet? He turns his chair away from Nick and tries to hear what James Corden’s saying. Something funny, apparently. The crowd clap and holler and of course Nick’s turned up just in time to ruin a perfectly good joke. “You’re late. They’ve given out half the awards already.”

“Had another gig.” Nick leans forward and his breath is hot on Louis’ neck. Louis absolutely doesn’t shiver. “Going to straight through crew it tonight. Fancy coming on the radio tomorrow?”

“Pretty sure that’s not going to happen.” Christ, Louis needs another beer. Coming on the radio makes Louis think of Harry drunk and stupid, giggling with Nick about the air conditioning. He doesn’t need reminding of that, thanks. Not when Harry’s up for three awards tonight and Louis is stuck next to Nick bloody Grimshaw in a suit that itches around the collar. He used to love the Brits. These days they just remind him of the things he used to have.

“Might be fun.” Nick sounds like he’s shrugging. “We’ll have pizza.”

“Well, if there’s pizza.” Louis turns his eyes to the ceiling. It’s dark, covered with pin-point lights that make it look like they’re underneath the stars. “Shut up. I’m trying to listen.”

Nick mutters something about Louis being a dick and Louis pointedly ignores him. James is on good form tonight. He’s in his element and people are lapping it up.

“He’s good, isn’t he?”

Clearly Nick doesn’t understand the concept of shutting up and Louis gives up trying to focus, turning back to look at Nick. “Yeah, he’s good. Also, why the fuck are you talking to me?”

Nick raises his eyebrows at Louis. “Because we’re mates?”

Louis laughs. “Yep. Great mates. When’s my birthday?”

“I don’t fucking know.”

“What’s my number?”

“No idea. Why don’t you give it to me?” Nick tips his head to one side and he gives Louis a wide grin. There’s something predatory about it and it makes Louis strangely hot.

“Because I don’t want you to start sending me a thousand pictures of your dogs and posh friends. Get enough of that on Instagram.” Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Louis doesn’t follow Nick on Instagram. Not that he knows of, anyway.

“Been creeping on my social media, Louis?” Nick sounds delighted. He’s probably going to go on about it on the radio tomorrow.

“You wish,” Louis mutters. The crowd goes quiet and the notes from a familiar song filter through the room. Harry. Louis needs a fag but he can’t get up in the middle of Harry’s performance. He can just imagine the tabloids having a field day with that. He pulls the bucket of booze closer and gets out the Grey Goose, pouring himself a shot.

“Give us one, then.”

“Get your own.” Louis glances at Nick’s outstretched glass and pours, despite his words.

“Does it bother you?”

“What?”

“Watching Harold up there.” Nick doesn’t sound like he’s taking the piss. He sounds genuinely curious and a bit too fond when he says Harry’s name. “Not sure I’d be able to listen to all of those love songs about someone else.”

The air around Louis gets cold and he stares at Nick. “What?”

“You and Harry.” Nick waves his hand. “Bit of thing, wasn’t it? Back in the day.”

Harry can’t have told Nick that. Not when it was all Louis, trying something in a moment of madness that Harry shut down after a few sloppy kisses and an awkward hand job. It wasn’t anything. Louis isn’t even out to many people and he definitely isn’t out to Nick.

“He told you?” Louis can hardly speak he’s so furious and Nick gives him a curious look.

“I’m teasing, darling. Talking about the fans thinking you two were love’s young dream.”

Louis’ racing heart slows and he doesn’t realise how tightly he’s gripping his glass until he follows Nick’s gaze to his white knuckles and his clenched fist on the table.

“Oh.” Louis knows his voice shakes around the edges. “Good one, mate.”

“Louis.” Nick’s voice is soft and uncertain. “I didn’t mean-”

“Let’s just listen, yeah?” Louis turns back to the stage and he stares at the brightest light to the left of Harry’s ear until he gets stars in his eyes and the dull noise in his head replaces the sound of Harry singing about a woman Louis doesn’t know.

*                                          *                                        *

“I’m over here with Grimmy and Louis Tomlinson.” James makes his way through the crowd, stopping next to Nick. He’s grinning, like he’s going to say something Louis really isn’t going to like. “Remember when you sat on my lap and pretended to my evil cat, Louis?”

“Remember it well, James.” Louis gives the camera a smile and tries to ignore the way his heart thuds in his chest.

“Remember when I sat on your lap and snogged you, Grimmy?” James points the microphone at Nick who seems far more relaxed than Louis – completely nonplussed.

“Highlight of the Brit Awards 2013.” Nick grins at James. “We snogged again, if you remember. I begged you to leave your wife. You rejected me in front of the nation.”

“I remember.” James laughs and he looks between Louis and Nick. No, Louis thinks. Please no. “So I’ve sat on Grimmy’s lap and Louis’ been on my lap…I think Grimmy needs to get on Louis’ lap and give him a snog.”

Louis twists his hands and gives Nick a pleading look, hoping his discomfort isn’t clear on camera.

“I think he’d be better in my lap.” Nick gives Louis a wink. “That’s how I always imagined it.”

The crowd whoop and laugh and Louis wants to crawl under the table. James shoves the mic back in Louis’ face. “What do you reckon, Louis?”

Louis stares at Nick and tries to block out the crowd. If he says no everyone’s going to think he’s not able to take a joke. If he says yes…

He takes a breath and he slips from his seat into Nick’s lap. He cups Nick’s jaw in his hand and gives him a peck on the lips as the crowds cheer, the cameras pan away and James moves on. Louis hopes Nick can’t feel the tremble running through his body. Nick’s arms are firm around Louis’ waist and he squeezes them tighter just for a minute.

“Fancy coming out for a cig?”

“Might as well.” Louis moves awkwardly from Nick’s lap and follows him outside.

*                                         *                                    *

“I didn’t mean anything earlier. I was trying to be funny. I really didn’t know about Haz.” Nick looks into the distance, taking a drag on his cigarette.

“Doesn’t matter.” Louis lights a cigarette and breathes out the smoke with a slow exhale. “There’s not really anything to tell. It was one time and even then, it wasn’t much.”

“Isn’t Harry straight?” Nick says, quietly.

“Pretty much.” Louis looks up and meets Nick’s eyes. “It’s me that maybe isn’t.”

“Okay.” Nick nods. He takes another puff on his cigarette. “Seeing anyone?”

“No.” Louis glances at Nick. He’s not entirely sure why Nick wants to know that of all things. “Planning to make fun of my love life, Nick?”

“Would be a bit much coming from me.” Nick stubs out his cigarette and he faces Louis. His eyes drop to Louis’ lips and up again. “Just wondered if you maybe fancied giving that last kiss another go. I think I got performance anxiety.”

Louis stares at Nick. He’s tall, annoying, he’s wearing fucking velvet and Louis strongly suspects those birds on his shirt are flamingos. He’s loud, ridiculous and he doesn’t even know how to shut the fuck up when someone tells him.

“Shut up.”

“Fine, I just thought I’d-”

Louis cuts Nick off by dragging him into the shadows, shoving him against a wall and pressing their lips together. Nick turns them so Louis is the one pressed against the wall and he slides one hand into Louis’ hair. He wraps his arm around Louis’ waist and he’s warm and solid against Louis. The kiss is slow and then fast, deep and urgent as Nick presses against Louis. It’s a much better kiss than the earlier peck on the lips and Nick smells good. Even the velvet doesn’t seem so offensive, when Nick’s mouth’s works over Louis’ and he gets to stroke his hands over Nick’s back and tug him closer. 

Nick is the first to pull back, giving Louis a dark stare. “That’s one way to shut me up.”

Louis grins. “Thought it might be.”

Nick gives Louis another kiss, slower this time. “Sure I can’t convince you to stay out? Might be fun.”

Louis lets out a breath and then shrugs. “Might as well. I’m not doing the radio, though.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Nick smiles at Louis. “As long as I get another snog.”

“You’ll get more than that if you play your cards right.” Louis winks at Nick and makes his way back inside. 

Nick talks to Louis through the whole fucking show, but Louis can’t say he minds.

*                                        *                                       *

Louis does the radio after all. All he really wants to do is stay in Nick’s bed and cuddle up to one of Nick’s amazing dogs, but Nick gives him this look and it makes Louis feel like a dick for refusing.

“It’s only fair. It’s your fault I didn’t get anyone else to come in.”

“How the fuck is it my fault?” Louis really isn’t good in the mornings. He made Nick order his Uber early so they could get a McDonalds breakfast and a large cup of coffee which Louis has been nursing on the drive to the studios.

“How the fuck isn’t it?” Nick leans in so the driver doesn’t hear him. “Too busy making you want to come home with me to bother chatting to anyone else.”

Louis elbows Nick in the side, smiling around his coffee as he takes a sip. “Well at least something worked out for you.”

“Something worked out for you, too.” Nick winks at Louis. He looks far too smug for this time in the morning.

Louis’ cheeks heat. “Shut up, Nicholas. Eat your McDonalds.”

Nick munches thoughtfully on a hash brown. “I wore a tracksuit to make you feel at home.”

“Thanks, mate.” Louis rolls his eyes. Thank fuck they had time to stop at his. Doing the walk of shame in last night’s suit really wouldn’t have been a good idea.

“You doing anything after the radio?” Nick tries to sound casual but Louis can tell he’s nervous.

Louis pointedly looks Nick up and down without saying a word.

“Oh,” Nick says. His smile gets even wider.

*                                       *                                       *

“Nicholas.” Louis swallows as he stares at the picture Nick’s posted on Instagram.

“What?” Nick comes into the room, carrying two cups of tea. He puts one on each side of the bed and collapses onto it, grabbing Louis’ phone to see what he’s looking at. “Oh. The Instagrim pictures from this morning. Good, innit?”

Louis stares at the two of them. There’s one picture where Louis is looking up at Nick and he’s laughing. His eyes are bright and he’s pretending to push Nick away. Louis hasn’t been pictured laughing like that in ages and he looks light and carefree, shoving Nick around. Then there’s the last picture. The one where Nick’s looking at Louis. For once he’s not pulling a stupid face and his gaze is soft and warm. He’s smiling as if Louis has taken him by surprise. He looks so unexpectedly fond, it makes Louis’ heart thrum in his chest.

“Yeah. Good.”

“I got you a proper copy if you want. It’s downstairs.”

“Thanks.” Louis stares at Nick. He wonders if Nick sees everything Louis does in the photos. They’re on display again with everyone watching - just like the kiss at the Brits. It terrifies him. “Nick?”

“Louis.” Nick takes the phone and puts it next to the bed. He seems to sense the panic radiating from Louis and he tugs Louis close. “Shut up.”

“But-”

Nick kisses Louis firmly and it’s a long time before Louis can start worrying about the photos again.

[thisweeksroommates]

Backpacker Brain: Cuba Flight

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So here I sit on my Cuba flight. I discovered upon a google search just 10 minutes prior to boarding that they may not have ATMs at the airport, and even if they do, US cards may not be accepted. I have 9 euros to my name as far as cash goes, but hey - it’ll work out, right? Or not? Can’t be fucked to care to be honest. There’s technically no where I need to be at all.

This flight is chasing the sun so no darkness will come, which I find aggressively agitating. What’s a flight without getting wasted and watching shit films on a tiny screen and some uncomfortable dangly neck naps in the dark? But all the same, I indulge in my favorite pastime here with a tiny bottle of grey goose in tow, which just so happened to be cheaper than the Johnny Walker I was eyeing at the Duty Free. On top on that, I’ve ordered a tiny bottle of prosecco with olives - it was a combo deal, so how was I to resist? The question is, how do I pour some vodka into this glass of prosecco without unearthing myself as a melancholic borderline alcoholic with a deeply unrefined palette? 

Egal.

Anyway, it’s in moments like this that I have the fun realization that probably I will end up alone. I often compare myself to other figures, and no matter how different we are, I ogle their depravity and simply assume I will meet their bar or anchor in below it.

I mean, for fuck’s sake - we’re on a flight to Cuba. No one is going alone, save for me and the sweet German woman beside me. It’s not her first time in Cuba, and how voluminously she describes the phenomena that is a friendly, overweight local woman chugging on cigars through a yellow smile. “It’s another world,” she says, in German, “it’s my world.” I smile and say to her reciprocally, in my best German accent, “then you must buy a house and live there.” She smiles and looks around the plane. “It’s not so full, there are empty rows.” I scan the surroundings and consider scooting into a row upon which I could sprawl out comfortably, though I know this would probably offend my new temporary best friend, so I decide against it. She intervenes, “are you flying alone?”

Her question makes me feel a bit on edge, but as a choke back a tangy circumference I am feeling in the mood to practice my German for what may be the last time in a while.

“Sure. I often travel alone,” I say, gasping out sour speckles of bubbles through an unintended click from my throat.

“Me too. I like it to be alone.”

I echo her sentiment, “Yes, it’s nice to meet new people - to have freedom.”

And shit. As I write this my current fix has run dry. And the sinking realization that traveling alone for me was probably always a means of escaping a disconnected reality in order to find common threads is pulling at my throat like a wire weapon. 

Traveling alone is so fucking easy. Being considerate and collective is what’s exhaustive. I hate being told I am brave for going it by my lonesome. Being alone is legitimately the most convenient thing you can do for yourself. To be completely honest, three years ago I was so confusedly and unjustly heartbroken over some Brazilian concert pianist whose name hasn’t expelled off my tongue in what feels like lifetimes that I hit a point where I just didn’t give a shit which way the winds blew. So when I walk home alone in the dodgy side of town or drunkenly put my thumb up for a hitchhike experience that I almost never seem to achieve, or strike up conversations with strangers at stations - it’s not purely because I am this vivacious little gem of a human, though it’s not not because of that. Really, I just lost my inhibitions. But the reality is, that is not at all a pleasant platform on which to dance and tousle for long.

I look up for a moment to form the opinion, “Jesus Christ Ricky and the Flash is a full-blown horror of a film”. Good thing there are at least 20 other relatively terrible films to choose from. I begin to scan the assortment. Anyways…

My half-hearted notions for the stellar romanticized experience of traveling solo are interrupted by visions of a handful of hot dudes with girlfriends. Everyone looks so happy and normal whilst they make their way to their destination. I remember crawling into the tiny pseudo, plastic bed with Matti on the overnight bus in Vietnam. He insisted I wouldn’t fit in this coffin, but I was insatiable in my quest to cuddle. I jetted over like a flying squirrel and nestled in just perfectly. I think that’s the memory I look back on most often with Matti, because he was laughing his velvety laugh with his cheerful squinty eyes, and I could feel his chest convulse with each release as I pressed into him while he threw his head back in laughter like fucking Chewbacca. I was so, so joyful in that moment and so proud, and I could feel it so authentically that our happiness was in a state of powerful exchange - not of give and take, not of push and pull, just cycling through in such a handsome, enthralling sense. But only just then, really. Just that one time probably… maybe another time somewhere. But let’s try to mute that.

And as I mean to mute it I realize, how that fuck could I ever feel that way again? I scoff to myself. I am beginning to hate the past. I glimpse out the airplane window and my blood boils at seeing a sunny sky still. These are nighttime thoughts. I anticipated the upset of the clouds remaining illuminated, but confronting it over and over is dragging sandpapers over my crawling skin. 

I pour the remaining grey goose into my empty prosecco cup. I try to be subtle, but I’m certain that everyone and their uncle sees, but not the sweet solo lady next to me. It’s her judgement I’d like most to go undiscerned. Yes, indeed, I am both classy and cool, and not at all a glisten of tragedy in any dexterous movement of mine. My eyes are welling up a bit as I type, as it’s been a while since i considered any of the lovely moments with that stupid bitchboy. I have blood scabs under my skin from playing the drums, I am picking at them incessantly out of nervousness as I deflect these adorable, ugly feelings. 

Girl On The Train, that seems like a more appropriate choice for viewing. 10 minutes in and I’m thinking of shower sex.                   

And shower sex in Hong Kong, at the backpackers. We were so drunk and insatiable, but was he only reflecting my character and complexes and concealing his own? Was I so different before him? I don’t think so, not much. I know he was different for me, but it was probably just temporary. I wonder if he still does all the cute things I found so endearing, prisms and mirrors of tendencies I probably initiated myself, voices of my own that he mimicked, cute phrases we’d drummed up together in half English and half German. I hate that idea. I hate so much the idea that he could be how he was with me with anyone else. But I also hate the idea of him being unchanged by me, or disinterested in being his best, with or without me. I think I hate that most. Or maybe I just hate all of it. I even hate thinking of it.

That’s it, dammit. I am so riddled with these vivid memories and thoughts up to the brim of the barrel, how could I possible find vacancy for anything else? I imagine myself in 20 years and have a disgusting notion that I will be this woman beside me, a lone wolf with anxiety about not being able to smoke for 11 and a half hours. She complains often about having to sit still, about how shallow the leg room is despite the fact that she too is petite like me. She orders too many processed snacks and drinks coffee before sinking into a nap. I imagine her in Cuba, too excited and too confident in her independence with an underlying emptiness all the same for not being able to share these visions and moments with another witness. It reminds me of me. She’s dozing off, but gripping onto the little tray table like it’s her confidant, she eyes the digital flight plan with the CGI airplane ominously scooting over the ocean and blinks infrequently. I can’t tell actually whether or not she’s asleep.

She is friendly with kind sunken eyes, but I don’t want to be her, nor do I want to be my other friend in Austin who is in her 30’s and revels in her colorful escapades with men from the era of her 20’s, but has ended up with so many troubles and unrealized diet goals that all she has to showcase in the present are pictures of her very ordinary dog and the occasional over-amplified story of a flirtation which never seems to materialize. Nor do I want to be the friend who is in her 40’s who resigned to end up alone only to meet her ‘person’, yet she was nearly unfaithful to him no less than a month ago. She confided in me about it and it fucked me up. She was my idol in a lot of ways, I thought that to end up like her would be a lovely finish to an overcomplicated but colorful life. Could I become all these things I don’t like due unto an undying aggression to savor more experiences and tap into every possibility that unfolds itself? Does it ever end? The questioning? The seeing? I see myself in every ugly trait I’ve ever seen in another person. I see my heartbreak in every expression of love that ever was. I see my pain in every happiness I realize. I hope that stops! Boy wouldn’t that be fun and fine. Change that plane of thinking. Get it? I made a plane pun from the sky, guy.

I still have a few quick swigs left from the mini grey goose bottle, but she’s awake now - my neighbor. And watching this bitch on Girl On The Train getting tanked is making me jealous and unsettled. AND PHEOBE FROM FRIENDS IS THERE! I’m ecstatic. So excited, in fact, that I’ve dropped my dumb plastic cup on the floor, and leaning over to grab it makes my favorite necklace sound off like a dog collar, waking up anyone who has ever craved rest in this world. People are standing around, I’ve never seen anything like it on a flight. I discretely (at least in my mind) pour the vodka into my sweet, now favorite plastic cup. We’ve been through so much together. The liquor looks like water and I am deeply pleased. I smile, even.

Somehow I have a ticker in my brain that reads ‘Matti matti matti’ - imagine that. Thinking of Matti? I never! Welp, Matti, I wanted you, really. But in retrospect, I may have just wanted to prove to myself that I could have it all, that I could tame and control something in a sphere of my reality that was chaotic and free and exuberant. I could have EVERYTHING I wanted, because I knew what to want, right? That didn’t work. Now I know not at all what I want, and thus can have nothing. That doesn’t work. I audibly chuckle to myself, shaking my head, rolling my eyes so far back you can see the whites. Well, not you specifically, as you are not the German lady next to me who is now letting her eyes widen as she scans the horizon as if she’s disoriented and disassociated. We make contact and I smirk at her weakly but genuinely, hopeful that she asserts that my eyes are watering due to a particularly traumatizing scene in this film rather than the process of excavating the hardened textures of the paintings in my mind which is currently underway. I break my glance and though I cannot hear it, I can see from my peripherals that she has let out a sigh and sets her head against the plastic wall. I feel warm inside as if my humanity soothed her for a moment and helped her to relax into rest.

Back to my head gallery. I think I want one person forever, but I don’t know if that’s in the cards for tiny little me. Maybe I’m being type-casted into the lives of these lovers, and once they’re over the spontaneity and crave stability I’ll always be tossed out to the curb with my dumb rucksack that can fit all the things I own, envying the roots planted through peoples feet around me as I think to myself, I too am a tree and I’d like very much to be planted, thanks. I tap on my former love’s glass window and say, “hey wait.. I can be planted.. just.. just dig a hole.. I’m small and it doesn’t need to be that wide or deep.. just enough to cast soil over my small person shoes.”

A stewardess passes by and brushes her hand against my shoulder as another stewardess approaches to bring water - a Godsend. It’s the closest thing I’ve had to intimacy since I hooked up my friend Dimitri in Switzerland on fucking Valentines Day, a session which ended in a complete disregard of what had happened, a session which I would hardly describe as intimate at all. And as I consider the physicality of what transpired, it’s undoubtedly decided that the stewardess is my closest ally after all.

I sit with my knees pressed against my chest on this sky death vessel shared with an endless array of strangers to cast eyes upon, and none of them know me just as I’m starting to think I know not myself. I tick the alert button over my seat as I’m craving more olives. Only olives of course. But that combo deal is a steal so best get them with a side of a tiny prosecco bottle and queue up a dark comedy, ideally a British one.