#anyways i hope you enjoy the snippets i have :)

[theitgirlnetwork]

What Are You Willing To Do?

Ch. 2: Date 1 Pt. 1

Note: Thank you so much for the love you all have been showing this story so far! Thank you for reading, and for the kinds messages I have received thus far! I love interacting and seeing your thoughts and comments so keep 'em coming. I want to take this time to remind you that these characters will be flawed. Rafe is....Rafe, but we love him anyway. And Milan is...someone who is compatible with Rafe. They won't always be the depiction of a healthy relationship, but this is fiction and fun. This chapter isn't too bad, but those who have read the snippet know how it's gonna get. Once again, I have songs for this ship so if anyone is interested in them let me know, and feel free to share some with me if you catch a vibe. Finally, let me know if you have any questions or comments. Other than that, I hope you enjoy. This one is a lot shorter than chapter 1, but it is a 2 parter, so don't hate me. Love ya! <3333

“Wait.”

Rafe pauses, loosening his grip on Milan’s hair and pulling back slightly, irritated that she’d stopped him just as their lips brushed and she breathed the smoke he’d just poured into her mouth between them. “What? What’s up?”

“I don’t,” She sighs, her cool breath on his face, eyes still shut as if she’s forcing herself to pause this moment between them. “I don’t just hook up with guys, you know? Maybe we could…I dunno.”

Oh. Oh. Rafe understands. He’d…he’d forgotten himself for a moment. This isn’t some touron stumbling onto the couch next to him, throwing herself at him. She wasn’t one of those gold digging bitches that tries to fuck  him with faulty condoms in the bottom of her purse. She’s the kind of girl who has her own shit. She doesn’t need him for a come up. Or at least she doesn’t think she does. 

He arrogantly thinks to himself that Milan hasn’t met a man like Rafe Cameron. He’s spent most of his life preparing, becoming the type of man that can run his family, keep them safe and comfortable. The type of son fathers are proud to have and the type of man women want to give a baby. That’s the man who he’s made himself be. 

Rafe had been so focused, only allotting himself time for a little bit of fun once in a while, he’d forgotten that one day he might stumble across a girl that had the potential to be a woman. His woman. 

He nods slowly, a small smile forming on his face as he pulls back more, releasing her head completely and smoothing his hand back onto her knee. “Nah, I get it. We should get to know each other a little better. How ‘bout you spend the day with me tomorrow?”

Milan perches herself up at that, back straightening even more as her face lights up. “Really? You wanna spend the day with me?”

Rafe rests his head back on the top of the couch, sweeping his thumb on her bottom lip before biting his own and nodding. “Yeah, I wanna show you a good time. Get you a little more comfortable with me so I can kiss those pretty lips of yours.”

Both sets.

“Okay, wait, I’m excited. You’re gonna be my first friend here.”

“Friend?” Rafe scoffs. “‘M’not gonna be your friend, Princess.”

“Well,” Milan shrugs, “Like, I don’t know what I could call you, you’re not my man-”

“Yet. Not your man yet.” He and the woman next to him share twin smiles and Rafe only becomes more invigorated by Milan’s eyeroll and shy grin. “Roll your eyes if you want to, I’m a determined guy.” 

“Determined?”

“Yeah, like I know what I like, I work for what I want, so-”

“So what?” Milan giggles, “You…you want me? I should get ready or something?”

“Yeah.” Rafe says flippantly, as if he wasn’t essentially making a threat of courtship to a girl he’d just met like 12 hours before. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d fully wanted from her yet. But the need to have her was nagging at him. Maybe it was lust. She was hot, forbidden fruit for him. He could hear the curses Ward would spit at him now if he fucked around and ruined things with this girl, made an enemy of her dad. Maybe it was how sweet she seems. He’s always liked shiny, new things. When he was a kid, he had to have stuff before his friends did. Toys. Shoes. Stocks. Maybe he’s graduated to feeling that way about women. 

Something about how he doesn’t want to look away. Something about the way she was smiling at him, how he’s talked to her the most, how in a room full of guys drooling over her, those big pretty eyes were locked on him. Rafe felt like he had to look into this weird feeling she’s been stirring in his chest since he’d seen her. 

It’s what’s best for Milan anyway. None of the rest of these limp dick motherfuckers should have her. They’re not real men. Not like Rafe.

Milan hums as she removes the golden under eye patches from under her eyes, massaging in the serum they leave atop of her skin. Grimacing at a gust of damp wind from outside she pads against the marble floor of her bathroom and pushes the double doors leading to the patio attached closed. “Stupid, island humidity.” She pouts as she combs through her bob again, praying for no puffiness today.

The sky fights to brighten in the early morning. It’s 5:00 a.m. and Rafe Cameron was going to be picking her up in 30 minutes. 

After the party last night Sarah had run over to her on the front lawn, hugging her tightly before declaring she was going home with John B. and offering for Milan to come with them. When she declines with a smile, the blonde fixes her brother with a glare, to which he’d returned with a middle finger, and stumbled off in her man’s arms. 

Rafe drove Milan back to her house and parked them out front, eyes carefully rotating between staring at Milan sitting pretty in his passenger seat, and watching for a sign of her father at the door. He let her toy with his fingers as she fluttered her lashes at him and he described what he does throughout the day, Or, rather, what they’d be doing today.

When he’d mentioned picking her up after the gym Milan had jumped at the opportunity to go with him. She loved going to the gym every morning before she’d moved and she was happy to keep it going. And it wouldn’t hurt to see Rafe work out. 

It was all she could think about. It’s not just his height. Even though he’s so…so tall. At least 6’2. Rafe is big. Muscle. Strength. Yesterday he’d basically hoisted her full weight into his truck with one arm. The preppy boy polo that he’d thrown on for their families hadn’t hidden anything and his tight crew neck that he wore to the party basically outlined everything for her. 

She quite literally wanted him to throw her around like a ragdoll. Or let her climb him like a tree. Whatever, Rafe is hot. 

He has an intense vibe, seemingly takes himself very seriously. But, Milan figures she could relax him. Loosen him up a little bit. 

They were gonna have so much fun. Smiling at her own reflection in the mirror, Milan spritzes vanilla Sol de Janeiro and all but fucking skips down the steps and to the kitchen.

“Good morning, Miss Milan, you’re awake early. I just started prepping for breakfast, but I could make you a coffee while you wait.” The private chef that her parents had hired a couple years ago had made the move with them. They’d paid for her to come with them to Outer Banks and offered to increase her salary because…well…it wasn’t their nice home in Quebec that she was used to. 

“No, thank you, Miss Ally.” Milan reaches over, stealing a newly washed strawberry and biting into it. “And my parents aren’t awake, right?”

“Of course not. You know your mother won’t roll out of bed until she smells the food cooking and your dad won’t come until I’ve had to warm it up twice. Why? Are you alright, honey?”

The younger woman nods, tossing the green stem into the trash and reaching for two travel cups. “Can you keep a secret? I have, like, a date today.” 

“Like a date?”

“Yeah, with a guy. He’s really cute, and sweet. So,” Milan begins sifting matcha, smiling down at the cup and resting her cheek on her shoulder. “‘M’gonna hang out with him today.”

“Less than 48 hours and there’s a boy, huh? Atta girl.” Miss Ally passes Milan the vanilla protein powder. “You’ve been worried about the move, thinking it was a bad idea, and here you are making friends.”

“Mhm, hot ones. With blue eyes and dimples.”

“And where,” Ally nudges Milan out of the way as she pours the hot water into the travel mug, “am I supposed to tell your parents you are when you’re out with Mr. Blue Eyes and Dimples?” 

“Touring the island.” She chirps. 

“With who?”

“Just like…generally. They should be cool with it honestly, I just know they’re gonna make it weird, but like, he’s the son of Dad’s first friend here so he shouldn’t be mad. How come he gets a boyfriend and I don’t?”

“Oh, just say that to your parents, I’m sure they’ll go for it then.” Ally snorts, whisking the eggs as Milan seals the travel mugs, laughing to herself as the girl slides both of the pink cups to the end of the counter next to her gym bag.

When Rafe pulls up outside of the Cabot house, he texts Milan before hopping out of his truck and jogging up the cobblestone. He agreed not to ring the doorbell because her parents were awake but he’d be damned if he didn’t pick her up at the door. 

As he stands on at the doorstep he adjusts the hat he has rested on his head and rocks on his feet impatiently. He isn’t waiting long. The door swings open and he’s immediately hit with the sweet smell of vanilla and soon after is met with the walking wet dream carrying the scent. 

“Good morning!” Milan grins, tossing her arms around his neck, bouncing up into his arms. Rafe isn’t fucking stupid, he’s quick to catch her around the waist and squeeze, relishing in the feeling of her pressed against him. 

“Morning, princess.” he murmurs into her hair, squeezing her again for good measure before placing her back on her feet.  “You, uh, you always go to the gym in shit like that?”

“Shit like what? Stop.” she laughs as he snaps the elastic of her leggings. 

“You just look good. That’s all I’m sayin’.” He chews the gum in his mouth and nudges her chin with his knuckle, mumbling, “Watch your mouth.”

“Yeah? Thank you.” she grins, looking away from him briefly. “I made…I made you something, like a gym drink or whatever.

“That’s cute sweetheart, what do you like me or somethin’?” Rafe snorts, choosing to ignore the fact that the travel mug she was pushing into his hands was bubble gum pink. He holds his hand out to her, not even looking back as he starts guiding her over to his truck. When he hears a little shuffle from her he looks back and glances down at her feet. “What the fuck, your shoes aren’t tied.”

“Okay, one of them untied when I was making you this delicious protein shake and I didn’t wanna make you wait-” 

“Christ.” Rafe grunts, unlocking his car and wrenching the door open, planting his hands on Milan’s waist and hoisting her into the seat easily. He tugs her foot onto his lap and begins tying the lace of her sneaker tightly. “Gonna break your fuckin’ neck.”

“I wasn’t gonna fall, Rafe-”

“You literally were letting me drag you down those steps.” When he’s done Rafe lifts her leg into the car, closing the door and walking around the driver’s side and climbing in. After he clicks his seatbelt on, he pauses and frowns when he sees Milan’s pout staring forward at the road. He puffs out a breath. “What? What’s wrong?”

“You haven’t said ‘thank you’. For your drink.” 

“Wh-are you serious?”

“Yes. You seriously haven’t said ‘thank you.’” 

“Uh…” Rafe’s brows furrow as he observes the girl. Arms crossed, dramatic frown on her pretty, glossed lips, knees pointed away from him. “Th-thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” she immediately warms up, clicking her own seatbelt on and taking a sip of her drink, moving back to the middle of her seat. As Rafe tries to sort through what quick, guerilla warfare he’d just experienced, he starts driving the car. 

So that’s her game. She’s cute and pretty and pouts like a fuckin’ brat when she doesn’t feel like she’s getting what she wants. Or someone is saying something she doesn’t wanna hear. All she’s showing me is that I’m exactly what she needs.

“M’just sayin’ like your shirt’s a little slutty. Like it’s tight, I can see your nipples and everything.”

“Don’t say shit like that, what the fuck?” 

“It’s like tight and stuff, like it’s a little bit of a hoochie shirt.” 

“Hoo-hoochie shirt. Fuckin’ brat.” Rafe shakes his head. In the time it’s taken to drive to the gym and for Rafe to put his card down to get Milan a temporary membership, she’d clearly been trying to test him. She was pushing boundaries to see what he would and wouldn’t accept. And he would try to be patient. But the jokes weren’t gonna be as funny when he was using her mouth for what he really wanted to use it for. Not now. He had to wait. To humor her. She was cute. He’d give her that. Maybe he needed to be cute back. “Don’t work out in the damn shirt anyway,” 

Milan’s eyes widen as she stares up at Rafe from where she’s stretching on the floor. She bites her lip and shifts her gaze to herself in the mirror as he easily tugs the tight shirt off of his chiseled muscles, tossing it into his gym bag next to her. 

Jesus. She bites her lip, berating herself inwardly as she glances at the tanned skin he was now baring for the world to see, six pack on display as he starts doing some standing stretches. “Here, sweetheart.” Rafe crouches next to her, pushing one of his airpods into her ear. “You, uh, didn’t have headphones, so you can just listen to my shit.”

“Can we make a spotify jam?”

“What?”

“So, I can add songs too, can we make a jam? And we’d be listening to the same thing, at the same time, you know?”

“I mean, yeah, sure why the fuck not? You’re not gonna add any corny shit are you? M’trustin’ you with my workout. Like that’s pretty fuckin’ special.”

“Oh my God, Rafe, I’m…I’m sure we have basically the same taste in music.”

Rafe and Milan are at war for essentially their whole warm up. They agree to separate for cardio and then meet back up for them both to try some of each other’s usual workouts. With the shared music blasting in their ears, they both still felt like they were hanging out for the 40 minutes that they are apart. Rafe spent half of his run on the treadmill listening to Beyoncé and Sabrina Carpenter’s discographies while Milan genuinely flinched on the stairmaster with Travis Scott and 50 Cent pounding against her ear drums. Both of them looking at each other with sick satisfaction when it was their turn to pick a song, making a game out of picking something they thought would irritate the other more. 

Rafe had finally had enough and started skipping Milan’s picks when the High School Musical Soundtrack started playing, eventually coming to pluck her off of her machine to start doing weights as Troy began singing about wanting his own dream. 

By now they’d both finished their protein shakes and felt like they had a lot of energy. Well, at least they both did. Until Rafe started making Milan do his workouts.

She was both turned on and enraged as he demonstrates different forms of weightlifting, chuckling at her deeply as she struggles to do another set. “Mmkay, okay, that’s enough, I’m done with that.”

“Nah, you didn’t even finish that one, c’mon let’s go.”

“Rafe, no” she whines getting off of the bench. Milan immediately gasps as Rafe fists the fabric at the front of her leggings, lifting her off of her feet and physically placing her back onto the equipment. 

Slapping her thigh, he offers her a no-nonsense look that lets her know that she isn’t getting up until she completes this workout to his satisfaction. “Baby, let’s go, stop fuckin’ around.”

Shit. Yes sir. “I want…breakfast food after this. Like, waffles, and butter and stuff.”

“'Let me come to the gym with you, Rafe. I wanna where my cute little outfit and not workout.'”

“Asshole.”

“Watch your mouth.”

“Wait…until we start doing my pilates workout. All those muscles will mean…nothing.”

“Yeah, you like ‘em?” He smirks, grabbing the weight to ease it down against her before helping her off. “That your excuse? Can’t focus?”

“Stop…being mean, worst date ever.” She whines, leaning her head against his chest. 

Rafe pats Milan’s ass twice before nudging her into the direction of the next machine. "Best fuckin' date of your life, brat."

“Are you gonna keep staring at my butt or are you gonna try again?” Milan calls over to Rafe. 

“My body is not built for that girly shit. You keep goin’ though.” He says. Milan rolls her eyes and continues on the machine, pausing when she sees the reflection of a camera flash in the mirror. “Damn, flash was on.”

“Rafe!”

“You look good, baby. I thought you’d like me to be all sentimental and shit, capture our first date.”

“Oh my God. You’re like, not even working out at this point.”

He shrugs, tilting his head to get a better view of her. “You’re the one who got an attitude when that girl asked me to spot her and made us change floors.

“She saw you with me.” Milan hisses through her teeth, pausing her movements. “She was trying to be funny.” 

“Think so?” Rafe scoffs, squirting water into his mouth from the bottle he’d kept in his bag. 

“Yeah, but if you liked the attention you could go back down.”

Rafe wets his bottom lip at that. Being at the gym with Milan has been fun. Turns out, he likes talking to her, which is more than what he could say for the majority of the population. She’s sexy, and doesn’t mind him being handsy. She seemed to all but expect him to pat her ass in encouragement after she finishes anything. She likes for him to teach her, guide her movements, place her on and off of machines. She likes to whine and have him sort her out. And she’s possessive. Jealous. Normally the concept of having someone police him sounds emasculating and unacceptable to Rafe. But watching her pretty little face turn into a scowl as she watched girls check him out or come up to him like they always did in the gym? It turned him on bad. 

She matched his crazy. It didn’t matter that it was their first date, the same way Rafe’s lip curled in disgust as he caught the fuckheads wandering the gym eyeing her before he stepped in their line of vision, Milan would physically place herself in front of his view, guiding his eyes to her and away from any girl delusional enough to think they were as bad as her.

But her mouth when she’s frustrated. That was something Rafe was gonna have to work on. Lucky for the both of them, a stern warning seemed to be enough for now. Rafe stalks over to where she’s sitting, stepping on the machine behind her and wrapping his hand loosely around her neck, pushing the back of her head to rest on the front of his stomach. Milan looks up at him through her lashes, as he pushes his thumb into her cheek, encouraging her to open her mouth and squirting a little water in from his water bottle. He fixes her with a disapproving look. “Chill out. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah.”

“I followed you up here, right?”

“Yeah.” she says softly, leaning into his hand.

“Alright then. Let’s not worry about the wrong things.”

After 3 hours at the gym the two of them hit the showers, separately despite both of their hesitation to separate again. They walk out of the building in different clothes and Rafe’s arm strewn over Milan’s shoulder, holding her hand where it came up to meet his own. He has to hide his smirk when he catches her making eye contact with the girl who’d asked Rafe to spot her as they walked out, a bright smile on her face. 

He was starting to like this pretty little thing more and more. Rafe lifts her back into the car, this time buckling her seatbelt for her before getting into the driver’s side. He finds that Milan can talk…a lot. She has jumped from topic to topic in the 15 minute drive more than Rafe thinks he can in 2 hours. He’s surprised to find he doesn’t find her annoying. Rafe finds his cheeks dimpling as he listens to her yap about her favorite tv shows, a movie she wants him to watch, her plans for her next nails set and thinking about getting highlights in her hair.

All the while she rubs his bicep, leaning into him as he holds her thigh in his large hand. He offers her small mumbles of acknowledgement to let her know he’s still listening. ‘Hm.’ ‘Yeah?’ ‘Sound’s good, baby.’ 

“You’re not listening to me.” she sighs, looking out the window as they pull into the restaurant. “M’talkin’ too much.”

“Nah, I like that shit. I’d let you know if I’d had enough.” Rafe places his hand on the back of her headrest as he backs into the spot. “But, uh, my head’s always movin’ right? I’m thinkin’ while I listen.”

Milan watches as he shifts gears and places his truck in the middle of two spots, declaring under his breath he doesn’t want anyone ‘fuckin’ up his truck’ to justify taking up two spots. “So…okay. What’re you, like, thinking about? While you’re listening to me.”

“Uh, honestly?” He asks. Intense blue eyes rest on soft brown ones. Milan just nods, turning more toward him. “How fuckin’ hot you are. Pretty fuckin’ distracting.”

“Oh.” She says.

“Yeah. Oh. Does that throw you off or something, like, oh is a weird response-”

“No, I was just saying oh, like-”

“Okay, because, I’m being pretty fuckin’ clear and you’re-”

Milan unclips her seatbelt quickly. Before Rafe can blink her soft lips are pressed against his and before he can kiss her back she’s back in her seat, pulling down the mirror and fumbling in her purse for her lipgloss. “I wasn’t supposed to kiss you until our first date was over. I can’t believe I did that. Oh my God.” Rafe chuckles lowly as she fumbles in her purse, dropping it and spilling its contents all over her lap and the floor of the car. “Oh my God.”

“Did you, uh,” He pauses, trying not to openly bark out a laugh at her, scratching his head. “Did you only bring lip gloss and perfume? Like, no wallet. At all.”

“Okay…” Milan starts slowly, “I understand that looks bad, and like, people believe in that 50-50 stuff now, and so I shouldn’t-”

“Baby, the fuck do I look like? I wouldn’t be taking you out if I couldn’t afford to, I’m not a fuckin’ pogue.”

“A what?”

“Don’t worry about it. And don’t worry about that fuckin’ peck, that wasn’t a real kiss.” It shocks her how easy it is for Rafe to scoot his chair back and pull her into his lap. “This is the shit you should worry about.”

Rafe Cameron pulls Milan Cabot into the nastiest kiss that either of them had ever fantasized about, let alone experienced. He holds her jaw, working his own open as he pushes his tongue into her mouth, swallowing her whimpers and humming against her. He separates their mouths briefly to kiss down her neck only to drag back up to her lips, chuckling darkly when she sucks his bottom lip into her mouth, gripping her thigh with his free hand as he drools into her open mouth. 

When he pulls away for the final time he rests his head back on the headrest, pushing his thumb into her mouth and releasing a breath as he watches her obediently suck on it. 

By the time they step out of the car to head into the nice breakfast restaurant he’d brought her to, Rafe had willed his…friend to go down, and they had undone the damage he’d done to Milan’s makeup and hair. As he guided her in by the waist, tugging down the hem of her pretty little dress to cover the ass he’d just been gripping he felt a feeling of superiority. The woman next to him was relying on him and him alone to lead her around. All the loser fuckers they passed on the way to their table could stare all they wanted. They could take a mental picture and store it away in their sick little spank banks for later until they came to the realization they’d never get a girl like Milan and finally blew their fucking brains out. But she was here with Rafe. And that’s how he expected it to be from here on out.

He’d decided. She was gonna be his.

[mycupofrum]

In the middle

Pairings: James/Sirius, James/Sirius/Lily

Rating: Explicit

Summary: No one ever told him what it was like to meet your best friend three days after he joined you and your wife in bed.

No one ever spilled the beans about the internal crisis he'd be experiencing later.

A threesome that changed everything for them. Now James and Sirius will have to deal with the tension that arose from that night.

A/N: For @narcissa-black-supermacy who gave me this idea a while ago. This is what I came up with. :D It's mostly Prongsfoot with some Jilypad flavour. Very smutty smut. Hope you enjoy it!

Snippet under the cut.

The refrigerator hums in the corner of the kitchen as James escapes from the awkward moment he just had with Sirius in the living room.

Or, when Lily said, "I think you two should talk," before abruptly Flooing away with a roar of green flame to catch up with Mary in the Leaky Cauldron. Leaving them alone. Staring at one another. Aware of each other in a new way.

All Sirius had to do was raise his brow, a gesture he's honed to perfection over the years they've known each other.

This time it suggested what now?

James couldn’t stand it.

No one ever told him what it was like to meet your best friend three days after he joined you and your wife in bed.

No one ever spilled the beans about the internal crisis he'd be experiencing later.

"Are you all right, James?" Sirius asks, having followed James to the kitchen.

"Of course," James says, staring at the pots, pans and other dishes that need to be washed. He rolls up his sleeves, places the plug into the sink and turns on the tap. After a splash of washing up liquid, he watches the foam form as if it were one of the great wonders of the world.

"It's admirable how much you care about keeping the kitchen clean."

The dry remark makes James determined not to turn around.

Seconds pass with only the sound of running water filling the room.

"Are you avoiding me because of the other night?"

"I – no. Of course not. It's what Lily wanted. She very much enjoyed it." James turns off the tap. Fuck. He doesn't want to talk about this.

"But you didn't?" Sirius is dissecting James's problem question by question, like he always does when faced with an issue to solve.

"I didn't say that," James mutters. He picks up the sponge and begins to wash the dried up tomato sauce from the pan. It was Lily's idea to invite Sirius over for dinner that night, and they enjoyed an excellent pasta Bolognese before she mysteriously left.

"Or maybe it bothers you because you did enjoy it?"

James drops the sponge into the sink and huffs as he searches for it through the foam.

"I don't understand. Why would it bother me? Nothing bothers me. I'm perfectly fine." He finds the sponge again and starts to scrub the pan vigorously.

"You don't like the implication."

Sirius always knows exactly where James's train of thought is going, and it's times like these when James truly wishes his best friend didn't know him so well.

"There's no implication."

"Really?" Sirius's voice is softer now. "One woman and two men. There's an implication. You do the math."

"I'm not –" James says, unable to finish the sentence. He rinses the pan, sets it aside to dry, and stands stiffly, clutching the kitchen counter.

"I'm not into blokes." There, he said it. It's what he's been telling himself over and over again for the last few days. It makes sense.

"Neither am I," says Sirius, approaching James from behind.

A moment later, hands come on the counter beside James, and a warm body leans against him. Sirius's breath tickles James's neck, giving him goosebumps.

"Not much anyway," Sirius murmurs.

James's heart jumps at that.

"Not much?" he repeats, his throat dry like sand.

"Sometimes I make exceptions." Sirius speaks in a low tone that rattles something inside James.

Read more on AO3.

[bi-bats]

trick or treat!!!

MAYA HI!! I LOVE YOUR HALLOWEEN COSTUME IT’S AMAZING AND I HOPE YOU GOT ALL THE CANDY YOU WANTED FROM ALL THE HOUSES YOU VISITED BUT JUST IN CASE, I HAVE A FULL SIZED BAR (snippet of the beginning of the “drabble” I’m writing for your prompt, which is in quotes because it’s actually going to be over 2k words) FOR YOU!!

Tim’s awareness comes back the way it always does. Sound, then scent, then pain, blah blah blah.  He’s not up to dissecting it. He’s in a hospital bed and everything fucking hurts, from the space behind his eyes to his fingers, but especially his ribs. They feel like they’re on fire.  ‘What happened?’ is what he tries to say.  “Nghhgghh,” is what he manages. “Be quiet, Timothy.” Tim’s brow furrows, an action that hurts his skin. Because Damian doesn’t talk to him like that anymore. Occasionally, Tim says something to him that earns him a biting reply, but he usually deserves the nip for whatever it is that he said.  Then he places the wrong note he’d heard in Damian’s voice. Shit. This is probably Tim’s fault, then.  He clears his throat to try again, not even bothering to open his eyes. It’s a routine at this point — he knows if he opens them he’ll be blinded by the lights.  “What happened?” he manages to squeeze out this time, but it sounds like he spent an entire day screaming, his voice is so hoarse.  “You fainted straight into my arms,” Damian lies. He means for it to come out sarcastic, but even he can hear the flatness to it, the way it lacks the dry humor that he usually parries with.  “Ha ha,” Tim says from the bed, his voice weak. Everything about him feels weak right now — the lack of color in his face, the lack of volume in his hair, the lack of strength in his posture.  But especially the bandages wrapping his torso.  His next comment is much more genuine. “You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”  Tim opens his mouth to answer, but Damian doesn’t let him.  “Stop talking,” he orders.  Tim is almost offended, until he feels cool plastic pressed to his lips, and he understands.  He lets Damian help him drink. When he pulls away, he feels a gentle stroke along the side of his lip — Damian’s thumb brushing away a droplet of water. 

[steelycunt]

an um. snippet. from me. for the first time since. july :-)

[good-beanswrites]

Was able to post a few things tonight :D Idk if the other things will be ready tomorrow but I'm glad to be back in the writing swing from the past few days

[malachitezmeyka]

A few of the various iterations of Suiren in our Multiverse of Madness and the different things she is into, comprised into one (not so) neat list for my beloved @katkastrofa as part 1 of her birthday present (intended to be used as reference for a certain something 🤭👀 and also bc she said please when she reblogged my earlier post and who am I to say no to that? :D)

(Alternatively: Tumblr please don’t nerf me I beg you)

Under the cut for comfort reasons :’)

SotRL/post-SotRL – At first uses sex as an outlet for her frustrations, wanting it fast, rough and with as little feelings involved as possible. Merciless biter, loves attention on her tits, has a raging praise kink but would rather die than admit it. Touch her hair and you die (at first. After some time she’s okay with it being stroked or brushed out of the way, especially while she’s sucking Kuvira off). Generally rather sensitive and vocal so is very fun to play with, but she doesn’t let herself lean into it fully, and thus is extremely unaware of her submissive side. After she starts healing from her trauma and trusting Kuvira more, on the other hand… 🤭 She is still very much capable of domming or topping of Kuvira so desires, but for the most part she can’t get enough of letting herself be guided into the subspace and giving her brain a little break, willing handing Kuvira the control and trusting that she will be taken good care of. Discovers her oral fixation and leans into the praise kink, as well as riding Kuvira’s strap, having her tits fucked, imagining Kuvira being able to actually come down her throat or inside her, general BDSM stuff, bondage, light petplay, dehumanisation, ownership and edging. So, so much edging 🤤. It gets to a point when she’s not even too keen on coming at all, not wanting the experience to end. But she does love her orgasms, especially when she’s nice and full, so sooner or later she will end up begging for it anyway :D I very much might have missed something, but in my defence, there really is a lot to her

UtOS – Somehow, the complete opposite to SotRL Suiren. Extremely dominant, loves being in control and isn’t too fond of giving it up. Essentially, power bottom to Kuvira’s service top, though she does also love having Kuvira writhe on her water tendrils. Can and will use her bloodbending to her advantage once she finds out Kuvira likes being overstimulated, and heavily leans into the possessiveness kink by calling Kuvira hers as often as possible. Drops orders and light degradation as easily as breathing, and while she does enjoy being praised, it’s to a much, much lesser degree than her SotRL counterpart. Less being called a good girl and more being thanked for giving it to Kuvira so well. A bit of a sadist and somehow even more of a biter than usual. All in all… Grandma Ikiaq is a bad influence 😁

Ultimate AU – Looks like the dominance depends on the bloodbending rather than not being raised by Haya, because we’re back to something more closely resembling SotRL. Except here, Suiren is an impossible tease. Every Suiren knows full well that she’s attractive, but this is the only one who flaunts it quite as openly, wearing almost exclusively low cut dresses, putting an extra sway in her hips as she walks, always squinting at Kuvira in that seductive way… all that good stuff. And as a result of being a tease, she’s also one hell of a brat just begging to be tamed. She’s known nothing but freedom her whole life, so there’s little quite as enticing as the idea of having control forcibly taken from her. She likes being restrained after Kuvira gets sick of being teased and snaps, and fucked as roughly and thoroughly as possible. Most likely is incredible at giving tit fucks while her dress is still mostly on, just with her tits popped out. Is okay with having her hair pulled as long as it’s done lightly. The praise kink also isn’t that prominent, she’s much more into soft cuddles – in which Kuvira is *not allowed* to move as if a cat had fallen asleep in her lap – as a form of aftercare

MoA – I don’t have much on her bc this AU is rather underdeveloped, but she’s essentially pre-discovery-of-submissiveness SotRL Suiren, but even more repressed because the load she carried for her entire life was doubled and having to dispose of her abuser’s body after she was killed by her 15yo sister did absolute fucking wonders for her mental state. A bit more on the controlling side, preferring to take charge. Very into angry sex bordering on hatefucking, will ride Kuvira like her life depends on it to the point of hurt. Insults and death threats take the place of normal well adjusted flirting. Is nowhere near ready to be indulged in her even more well hidden praise kink, would probably claw Kuvira’s eyes out if she ever tried. Perhaps she should get a taste of Kuvira’s newly formed spirit cock and maybe she’ll calm down

Sacrifice AU – Easily the most vanilla out of all her counterparts. After her near death experience she’s extremely averse to all manners of being restrained, whether with metal cuffs or simply being held down. Her wrists are particularly sensitive, never to be grabbed. She doesn’t like being manhandled in any way, she gets to pick the position, and she picks something that will allow her to be on top and not trapped under Kuvira. Prefers grinding or humping to anything being inside her, be it fingers or a cock. Still just as obsessed with having her tits sucked, but it has to be lighter, not enough to leave bruises. She doesn’t like seeing bruises on herself. Praise kink to the max, anything to drown out the voices always shouting obscenities at her. Only while being called beautiful and desirable as she rides out her orgasm, clinging to Kuvira like a lifeline, does she actually feel alive again

Small rarely talked about bonus, Avatar Suiren AU – Living as an all powerful being with not one but two Great Spirits residing inside her gets very tiring very easily. Luckily, a certain someone is always willing to help her mind to drift away and her to lose herself in pleasure for a few hours. A bit more into degradation than praise. In those moments, she isn’t the Avatar, the master of all four elements, saviour of the world, and the memories of lives that came before her as well as those annoying Spirit kites’ constant bickering all fade away. No, in those moments she is simply Suiren, Kuvira’s Suiren, her beloved good girl. And nothing else could possibly matter

[areweevercameraready]

a little snippet...

A/N: so....i actually have...... maybe 100,000k words unpublished with the boys in human au.,.... and since the human au infodump, i've been wondering if i should post things from the spinoff au. i asked a friend and she suggested i post at least a bit since there Were Folks who enjoyed these characters. im hugging everyone who has been keeping up :') thank you and i love you and you don't know how much this means to me, that people like my work.

i do plan on updating more than beliefs, though as you can probably tell, updates are pretty slow. i've had big weird life changes over the past three or so years, which is kinda sad, since i used to be able to update chivalry literally once a week :'D but thank you all for sticking with me through it!! i'm hoping, once i'm done writing my thesis, i can get back to updating MTB more often. i've had the whole thing plotted in my head for a while and you all deserve to see more of macbeth, along with where he was during like. all of chivalry.

heads up that this is NOT going on AO3 — it's a bit far from the actual fandom space so I'm really hesitant to put it up there. it'll only be here! somewhat related, but i might spruce up this blog layout. the banner image is kind of old/i don't like the anatomy, and same with the icon. and i just took a look at the blog and went "wow the text is smaller than i remember it being..." so that's a sign that it's Too Small! time for a change probably.

Words: 7,615

WARNINGS: descriptions of anxiety disorder, descriptions of past child abuse, suicidal/depressive thoughts, someone's ankle breaks (don't run in heels, kids!), alcohol and drunkenness

if i forgot anything, please let me know! this is only one chapter of a longer thing (i'm still on the fence about posting all of it but frankly, if i do revamp this blog, i straight fuckin might. i don't plan on publishing these novels for market consumption, but i would be happy to know if folks out there enjoyed them :') )

enjoy the snippet! <3

Eric Yuan hadn't considered himself lovable in a long, long time.

The anxiety disorder was just scraping the surface. There was the legal battle he'd gone into against his parents for custody over Gavin. He was so responsible it was irresponsible, sleeping odd hours, sometimes none at all, and living off of the cheapest coffee he could find to keep himself awake. There was the lack of time, the long hours of work to pay for the apartment and his and Gavin's lives, between working at the bar and at the restaurant, trying to pull together something to keep them afloat. He survived off of lunch and, when tips were good, the occasional dinner. 

Gavin had noticed, of course, but he was nice enough to not say anything. Eric tried to be as honest as he could about how sometimes they couldn't get new games or new things, how he would have to stay late at night at work. If Eric was thankful for anything, it was how understanding Gavin was. That kid rolled with as many punches as were thrown and while Eric knew he shouldn't have to, knew that his brother deserved a better upbringing than the shit that their parents and now the world were putting them through, he also recognized that this was the best he could do. 

He tried to hide himself in work, two jobs that provided enough money to keep them going. Honestly, if he’d talked with his managers and budgeted hours differently, he could get by with just the bartending job. But the days without work were spent taking Gavin to school, watching Gavin at home, laying on the couch and staring at the ceiling. He had to have something to bury himself in so he wouldn’t be stuck with his thoughts, the ones that promised danger, contempt, building paranoia and anxiety until he choked on his own breath. Thoughts that promised a kinder world. On the other side.

If he killed himself, Gavin would go right back to their parents, and Eric had to stay alive if only to prevent that. That was….that was the only reason. 

Sometimes, he wondered if Gavin knew, because on nights like that the kid always managed to find his way into Eric's bed. He'd crawl in and snuggle between Eric's arms and tell him he had a nightmare. Eric never knew how honest he was being, but he never turned the offer down.

He had to keep alive. So he did. 

And like, man worked a lot. Often, too much. How the fuck was he supposed to keep up with the world around him if he barely used his social media, didn't watch any of the new content put out in recent years, didn't engage with new platforms. Well, he had a Twitter, but that was just to look at funny memes. Those were his favorite development in recent years. Twitter also helped keep up with the news somewhat, but he didn’t exactly pay attention to that. Also, cat videos, those were important to him. 

Yeah, he was fairly disconnected, but what else was new and what could you do.

Eric Yuan's life flipped when he was opening the bar at 4 p.m. on a Wednesday. He wasn't an owner or manager, but he was a shift lead. The most dependable shift lead, if you asked his manager, and while he often told Eric that he was pretty reliable, it wasn’t as though Eric processed that kind of praise. He did know that he got the most done, and was the most efficient, because he could take that kind of metric comparison. But, like. Most reliable? He didn’t know how true that was. Eric liked to take the opening shifts, helped get home at a reasonable enough hour to see Gavin to sleep and for him to sleep enough to take the lunch shifts at his other job. 

The opening shift consisted of a few things. Making sure dishes were racked for the night, that the trash was all arranged and the bins were out in the alley, that bottles that looked like they were going to go empty had restocks close by. It was slow and quiet, for shift leads, but it was perfect for Eric. He liked to turn on some music and walk around, working efficient and quick enough usually to have a few minutes of quiet before the bartenders started showing up. 

The alley behind his bar was more like a driveway than anything, wide enough just for one car. Most of the time, the neighboring businesses would just put their bins back here during work hours. 

While opening on this day, though, Eric noticed a man running. He'd turned the sharp corner near the bar and hurried partway down the block, panting as if he'd been running a while. Eric actually pulled his own bins back as the man passed him. Then promptly tripped. What idiot runs in heels, anyway?

The man tried to get back up, but a few steps proved his ankle injured enough for him to collapse again. And that's when he looked up, frantically looking around for help, and his eyes locked with Eric's. 

Eric waved, ever so slightly. And, well. He's always been the type to help someone who needed it. He didn't know what the man was running from, but it seemed that time was of the essence. He jogged over and picked the man up easily, making sure he didn't grab the man's dreadlocks accidentally beneath his arm, and hurried him into the bar. At least the dude was pretty light, and he let Eric pick him up, wrapping his arms around Eric’s shoulders. 

The first and only real thing Eric noticed was that he smelt a little floral. Must have been perfume or something. The man wasn’t wearing clothes that Eric would have called casual, especially with the heels. A fall like that must have hurt his ankle.

"Thank you," the man whispered, and Eric noticed how gentle his voice was, how lofty and warm. "Close the door, please, they can't see me."

Eric didn't know who the fuck "They" was, but Eric kicked the door closed on his way in. Just as he did, too, he heard the sound of footsteps at the end of the alley. Eric helped the man hide behind the bar, out of view of the door, and shushed him quietly as a knock sounded on the door. 

He wiped his hands on his apron, stepping back towards the door. He paused before opening it only to prepare his face, so he could open it with the deadliest glare. And there were. People. There. Were many people. Many with cameras. All looking fairly out of breath. 

How did that guy outrun a whole ass crowd? 

The man who had knocked was haggard, taller than Eric but with an obviously lankier build, wheezing as he asked, “Have you seen anyone come up this road?”

He sounded kinda desperate. Eric shook his head slowly, cogs working in his head as he put together a cover story. “No, I’ve just been trying to open up shop. I took the bins out,” he gestured to the trash bins, set alongside the wall. “But I didn’t see anyone then. If someone was out there, they could have run past while I was stocking.”

The man nodded, either willing to accept that lie or too frantic to look too deep into it. Eric watched with sharp eyes as he and the group looked up and down the street. He didn’t think this concerned him, though, and he wanted to check back in on the absolute rando’ he’d just let into the bar. So he nudged the guy’s hand. 

“I think the candy shop over there’s open, around that corner.” Eric pointed to the end of the alley. “If someone ran past, they could have seen them. Other than that though, I don’t have anything, and I’ve gotta get back to opening.”

Just a few well-placed white lies. The man at the door nodded and motioned the group to leave without another word. Eric let the door slam behind them. 

Well. Then. He exhaled slow, a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, then turned to the bar counter. 

The way the bar was arranged was such that there was a peninsula counter, sticking out of the wall with seats arranged on all sides. On one side, too, was a small stage. Often, they would just play music. Sometimes they had performers, live musicians, and every Thursday was comedy night for local comedians. In June, they have a small drag show every Friday, and in December, they have a run of charity shows. There are still fliers and decorations up from the last one; Eric should take them down while he’s opening. 

The man who he’d snuck in slowly peeks his head around the counter. There was something awfully familiar about him, like Eric had definitely seen this dude before, but he isn’t attuned to the daily gossip. Maybe it was just because the man was pretty as could be, eyes a warm brown that lingered around Eric before darting back at the door. His brows were perfectly shaped. Eric could see a little heart on his cheek, too, and silver decorations in his dreadlocks. Very, very pretty.

The man scan the area, see Eric going around to take the chairs out from where they’ve been stacked in the corner. And he asks, in a voice almost more delicate than Eric could have imagined, “Are they gone?”

“Yeah,” Eric said, setting down the barstools as he went around the bar’s lounge area. “They stalkers or something?”

As soon as Eric said the people chasing him were gone, the man sighed, standing up all the way and cracking his neck. He scooted to the sink behind the counter to wash his hands, which was fair. It wasn’t like the bar ground was the cleanest, even just before opening. 

Someone like this dude, this put together and manicured and astoundingly beautiful, shouldn’t have had to put his hands on the bar’s fuckin’ ground.

“Basically stalkers. Paparazzi,” the man sighed. 

“Paparazzi?” Eric asked, looking back at the man.

Was this dude fucking famous? Eric couldn’t recognize him. Damn, he was that far removed from things, that he couldn’t recognize an entire celebrity.

The man must have realized now that Eric hadn’t known who he was, because his grin turned sheepish as he wiped his hands on a towel. “Yep! I’m, uh. Songbird? That’s my stage name. And my YouTube channel.” 

That name rang, like, literally no bells in Eric’s head. Figures, though. He rarely watched Youtube. 

They stood in relative silence for a few beats before the man tried again. “Cadence? Cadence Beaulieu?” 

“Oh,” Eric said, and it must have been obvious how he didn’t know who the fuck this Cadence dude was, because Cadence laughed a little in his face. 

“You’re cute,” Cadence said, limping out around the bar, holding onto the bar’s side. “I don’t get that much anymore.” 

“Cool.” Eric instinctually hurried over, holding Cadence’s arm and waist as he helped him onto one of the bar’s seats, but his head was reeling from the idea of a famous celebrity calling him cute. Like? That didn’t just happen. Did it? This guy was fucking famous? 

What the fuck was he supposed to say? How do you talk to famous people? Eric helped him settle into the seat before asking, “Do you want water or something?”

“No, I’m good,” Cadence smiled at him.

Eric was going to loose his mind, he got called cute by a famous dude and now he’s looking at the famous dude and realizing how cute the famous guy was. He hadn’t paid attention to that earlier, too preoccupied with getting the guys at the door to leave, but now that he was actually looking at this guy—his anxiety was about to start kicking in, hard, he could tell. What if he made an ass of himself in front of the famous dude? The incredibly pretty famous dude. 

“Cool,” Eric looked down, at the bar, and whistled a little. “If you want, you can, uh, stay here for a bit, until your car comes?”

He figured the famous dude isn’t driving around himself. 

Cadence nodded. “If that’s okay,” he murmured, taking out his phone. “I can stay outta your way, then.”

Slowly, Eric nodded, too. He had to get the extra drinks ready. Finish opening up. And. He couldn’t really. Process? What was happening. He just thought he was helping someone up off the street, having tripped, and….Wait.

“Wait, how’s your ankle?” he tried to swallow his anxiety, looking back at Cadence, who seemed to be idling on his phone. 

Cadence looked back up at him, then at his ankle. He was wearing strappy heels, flowy pants, a tight shirt, and an old oversized jacket, and none of these looked like clothes that were good to be running around in. Especially those heels. Eric didn’t know much about heels but he figured they might be an inch? And that was probably enough to fucking break a leg. Rude to stare, though. So he just. Averted his eyes back to the glasses he was stacking for later.

This guy was so fucking pretty. Eric was holding him earlier. He’d carried him—Eric had deadlift carried a whole ass celebrity. 

“Probably sprained,” Cadence said with a sigh. “When I get home, I can ice it. I don’t think it’s fully broken, though, I could put a little weight on it.”

Now, they had ice in the box. Eric grabbed one of the spare bags for their limes and filled one with ice, part of their protocol for when drunkards would hurt themselves. He wrapped it in one of the clean towels and, once the Grey Goose was restocked, brought it over to Cadence. Who took it. Gratefully. It seemed. 

“Thanks,” Cadence gave him a smile, which like. Eric still didn’t really know how to feel about this. 

“No problem,” he said. “Sorry, uh. For, uh, being quiet. And not knowing who you were.”

Because like, that felt like something he should apologize for, you know? If Cadence is used to people recognizing him on the streets and some level of respect because of it, then maybe Eric treating him like a regular person (maybe even ignoring him, since he’s just sitting in the corner) might be rude? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know the fucking etiquette for talking to famous people, this isn’t a problem he’s ever had!

“It’s okay, no, don’t even worry,” Cadence giggled—that sound, that fucking sound was so soft, what the hell?—and waved his hand dismissively. 

“Okay,” Eric nodded. And he didn’t have much to. Like. Add? 

So he turned around and went back to restocking the bar. And he didn’t say anything about how he could feel Cadence watching him. He didn’t say anything, but he could feel Cadence’s eyes on his back every so often, when he’d look up from his phone. 

Maybe he was tweeting something about him. Eric didn’t know much about social media so if he did get tweeted about, he definitely wasn’t going to be able to find it. Or maybe he was texting his famous friends about the weirdo bartender who’s just ignoring him as he lifts the crates out of the storage room and cracks them open. 

There’s no way this dude would be bullying him over shit like this for no reason, right? 

Regardless, Eric wasn’t about to start a conversation and ask. He just knew that the guy was staring at him. For what felt like an hour. Realistically, only like, half an hour. But for fucking forever, man.

At some point, though, it had to end. After about twenty minutes, Cadence stood up, wobbling a little on his hurt ankle. Eric, who’d been restocking the limes, looked up, then stood up. 

“Your car here?” he asked. 

“Yep,” Cadence smiled a little at him. “When does this place open, anyway?”

“Uh,” Eric frowned, checking the clock on the wall. “In ten.”

Where the fuck are his bartenders, anyway? They’re supposed to get here at around now. Fuckers. 

Cadence nodded, though, noting the time. “Glad this all happened before hours, then. Wouldn’t want it to get too crazy in here for you,” he looked at the clock on the wall, then back at Eric, with a small smile that made Eric’s already quick-beating heart skip a beat thinking of how his eyes creased with gentle happiness. 

“Uh. Yeah,” Eric tried to smile, too, but something told him it looked a little more like a grimace. 

Cadence waved, Eric waved. Then Cadence left. And the door closed behind him.

And that was the that. On that. 

Eric was fairly zoned out for the whole shift. He was mixing drinks on autopilot, not so much as handling customers. Some drunkard got rowdy, Eric wasted no time to tell them to fuck off. His patience was zilch. 

He got home and Gavin’s already put himself to bed, tucked in and in his PJ’s, though Eric heard him get up when he closed the front door. Eric picked him up, tucked him back in again, and kissed him on the head. Poor kid hated being alone late at night, especially when he had to put himself to bed. Eric laid on the bed with him, one foot off to hold himself steady, and made sure Gavin was all the way asleep before he stood up to change his own clothes. 

Only once he was sure Gavin’s not getting out of bed again does he check his phone, too. 

“Cadence Beaulieu” had over four million followers on Twitter, over fifteen million subscribers on Youtube, and an Instagram account that makes Eric blush almost inappropriately. And this is the guy who was. In his bar. Talking to him. Eric picked this man up earlier and didn’t even notice that the heart on his face was made up of three moles. It looked like a tattoo almost, but no, apparently. 

He spent almost too much time binging Cadence’s content before he managed to pass out to the sound of one of his beauty tutorials. Interesting, that this is the guy he met. This is the guy who he picked up, carried into his bar, hid in the corner.

Interesting. 

But not every day is so interesting. So Eric goes back to work and expects nothing to change. He tries to put this rare celebrity encounter behind him. Tries not to think of how much of an idiot he must have been, seeming to just fade into the background and ignore what could have been a real moment had he asked more questions, became something more memorable perhaps. He could have asked Cadence how he was doing, at least. How his day had been. Anything, really. 

Instead, Eric just has the memory of the prettiest man on the planet sitting in the corner of the bar, of his bar. Alone together. A stranger, sure, and maybe Eric understood somewhere that that was part of why the anxiety was so strong? But c’mon. Man was pretty. Nice, too. 

Damn. This is why he’s single, he joked bitterly to himself. Lonely, the joke in his head twisted. He didn’t have the gall to actually talk to anyone, what was he supposed to do.

He had been cleaning out glasses at the bar, late one night. He’d picked up a later shift, after Gavin had already gone to sleep. Usually, Eric liked to be home while the kid slept, but sometimes the scheduling didn’t work out like that and he’d need to pick up extra hours for other bartenders who had to tap out. He was a very strong cover, apparently. And on the spectrum of “thank god that lucky ass thing happened,” this was right below Cadence’s accident. 

About two weeks after Eric meets a whole ass celebrity, two men sit down at the bar during one of the live musical performances. It was Eric’s time working behind the bar, and he saw the one with the eyepatch wave him over. Which, like. Okay, sure, he was getting there. But customer service and you never know how many drinks they’ve had before they walk in at one in the morning and you definitely don’t want to get mad at the dude giving you the tip and maybe this dude’s never been to a bar, who the fuck wears soft cashmere at a bar, and his buddy there was in a bowtie and suspenders like this was some kind of book club and not remarkably past midnight on a Thursday. 

Like, okay, nerds, maybe they’ve just never been to this kinda bar. Sure. Fine.

“What can I get started for you boys,” Eric said, slinging his washcloth over his shoulder on his approach. 

“Two cosmopolitans, please,” the one with the eyepatch said, giving Eric a smile that read polite. 

Eric looked at the one with curly hair and glasses, who nodded in confirmation. “One shot in both? You got any vodka preferences?” he asked, taking out the house vodka and two tumblers. 

Before the eyepatch’ed one could reply, the one with glasses butted in, saying, “One with one shot, a double in the other, please. And if you have Ketel One, that would be grand.”

“A double shot? Marlowe!”

“What, it’s been a good day! I think I deserve a double shot. And you know two shots isn’t enough to do much.” This Marlowe guy sounded pretty cocky, if you were to ask Eric, but no one ever asks the bartender. So he didn’t say anything about it. 

He tuned out of the argument there, as soft as it turned. Much less of an argument, more aggressive flirting, and that was something that was easy for him to zone out of until he set the two cocktails down. “Double shot,” he said, setting the double in front of Marlowe. “And a single. If you boys need anything else, my name’s Eric and I’ll be at the bar all night.” 

“Eric,” the one with the eyepatch smiled, and it was kind of pretty in that controlled, poised way that some models do. “Thank you. If we need anything, I’ll-I’ll call.”

“Thank you, Eric,” Marlowe said, raising his glass and taking a long sip. 

Eric just nodded and went around, checking on others. Earlier, he’d seen some dude try to roofie a girl, and had taken the drink back. She had left with a friend she trusted, and he’d kicked the guy out pretty forcefully, but the moment still left quite the imprint. He was always on edge whenever that happened, hoping to prevent it from happening again. 

He did a few rounds before he ended up in front of Marlowe and his friend again, maybe half an hour later. This friend was on his phone, typing something out, while Marlowe flagged Eric down, with an empty glass before him. 

“Hello, Eric,” Marlowe raised the glass. “Would you be a dime and make me a Long Island Iced Tea?” 

Okay. This dude had to be a heavier drinker, if he was going to be calling out drinks by name. And it wasn’t necessarily Eric’s job to know how much someone could drink, especially strangers. The guy didn’t, like….he didn’t look drunk just yet. You know? So Eric nodded. 

“Sure thing. You got any preferences?” he asked, taking the cup back and pulling out a tall glass. 

Now that seemed to be the right question, or at least one the man hadn’t thought of. Marlowe reached up, cupping his chin in thought, and spared a few glances at his friend still typing. Hopefully this wasn’t, like, for the friend. Eric would have to watch for that. But after a bit of time, Marlowe nods. “Yes. Ketel One again for the vodka.” 

“Sure.” They had Ketel One under the vodka cabinet, but people rarely ordered it. It was one of their premium vodka’s and house vodka was Smirnoff. 

“Do you have Patrón for tequila?” 

“Yeah, I’m….pretty sure,” Eric, before he could be made to swallow his words, took a stride to the tequila cabinet and checked. “Yep, I’ve got Patrón for you.” 

“Excellent. I don’t know enough about the other three alcohols to have preferences, but if you could tell me what you put in, I’d love to start learning.”

An….interesting request. But Eric knew the house drinks like the back of his hand (and he might not be able to hold his liquor like the best of them, but he’d still tried all of the standard drinks. For posterity.) so he pulled out the Bacardi first. “This’ the rum. In house, we use Bacardi. Pretty light for a rum, but it does have a better taste than Captain Morgan. A lot better to mix with,” he explained. 

Marlowe had turned himself toward the counter, watching Eric pour in the Bacardi first, then the Ketel One, then the Patrón. Then, he put those three down. The triple sec was all out on the shelf, since they were common enough and the bar stocked a small enough range to have the whole selection out for viewing. Eric pulled down a bottle of Bols to add, then Henrick’s gin from the shelf below. They were running out behind the bar anyways. “Bols is the triple sec,” Eric said as he poured. “It’s really good for mixing with multiple alcohols. Sometimes a drink’ll play nice with other alcohols and sometimes it’ll only play nice with, like. Coke.”

“That makes sense. The consistencies are very different,” Marlowe hummed. 

Sounded like this dude was the analytical type. Which might explain why he had some of his preferences on hand. If you don’t go to bars often, you’re going to be scared of the unknown. Eric was almost proud of the guy for that, if this was him trying new things. 

He just hoped Marlowe wouldn’t throw up in the bathroom or something. That would fuckin’ suck. Always a situation when the patrons didn’t know their own limits.

“Henrick’s is the gin, and it’s just a easy gin to use,” he said with a shrug. “And then we just….”

He pulled out the cola spritzer, topped the glass off with cola, and put the slice of lemon in. And then he slid it over to Marlowe, who took the drink in one hand with a fascinated look. Dude even pushed his glasses up. 

“Interesting. I’m excited to try it,” Marlowe said, glancing back up to Eric with a smile. 

And before Eric could even warn him about how strong of a gut punch it was about to be, Marlowe picked up the glass and took a swig about a third of the cup. “Woah, buddy,” Eric couldn’t stop himself from jumping at that. “You alright?”

“Marlowe, what the fuck are you doing?” dude’s friend finally looked up from his phone to see Marlowe slam the glass down and cough into his arm. 

“Holy shit,” Marlowe said, fixing his glasses with a smile that seemed a little too wide to be sober. “That’s quite strong, but very, very good. Thank you, Eric!” 

His glasses were still crooked. Eric almost leaned forward to fix them, before the guy’s friend got to it first, and that was all for the better. It’s not like Eric knew these people, after all. 

Marlowe took out his phone and Eric took the chance to lean towards his companion. “He asked for a pretty strong drink,” Eric warned. “If you need a hand taking care of him, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve held a dude’s hair back in the bathroom.”

His friend must have been surprised at the suggestion, but it can’t have been an uncommon thing considering how quickly he got over the possibility. “Thank you, that’s very k-very kind. He’s not usually one to drink a lot,” the friend sighed, then nodded to Eric. “Thank you for your service tonight, Eric. My name is Phillip.”

Phillip, alright. “Good to meet you, Phillip,” Eric said, and he went back around the bar to do rounds.

It was another hour and half before the bar closed, though. Eric wasn’t technically the shift lead for closing, but he was on the shift. When it got close enough to three, he turned on Semisonic’s song “Closing Time.” Most of the people had left by then, quick to leave on their rides or to new bars. 

But still sitting at the bar were the two people Eric had pegged as nerds earlier, Marlowe and Phillip. After Marlowe finished the Long Island Iced Tea, Eric had poured a water, but the man still ordered a margarita on top of it. And now it looked like he was paying for it, given how he was literally leaning on Phillip’s shoulder, arms wrapped around his waist. Phillip didn’t look all too pleased, however. 

“David is going to be worried si-worried si-sick when we get home.” Eric could hear Phillip chide Marlowe as he got close.

“It’s-It’s all dandy. I love David,” Marlowe hiccupped into Phillip’s shoulder, then leaned around and pressed his face into the base of his neck. “I love YOU, Prince.”

Phillip tutted, reaching back to run his hand through Marlowe’s curled hair. “I love you-love you too, you idiot.”

Cute. Really gay, and cute. Eric put away the cups he’d just washed and approached the pair, noting how they’d slowly but surely become the last people at the bar. 

“Hey,” he said, waving slightly. “Phillip, right?”

“Mhm. Eric,” Phillip greeted. “Sorry to still be here. I can see you’re closing up.”

“Eh. Marlowe’s falling asleep on you, I get it. Do you two have a ride home?” 

At that, Phillip winced. And Eric could have guessed the follow up, honestly. “Actually, Marlowe was supposed to be the driver,” Phillip confessed, patting Marlowe’s hand. “I think he overshot how much he could drink, though. As per usual.”

“I only had three drinks!” Marlowe interrupted, all too proud of himself for having three drinks that had the alcoholic consistency of a freight train. 

Phillip and Eric both seemed to be on the same page, though, because neither acknowledged him. Save for a few gentle pats from Phillip as Marlowe buried himself more in Phillip’s back. 

“Okay. Do you need to call someone?” Eric asked. 

Phillip rubbed the back of his neck, thinking for a moment before nodding. “Yes. I know someone who’ll be awake who can come help, but….well. Marlowe’s car is still in the parking lot. It has a parking limit in the morning, which will quickly become an issue.”

Fuckin’ city parking. Eric had definitely gotten a ticket or two before, parking his motorcycle in the wrong place. He usually just walked to work, though, since he was two blocks away. So he didn’t have a vehicle to worry about….

A drunk man and a man with a cane could get picked up real easy this late at night by some unfavorable people. Maybe that worry was what made Eric offer. Maybe it was because Phillip and Marlowe had been fairly kind to him throughout the night. It could also have had something to do with how nice Phillip seemed to be taking it now, how calm he was handling the situation. And maybe, too, how Phillip himself didn’t ask. 

There was something nice about being able to offer help, rather than having it asked of him always. 

“If you want, I can drive you home,” Eric suggested. “I’ll catch an Uber back to my house from yours.”

Phillip blinked, and Marlowe giggled. Eric didn’t know what was so funny. He thought it was probably pretty shady to offer. He knew he wouldn’t let just any stranger drive his bike, after all. But he’d gotten to the point where he could do a solid vibe check just by looking and interacting with someone, and these two seemed nice. He could see himself accepting this kind offer, under similar circumstances, from either of them. 

Still, kinda scary to think he’d be driving someone else’s car to their own house. He wouldn’t know where it was, Phillip would have to direct him. But Phillip legally couldn’t drive, not with the one eye gone, and Marlowe definitely couldn’t drive if he tried. Which he shouldn’t. 

“That would be so-so lovely, thank you,” Phillip said. 

Getting clearance to drive some drunk patrons home was a breeze, knowing it was Eric “workaholic glad you’re getting out early” Yuan. Soon enough, he had his arm looped around Marlowe’s waist, helping him up as Phillip led them to the car, which was parked about half a block away. Phillip also used a cane, which would have been a pretty difficult thing to work around if he needed to carry Marlowe himself. All the more reason Eric was glad to help them home. 

They walked up to a nice sedan, likely a newer model judging by the built in navigation. Phillip helped Eric lay Marlowe in the back seat as he mumbled something about a pony, and Phillip himself climbed into the shotgun. The car wasn’t that hard to drive, now that Eric looked around at the controls. Same as any. The break was a little more tense than he was used to, but once he got it onto the road, he could manage. 

Phillip, in shotgun, turned on a jazzy, late night radio station. And directed Eric gently towards their home, probably. Neither of them made conversation much but, to some extent, it didn’t seem like it was necessary. And that was kind of nice, to Eric. He didn’t always like conversing, especially with patrons and folks who didn’t know him. Which accounted for most people. But Phillip’s presence was nice, calming almost, which was rich for a guy who Eric had just met. He was tense, like he usually was, but for a stranger? In this kind of precarious circumstance?

It’s when the drive took them onto a small, two-lane road at the edges of the city and beginnings of the forest that Eric starts to worry. Was Marlowe actually a heavy-weight? Maybe he was pretending to be drunk back there so they could mug him? Take his kindness for granted and leave him in a ditch? He didn’t think he looked like he was worth mugging, but like….maybe. Was that a necessary cane or was it a weapon?

“It’s this-this house here,” Phillip said, pointing to a gravel driveway, and Eric swallowed despite the dryness of his mouth. 

“Sure,” he murmured, pulling onto the gravel. 

As he did, the house’s porch light turned on, front door thrown open as someone else jogged out. Eric stopped, threw the car into park immediately, but Phillip didn’t seem too phased by the newcomer. Instead, he turned to Eric and held out a one hundred dollar bill. “Thank you so much for all your help this evening,” he said with a smile.

Eric looked at the bill, then up at Phillip. He hadn’t really expected to be tipped for this, in all honesty. But it made sense. You know, if he’s going to drive you home, tip him. He’s done over the top enough. But a hundred fucking dollars? This dude just whipped a hundred dollars out on a tip? How loaded were these gay dudes, and then they didn’t have someone to drive them home?

“That’s a hundred dollars,” he said, unthinking. 

He blushed a little, stuttering on words to add on and say he didn’t mean to sound ungrateful, but Phillip just laughed. His laugh was breezy, like leaves in the wind. “Yes, it’s a hundred dollars. I think it’s-it’s warranted, considering you drove me and my idiot home,” Phillip put the bill on Eric’s lap and undid his seatbelt. “It’s a hundred dollars plus something-something extra.”

Eric looked down at the bill, picked it up, and there was. A whole ass phone number written on the side. With the “Phillip & Marlowe” written on the side. 

Before he can ask what the fuck is happening and if he’s been dreaming this whole time, the backseat door opens. “Davy,” Marlowe’s voice is so slurred it’s almost incomprehensible, but the person who’d come out of the house, this “Davy,” unbuckles Marlowe swiftly. 

“Jesus, Marl’, how much did you drink?” Davy grumbles, pulling Marlowe out by his arms. 

Instead of setting him on the ground, though, Davy just wrapped them around his shoulders and then slowly, steadily, lifted Marlowe into his arms. Marlowe let him, swinging his own legs up to make it easier for Davy to catch them. Once he had some semblance of a grip, Marlowe leaned forward and pressed his face against Davy’s, kissing him rough enough for Phillip to laugh at, Eric to stare confusedly at. 

“He gets like this, when he’s-when he’s drunk,” Phillip leaned over to explain, though it does nothing to clear up Eric’s questions. 

At this point? He’s a lot more willing to walk home. Just get out of the car and walk. 

“Alright, y’ sap,” Davy grumbles, pulling Marlowe off of himself and nestling him into more of a hold. 

Eric was still sitting in the driver seat, just watching through the passenger window as Phillip opens his own door and climbs out. Davy leans his head towards Phillip, who pats his shoulder warmly and looks down at Eric. 

All three of them are looking at him now. 

The odd one out. 

And, like, fair. He didn’t know what the fuck he was doing here, either. 

“Uh,” he said. “I can just, uh. I can call myself an Uber now.”

“Who the fuck’re you?” Davy asked, almost at exactly the same time.

Eric put his hands up and slowly climbed out of the car. This Davy person didn’t really look mad—Phillip leaned over, whispering something to him, and Davy nodded along. And Eric didn’t know what the fuck that was about really, but he didn’t feel in the mood to test anything. Not at three in the morning, in someone else’s driveway. He had to get back home. 

“I can just….” Eric gestured to the road again, taking a few steps back. 

Davy shook his head. “No fuckin’ way, dude,” he was much more abrasive than the other two, and something in the sturdiness of his tone got Eric to shut up. “I’ll drive you.”

On literally any other day, Eric would probably have started running right then and there. His palms were sweaty still, from gripping the steering wheel tighter than ever and from the mounting panic of driving someone else’s car to a house he didn’t know. In a car with a bunch of strangers. 

But, to be frank, Eric was just starting to believe this wasn’t real. 

He was probably just tired. He didn’t usually work shifts this late, and this was a whirlwind of a night already, and he’d already swallowed whatever panic arose earlier, which usually left him without the energy to worry about semi-tense situations. It was a kinda numb feeling. Besides, what was the worst that could happen? He dies and Gavin goes back with their parents? Bit too late in the night for Eric to care about something as trivial as dying. 

So he nodded slowly to Davy’s suggestion. “That would be nice,” he said. 

Davy grinned. He lifted Marlowe a little and said, “I’ll put this one to bed and come back out, ‘ight?” 

Eric just nodded again, which must have been good enough for Davy, because he just turned around and marched himself back into the house. Phillip stayed outside, though, leaning on his cane with both of his hands. Eric shuffled around the car, now feeling a little more awkward, and Phillip gave him a small shrug as if to say he sympathized.

“I’m sure this is-this is strange,” Phillip added on. 

It sure as fuck was. But Eric was like, almost too out of it to properly acknowledge that. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “This’ gonna be one hell of a dream to wake up from.”

Phillip chuckled at that one, laugh light like air. He leaned over and rested a hand on Eric’s shoulder—Eric flinched, hands reaching up into a defensive stance, and Phillip pulled back quick. 

It was. A little out of his comfort zone. 

Just a little. He didn’t like people touching him, especially people he didn’t know, because for the longest time he’d been used to sudden motions as a threat. And while he used to take it, Eric had long since trained himself to fight over flight. So it did take self-control to not just deck this dude.

He turned back around to Phillip, shoulders hiked enough for his neck to stiffen just a bit, and he tried to lower his own hands. They were shaking, much to his chagrin, so he stuffed them into the pockets of his jeans. 

“Sorry,” he fumbled over his words. “Sorry, I, uh. I’m kinda...it’s late, and I don’t really like, uh. People touching me.”

“No need to apologize, that-that was on me,” Phillip responded. “No need at all. I should-I should have known better, but I’m ti-I guess I’m tired my-myself. I’m very sorry for touching.”

Eric smoothed himself out slowly, as best he could, and Phillip rested himself against the side of the car. He glanced over, watching Phillip as the man looked up at the tree line. In the moonlight, Eric could see him smile, ever so slightly. He looked weirdly regal, with how prim he was, even after being at a dive bar for three hours. His hair was still brushed to the side like it’d been gelled, though Eric had seen him run his hand through it a few times. And although it was dark, he could still make out the freckles that dotted Phillip’s face, like stars in their own right.

He turned away, looking at his feet, and hoped Phillip didn’t feel too badly. It wasn’t his fault Eric was a nervous fuckin’ wreck. But he didn’t say anything. Getting a little too tired to hold proper conversation.

They both look up as the front door opens and closes again, as that Davy guy jogs out. He’d changed out of his clothes into other pajama looking clothes, or maybe he’d just thrown on a jacket. 

“Alright, nerd’s been sung a lullaby and is all tucked into bed.” He clapped his hands, rubbing them together slowly. “You gonna be able to get yourself in bed okay, Princey?”

“Oh, I’ll be okay. Just-Just sad my favorite artist won’t be there to kiss me goodnight,” Phillip said, and Eric did a double take at how flippantly the flirt was doled out.

Wasn’t Phillip dating that Marlowe guy? Eric glanced between Davy and Phillip as Davy scoffed and grabbed Phillip by the shoulder of his sweater, yanking him close and kissing him for a second. Were they like, all dating? Was that what was happening here? 

Eric was more confused than anything else. He knew of polyamory. He’d just never seen it. Then again, he didn’t know about a lot in the queer community. Once, one of the queens who came in for drag night called him “gnc as hell” and he had to get an explanation from one of the girls sitting at the bar. Polyamory, though, was a new kind of fear for him. That was just more people to disappoint. 

He looked back at the car and climbed into the passenger seat while Davy pulled back from Phillip and mussed up his hair. Eric very intentionally ignored eye contact while Davy climbed into the driver’s seat and rolled down Eric’s window, though he did wave at Phillip while Davy pulled away.

“Drive safely, David!” Phillip called out, waving a hand. 

“Be back in a sec, baby!” David must have been his name proper, because he blew Phillip a kiss through the window and then rolled it back up. 

Eric just kept sitting. Quietly. He almost wanted to pull his knees up, but this was someone else’s car and he didn’t really want to put his shoes on the leather seats. He put his hands on his knees, though, and tensed his knuckles a little. 

Whereas the ride to the house was quiet in a calm manner, Eric felt a lot more tense now. He didn’t know this David. And this David dude seemed a lot less poised than Phillip or Marlowe, given how he just turned off the radio and mumbled music lyrics, off-key and without any actual tune. And Eric could recognize that only because, at some point, David was singing some Shinedown song he knew. “State of My Head?” Probably. 

Would David be mad? If this was a polyamory situation, would it be like encroaching on territory to have driven Phillip and Marlowe home? Eric didn’t know. He didn’t want it to seem like that; he just didn’t want them to have to call an Uber and get a ticket. Shit was expensive. 

At the first red light off the one-lane road, David glanced at him, and Eric caught the sight of a birthmark near his neck. It looked faded but it was still a recognizable shade of red. Eric looked away almost immediately, so David wouldn’t notice him staring. He must not have been too successful, though, because David chose that moment to start a conversation.

[dyrewrites]

Mr. Friendly - into the attic

True to his word, Daddy had prepared for adventure.

Waiting by Maisy’s closet after breakfast was a ladder, a sturdy flashlight, two pairs of gloves, a bag of snacks and two hard hats with soft nets over them.

“In case of spiders,” Daddy said when he set one of the hats on her head.

Papa stood by the bedroom door with his arms crossed, and a crooked smile spread across his face as he said, “if there’s anything bigger than a spider up there, you two better call someone. I don’t want to come home to find you foaming at the mouth because you tried to make friends with a raccoon.”

Maisy opened her mouth to protest but Daddy was quicker and met Papa’s smile with a kiss and a promise, “We won’t befriend any strange animals.”

But, when he turned back to Maisy, there was that twinkle in his eyes and he winked.

A wink Papa must have felt because he sighed and turned from the room, calling back, “Just be careful, alright, I have enough to do all day without having to explain two dead bodies in the attic.”

Then, before Miasy had a chance to yelp at the mention of dead bodies, Papa popped his head back into the room and Daddy hit him in his grinning face with a pillow; smoothing away her sharp fear with warm laughter. She didn’t always understand why Papa said scary things as if they were funny, but his laugh was the best sound in the world to her ears, so she didn’t mind it so much when he did.

After more goodbyes, and too many hugs and kisses–“in case you don’t make it back,” Papa had joked–Daddy stuffed a ladder into the closet and, gloves on and flashlight secure in his belt, he and Maisy climbed up into the dusty hole above it…in search of monsters.

~

He liked these ones.

Whenever they were together the rooms outside his closets filled with laughter and smiles. It caressed the walls with warmth, swelling to fill every cold, dark corner with bubbling glee. And sometimes, when they were especially close, huddled in the smallest rooms…he could feel it.

It hadn’t always been that way with the things that lived in his house, the solid creatures–he knew them as human but it was not a word he fully understood, what made them human, and him not? More often than he’d like the ones that moved all of their strange objects, and bright lights, into his dark spaces were just as cold and distant as the shadows they replaced. Sometimes they were loud, sometimes violent.

In the most violent times he would share his closets with the little ones.

He could shelter them in his dark, hide them as he hid himself, but he could never let them know he was there, that he was anything more than shadows.

They screamed and ran when he tried.

But the new ones were only loud when they laughed, and only screamed when they played. He had watched them every day, sneaking closer as the sun set, during the months since they moved in. From all of his closets he watched them, studied them, as they lived and played and laughed through all the rooms of his house.  And it was his house. Even if their names were on it, and their things inside, it had always been his, and he its.

There existed no memories of a time when he didn’t slink through its shadows, hiding from the poking fingers and seeking eyes of those who sought to own it. He never fought them for it, even if they would say he did–screaming from the doors that the house was haunted–and he never minded the idea of company, but it had been…years? He couldn’t know for sure, but it had been a a very long time since he didn’t hate having company, since someone came to live with him that made the house feel like a home.

He wanted these ones to stay, wanted the little one to stay most of all and, a small but growing part of him wanted to stay with them. Not only as watcher, but participant…it was a silly dream, and he knew it was. Warm as they were, no human would see him as anything but a monster. And yet, as the little one’s sparkly purple shoes vanished into the square of black at the top of his closet, chasing the big one’s boots with her giggles held tight, he considered the shadows beyond it. They were not his shadows, but they were deep enough to traverse, if not as welcoming as those of his closets and corners…

And, even as doubt flashed in his soft yellow eyes, he stretched up and through those shadows, assuring himself, I’m just following to make sure the mouse doesn’t get them.

~

The attic was bigger than Maisy expected, bigger than Daddy expected too–judging by how he gasped when they reached the top of the ladder.

“I don’t remember looking up here during the inspection,” he said, more to himself, as Maisy wandered ahead to explore. “You think Papa knows about all this…stuff?”

She didn’t, but she didn’t need to say so.

There wasa lot of stuff. Big stuff, little stuff, old chairs and ratty beds and mannequins and bookshelves overflowing with yellowed old books and dolls and balls and boxes on top of boxes that reached in great towers up and up into the shadowy dome of the ceiling.

Maisy had never seen so much stuff.

And they barely needed the flashlight to see it all, though Daddy did hand it to Maisy with a smile and definitive nod.

The big round window at the far end of the attic–the one Maisy knew as the prettiest part of the house from the front–let in so much of the morning sun that everything in that big attic glowed. What shadows she could see were burned into the corners and under the mountains of stuff so darkly that they chased her closer to Daddy for fear of being swallowed up or dropped into some great big nothing.

“Did you see your monster?” He asked her tight grip. Maisy shook her head, closing her eyes tighter and pointed at the nearest hole in the world. Daddy eyed the shadows then knelt down in the thick gray dust along the creaky wood floor and held her shoulders, “Got your flashlight?”

Maisy gripped her flashlight, it was solid and heavy and she gave it a good shake before she nodded, but she didn’t speak. Something in those shadows kept her lips tight.

“Good,” Daddy told her, tapping it before waving a hand out to the room, “think you can shine it ahead of us and keep all that scary dark away for me?”

With a firmer grip, Maisy flicked the switch and aimed the flashlight’s blue-white beam straight ahead. Then she nodded again, eyes shining near as bright as the light, and Daddy smiled and patted her head before he stood up.

“There really is a tonof stuff up here, isn’t there?” He asked the maze of some other family’s memories, tucking his hands on his hips as he surveyed it all. Then he smiled down at Maisy, waiting for her to meet the twinkle in his eyes and added, “There could be anything in a treasure hoard like this one.”

The mention of treasure untangled Maisy’s tongue, “You really think so?”

“Oh, definitely,” Daddy said, and his smile curled, “maybe even something magical…”

“But it’s not ours,” Maisy pouted.

Daddy clicked his tongue, “You’re right, it’s not ours, but whoever it belongs to clearly didn’t want it anymore or they wouldn’t have left it here.” Her head dropped a bit too low then and Daddy sighed before trying to lift it, “How about this, we look inside all these boxes and if we find anything too personal; something we know no one would throw away on purpose…we find its owner?”

Maisy perked, nodded hard and darted to the nearest pile of boxes, her flashlight’s beam bouncing wildly as she tore it open and dug inside and Daddy laughed before finding a box of his own.

As they rummaged through box after box, pulling sheets off old furniture, dusty mirrors and uncomfortably detailed mannequins, the morning light pouring through the window burned brighter and hotter. Soon it swelled from yellows to oranges and finally pinks before either spoke again.

“Lunch break?” Daddy asked, wiping the dust on his hands onto the dust on his jeans.

But Maisy was shoulders-deep into a steamer trunk and didn’t hear him and, when she came up for air, she had more interesting things on her mind than food.

She had found a bunch of old toys, stuffed animals mostly, and a few blankets and dresses in that trunk but what she held as she turned and leaned against it was no toy. It was a book. But not just any book, the tattered old thing in her hands was a sketchbook, and though her face was smeared in gray dust and sweat from all the digging…Maisy’s smile was clean and clear as she opened it.

“Watch’a got there, pumpkin?” Daddy asked as he scrunched in next to her.

“Memories,” She whispered, scooting the book over so Daddy could see it too.

~

Theirs weren’t the only eyes on those memories, tracing the rough crayon lines drawn in vibrant colors, a pair of soft yellows watched with them–so gently glowing they appeared as extra motes of dust glittering behind them. And those eyes shook at what waited in the wide pages of the sketchbook, in the memories the little one holding them had found.

Shadows mixed with the bright sticks and blobs of human shapes on every page, hiding in windows or corners, their pale yellow eyes peeking from closets and under beds. They weren’t drawn with menacing, messy scratches either. Each shadow was tall, looming over all the human shapes around them, and possessed of more arms and hands than one might expect…but their heads were rounded and smooth and their eyes drawn as wide circles or happy half-moons.

But it was one drawing in particular that rippled his shadows and forced his eyes back for fear of the new ones catching sight of him. A little girl made of sticks, in a spotted blue dress, her fluffy red hair drawn with big swirls and standing next to her…the shadow. She had drawn him so tall, so dark, and outside. There were trees around them, a sun behind and, at the bottom of the page, in thick black crayon, were the words;

Lottie & Mr. Shadow on holiday

If only he could smile, and oh if he could speak. How he would thank them if he could speak, for finding such a treasure, for helping him to see, to know.

She didn’t hate me, He told those drawings, the memories of the little one responsible bubbling up to fill his shadows with images of her tiny back hunched so tight over crayons and paper. But she ran away…like all the others, and he remembered her screams as one of the big ones she had lived with carried her from the emptied room. The room that was his, the room he enjoyed sharing with her, even when she was afraid of the noise outside it and all he had were shadows to hold her in. He had tried to help her, hadn’t he? He had tried to keep her safe, make her happy, and still she left…left him.

As the new little one reached the last page of the sketchbook, a collective gasp drew him closer, to strain his eyes in the still bright light of the attic. There was a message, scrawled in solid black, in letters so thickly written that the flecks of crayon used to make them still clung to the empty spaces between;

THANK YOU MR. SHADOW

FOR BEING MY FRIEND

[hexiewrites]

make this inn our own: chapter fifteen

for @thefreakandthehair’s spicy six winter prompt challenge! thank you @reindeerrobin for the graphic & for everything!!!!

and thank you to ALL of you who have read and loved this fic as much as I have. it means the world to me. <3

read it on ao3

chapter fifteen: make this place our home

one year later

“Dad!” Ness called, shouting towards the kitchen from where she’d been waiting in the lobby. “They’re here! They’re in the driveway!”

“But I’m not done the hors d’oeuvres!” Steve called back, glancing down at the massive assortment of food spread out in front of him. “Didn’t we tell them six thirty? It’s only six fifteen!”

There was a jingling of bells as Eddie swept into the kitchen, his ugly Christmas sweater truly atrocious this year, and he danced over to Steve and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Baby,” he said, laughing down at the trays covering every square inch of the kitchen. “Trust me, it’s enough food.”

keep reading on ao3

[that-was-anticlimactic]

hi corey :^) i'd love to see three sentences from 'how to (legally) obtain a tractor in one week' because the name sounds great! also hope you're doing well mwah <3

hiiiiiiiiii!!! this is a bsd fic i'm working on where kenji gets homesick and dazai thinks the best solution is for everyone to get a tractor and have a tractor show <3

“Yo, Doppo!” Chuuya called, stalking forward. “Where’s your tractor?”

Kunikida gestured to the tiny toy tractor in Kenji’s hands, face red once more.

“Aw,” Chuuya smirked. He grabbed Kunikida’s collar and pulled him down. “I could’ve bought you one, too, you know.”

poor kunikida - his boyfriends like embarrassing him iuygfcdftgyhuihygtf

[scattered-winter]

days like today when i actually get writing done are a double edged sword because on the one hand i got writing done!!!!! and i'm genuinely proud of it!!! but on the other. i used to be able to write for hours at a time. for multiple days in a row. and now i can only write once a week on a really good week, and even then, the motivation lasts for approximately an hour before i've lost it again. and it's really frustrating even while i'm celebrating getting something written because i used to be able to do it so much more

[mycupofrum]

Oooh what is "kiss this"? 👀

Hello anon! Kiss this is a muggle AU fic about office worker James and tattoo artist by day and stripper by night Sirius who were friends as young boys and reconnect as adults again. The fic is inspired by this beautiful art by @jollyrolls. I've posted a snippet before.

Here's another snippet:

__

James pushed his glasses higher on his nose, self-conscious of how the two of them must have appeared to passers-by.

He looked exactly like the mundane office worker he was, while Sirius had the look and air of a rock star ready to take the stage at any given time. The tattoos on his hands made James assume there was probably a lot more of black ink to find underneath his clothes. Not that James was picturing his childhood best friend naked. Absolutely not. No sir.

"Okay. Well, I was just on my way to have lunch. Would you like to join –"

"Ah, I'm sorry, I have an appointment with a client. Usually I work at my studio but this one paid me to come to them. Otherwise, I'd love to catch up with you," Sirius said, sounding genuinely sorry.

"Oh, okay. Of course, no worries," James said, disappointed but determined not to show it. "We're both busy in our daily lives." He chuckled a bit, but it sounded wrong.

Sirius kept his gaze on James, never breaking eye contact.

"You could pay me a visit at the bar if you like. I’m not sure if it’s your kind of place but...we have a ladies and gents' night there tonight."

__

[casdeans-pie]

Started writing this thing, shamelessly casting aside my other wips while the brainworms are eating me alive......

‘Dean Winchester, Welcome to Cabin Pluma – please make yourself comfortable and treat it as you would your own home. This cabin has seen its fair share of love and loss and has helped me to understand myself and escape from the world outside. Despite me personally no longer needing its magic, the people who I have rented it to have found it enlightening, and it has been the temporary home to many writers and people wanting to find themselves within this special location. I hope that it can give you the same experience. Just as a caution – please do not wander into the woods alone. Do not be alarmed if you hear noises from within the trees, as while you are in the grounds of the cabin, you are perfectly safe, but do not be tempted to follow them and investigate. There are no paths beyond this point, and it is very easy to get lost and turned around. These woods are very special, as they are home to many species of birds you wouldn’t find living together elsewhere, and if you are lucky, you may be able to spot some. Again, please do not be tempted to seek them out or follow them any further than the gate at the bottom of the garden. Lastly, I make this offer to everyone that stays here – this cabin is something I am looking to sell to the right buyer, so please take that into consideration during your stay and do not hesitate to contact me about purchasing. I’m sure we can work out some kind of deal. I built this cabin myself so I am not looking to make money on it, I just want it to go to someone who will love it like I did. My number is on the back of this note. Enjoy your vacation, Cain.’ Dean flips over the note and pulls his phone out his pocket to punch the number in. It’s not like he’s even considering buying the place – but the number could be useful if an appliance breaks down, or he needs directions. Or gets lost in the woods… The ominous repeated warnings about going into the forest should have set off alarm bells, but all it’s done is made him want to go inside and investigate. At least the cabin’s weird bird theme makes sense with that cryptic message about the birds, but now he’s made the place sound like fucking Narnia or something and Dean can’t help but be curious. The bed dips down when Dean sits heavily on the end, rereading the note one more time before he stuffs it into the side pocket of his duffel bag. The phrases about ‘finding yourself’ are rattling around his mind, and he finds himself wondering if that’s what he’s here to do. He feels like he hasn’t ‘been himself’ for a long time, so maybe this will be the chance to find out what that means.

well well well what's in the woods Dean

what's in the woods????

The classic tale of man finds injured bird, man brings home bird to patch it up, bird turns out to be a were-bird creature, bird then imprints on man and won't leave Bird man creature kinda hot. Man considered sexuality and level of patience

[britishchick09]

the next rewrite short story was originally about meg seeing the romani side of her family. i did a lot of research using sources from roma, but it's hard to come across more info...

and people say not to write romani stories if you're a gadjo :/

so now i'm back to square one and don't know what meg story to write! 😅

here's what i had so far:

 Meg hummed a cheery tune as she walked down the stairs of her apartment building. She stopped once she reached the landing and looked over her shoulder. Luckily, no one was around. She grinned and hopped onto the banister.

"Whee!" she exclaimed while sliding down, a breeze ruffling her short curls.

Once Meg reached the floor, she ran to the mail room, which contained blocks of little mailboxes. She opened up the Girys' box, finding a single envelope. She grinned at the familiar handwriting on the front and ripped it open. The letter within read,

Hello, my little blûma! Today, my tribe and I have settled in the Senart Forest. We will be here until Friday. Please feel free to stop by! Give some love to your mother for me. ~Dad

Meg gasped. She sped up the stairs, wrinkling the rug as she went. It didn't matter that she nearly slipped on the way up!

"Dad's coming!!!" Meg called, waving the letter around after bursting through the front door of the Girys' flat.

"Oh!" a startled Christine exclaimed as she walked through the hallway. "Your father is visiting?"

"No, but he's nearby. His band is living in the Senart Forest for a week! He usually travels through the west and south for harvests and all that. He's never been this close before!" Meg squealed. "I'm so excited to see him!"

"You don't know if you'll see him just yet. You need to get Madame Giry's permission."

"Oh, I know she'll say yes. She can't refuse a visit!"

Meg took Christine's hand, taking her down the hallway. Madame Giry was cleaning her spectacles' lenses in her bedroom.

"Mama!" Meg exclaimed. "Dad is nearby! Can we visit him?"

"He is?" Madame Giry asked with a raise of her eyebrows. "Where might he be?"

She put her glasses back on to read the letter, which Meg handed to her.

"Can we go?" Meg asked. "Please, please, please, pleeease?"

"Spending a couple days in the forest with Jules would be wonderful," Madame Giry said with a smile. "We'll go tomorrow!"

"Yay!" Meg cheered, spinning around with a cheer (and almost knocking into her mom's desk!). "We're seeing Dad!" She looked at Christine. "Oh, and so are you!"

Christine frowned. "Why me?"

"Because you're my sister, of course!" "But I'm your Sister Not Sister."

"Yeah, but that still counts."

"I'd like to go, but…" Christine looked down at her fingers, which she fiddled with while asking, "What if your father's tribe doesn't like me?"

"Of course they'll like you. Why wouldn't they?"

"Because I'm not Romani." "Mama isn't, and she's going," Meg wrapped an arm around her. "Sure, you're a gadji, but you're a respectful gadji. Right?"

Christine nodded. "Oui!"

"Then it's settled. My whole family will be together!"

...

 "I'm ready to go!" Meg announced that afternoon.

Madame Giry smiled as she walked into the room. "There's still one more thing to take care of…"

From Meg's closet, she took out a pale yellow pleated skirt with a pink and orange teardrop design. Unlike the short skirts Meg usually wore, this one went down to the tops of her feet.

Meg groaned. "Mama…"

"I know the length bothers you, but it would be quite improper to walk around with your legs showing," Madame Giry smiled. "Besides, this is your favorite color."

Meg smiled. "I do like yellow… Especially since my cousins call me khil!"

"What does that mean?" Christine inquired.

Meg turned around, seeing her friend standing near the doorway. "That's the Sinte word for 'butter'. Like my skirt, see?" Christine's eyes brightened. "And my hair!"

"My cousins would call us khil phens… butter sisters!" That caused Meg and Christine to giggle.

After having her daughter try the skirt on, Madame Giry said, "It's a little snug around the waist, but it'll do."

Meg twirled, causing the skirt to fan out. "Now I'm ready to go!"

...

 That evening, Meg and Christine met up with Erik and Raoul at Palais Garnier. They shared a spaghetti dinner in Erik's dreamery.

"I have the best news ever," Meg said after slurping a wiggly noodle. "Christine and I are visiting my dad for a couple days!"

"You're going on another vacation?" Raoul asked. "But we just got back from Perros!"

"More like seven days ago." Erik corrected him, smirking as Raoul gave him a look.

"It's a lot closer than Perros," Meg said with a smile. "Besides, I can't pass up seeing the Roma side of my family. It's been two years!"

Raoul took a bite of spaghetti. "So you'll be on the road in a caravan?"

"No, his band is settling in the Senart Forest for a a few days," Meg giggled. "It's the real version of this place!"

"Castil-Blaze created a pasticcio called La Forêt de Sénart," Erik said. "He incorporated some music from Carl von Weber's Euryanthe even though Weber said not to, which… didn't go so well."

"Ooh, opera drama! Dad and I won't be traveling, but we'll sleep in his vardo. That's the Romani word for 'caravan'. And the Sinte Romani word for 'tomorrow' is 'tajsa'."

"Is there a Sinte word for 'friend'?" Christine inquired. "I'm sure you'll be telling your family all about us."

Meg grinned. "There is! It's 'mal'."

"Mal." Christine, Erik and Raoul said together, making everyone smile.

...

 During the hour long carriage ride, Meg told Christine about her dad's family.

"I'm sooo excited to see him and my cousins and aunties and unclies! Wait, is unclies a word?"

Christine giggled. "It works!"

The heat of the early July sun faded as the carriage passed through a canopy of trees. Meg wiggled her fingers. She was itching to run all the way to her dad's vardo!

*future scenes*

"Chey!" a voice called out the Sinte word for 'daughter'.

"Dad!" Meg exclaimed. She barreled into her father, giving him a hug so big that it knocked his hat off! He chuckled and said, "How is my little blûma doing?"

Meg smiled at her flowery nickname and said, "She's very kushti!"

"Just 'nice'? You seem like you're doing great!" "I am! I just forgot the word for that. But I've been brushing up on my Sinte with my friends."

"Now that's very kushti!"

"It's great to relax for a few days. No picking tomatoes and carrots for me! I'm especially glad to not be chopping onions. They always have the saddest things to say."

Christine giggled.

...

"This is Aunt Leonora. She's Dad's oldest sister."

Aunt Leonora wore a white blouse with puffy sleeves and a deep blue skirt with gold stripes. Her long dark gray braids peeked out from her floral headscarf.

"Hello," she said to Christine. "Who's your family?"

"Gustave Daaé and Charlotte Leroux," Christine replied. "They've both passed on, so the Girys are my family."

Aunt Leonora smiled. "I welcome you here. Would you like some čajo? Tea with strawberries."

"That sounds lovely! I'll have some."

"Peaches for me!" Meg added.

Aunt Leonora patted a sofa in the middle of the caravan. "Besh, besh!" she told the girls to sit down. "Tell me everything you've been up to since we saw each other last."

"Everything? But that's so much to talk about!" "Tell me some of it, then. Most of it! It will pass the time."

While Aunt Leonora made cajo on the stove across from the couch, Meg caught her up on the past two years. Christine even chimed in with some of their adventures!

...

"Oh, there's my cousin! His name's John."

Christine frowned. "That doesn't sound like a Roma name."

"It isn't! That's his gadžikano name. It's used around gadjo and on official documents. I can't tell you what his Roma name is."

"Does that mean your father isn't Jules Giry?"

"He is! But he's also-" Meg pursed her lips together. "Something very nice."

John scowled. "It's all because of people like her!"

He pointed to Christine, whose face turned pink. "Me?" she asked. "Yes! Gadje have done nothing but hurt us. They call us gy-"

"Don't say it!" Meg exclaimed.

"The G word and turn us into stereotypes. Worst of all, they force other Romani tribes to assimilate!" He pointed to his black eye. "They smack our culture with disrespect."

"I would never force you to become French," Christine said. "You should be able to live as you are. Gadje shouldn't force anyone to change!"

"Mmm, what's that smell?" Meg asked.

"Bogacha." Dad replied.

"Bogacha… That means…" Meg looked down at her skirt in thought, inhaling the scent of the… "Bread!" "Exactly! We'll need some cold, fresh páni to go with that."

Meg was confused until Dad's eyes glanced at the…"Water!" she exclaimed. "We'll need páni to go with our bogacha."

Dad put a hand on Meg's shoulder. "Very kushti!"

...

"She's not your real sister." her cousin said.

Meg frowned. "What do you mean? Of course she is!"

"She doesn't look a thing like you! And she's a gadji."

"That's because she's my Sister Not Sister. But she's still part of the family!"

"Be sure to wear an apron before you help," Dad said. "You don't want your skirt to become impure."

They sat in front of the fire, which burned bright just outside the vardo.

"Would you like me to play the gaïga?" Dad asked, taking out a violin.

"My papa used to play that!" Christine exclaimed with an excited clasp of her hands.

"Did he?" Dad smiled. "I'm sure he was wonderful."

[ghosts-and-blue-sweaters]

🌈🌩🌥

(Help ive already forgotten the emoji... the last one is the dialogue one)

Mood. I always forget the emojis for ask games and have to go back and forth between asking and actually looking at the questions (when I send someone an ask) XD

Share something soft/fluffy from your WIP

Ooooh-hoo-hooooooo okayokay, let’s see here…

~~~

“I want a goldfish.”

Wilbur blinks, snapped out of his reverie—or perhaps it was a disassociation, actually—as he pulls his eyes away from a very loud food vendor, and towards his brother.

Tommy stares up at him, looking both expectant and pretentious.

Wilbur blinks again. “What?”

“I said I want a goldfish.” Tommy says this bluntly, with hardly any emotion at all. He says it as plainly as someone making a comment about the weather, or someone asking a question about someone else’s cat. 

Wilbur’s brow furrows. “What?”

Tommy sighs. “One of those little yellow guys. Or I guess they’re orange.” He goes quiet for a moment. “Yeah, they’re orange.”

“Tommy- what fish? Where-“

Tommy points forward, and Wilbur follows until his eyes reach a little carnival game (he can’t tell what exactly the point of it is). There’s rows of tiny goldfish, each one placed in a plastic bag filled with water, lining a shelf behind the game. 

Wilbur nods slowly. “Oh. Those goldfish.”

“Yes, those goldfish. They’re right in front of you. Idiot.”

Wilbur narrows his eyes.

Tommy takes a deep breath, still gazing at the fish. “I want one, Wil.”

“Okay. I’m hungry; why don’t we go get a churro?”

“Willllll!”

Wilbur sighs loudly. “What?”

“I don’t want a churro! I want a goldfish.”

“Well, alright then. You can go and get one.”

“But I have to win to get one.”

“So?”

Tommy lowers his chin. “I don’t think I’m very good at winning carnival games.”

Wilbur sighs, this time more gently than before. He knows it’s true; Tommy can’t win a carnival game to save his life. It’s usually Wilbur who plays them—or takes over playing once it becomes clear that Tommy is hopeless. 

“Okay.” Wilbur glances from Tommy to the rows of fish, pausing a moment before turning back. “Look, you can at least… try, can’t you? You can do that?”

Tommy dips his chin even lower. “I’m just gonna waste money.”

“But at least you’d try,” Wilbur replies, a bit exasperatedly. “It’s fine if you waste- it’s fine if you use a little money.”

“But Techno said that we should try to save as much as possible.” Tommy says this with wide eyes that look more fitting on a young child than a fifteen year old.

Wilbur scoffs. “Who cares what Techno thinks? We’re at a carnival, Tommy. We can use as much money as we want.”

“Oh. Really?”

“Yeah, man. Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh.” Tommy blinks at the ground, taking in this new information. Then he looks up, squinting. “But I still don’t think I’d win. And then I wouldn’t get my goldfish.”

“It’s not your goldfish if you don’t even have it yet.”

“Is too!” Tommy furrows his brow at this, standing up taller. “It’s my goldfish and her name is Clementine!”

“Wh… okay.” Wilbur looks away, placing his hands on his hips as he gives a quiet shake of his head. “Fine. Whatever. Your goldfish.”

“Clementine.”

“Your goldfish,” Wilbur repeats. 

Tommy nods.

~~~

Share something funny/cracky from your WIP

Hehehehe, I very much enjoy writing humor >:)

~~~

Tommy stares right back at him. "Your hair looks stupid."

Wilbur scowls, using his hands to muss up his hair, which is springing out in every direction. "Shut up."

Tommy huffs. Wilbur was right, though; the sun really is shining, streaming through the window and making everything look all bright and yellow. It hurts a little bit to look at, but Tommy likes it anyway. It's a lot better than storm clouds. Those just suck. And they piss.

"Hey Wilbur, do you ever think about how storm clouds, just... piss? Like, that's all they do?"

"No."

Tommy furrows his brow. "Well then you're not a critical thinker."

"What the heck does that mean, Tommy," Wilbur sighs, digging through the drawer in the nightstand. 

Tommy shrugs. "I don't know. You should- you should ask the storm clouds."

He says the last part in a laugh, and Wilbur's mouth twitches. "Just get ready, Tommy."

~~~

Share your favorite piece of dialogue from your WIP

OOOOOH! Hmm.......

~~~

"Wil?"

Wilbur starts, pulling his hands away and casting bleary ears on his father, standing in front of him. Phil looks worried. "You okay, mate?"

"I-" Wilbur closes his mouth, then opens it, shaking his head. "I don't-"

"You look pale. You- you're hungry, aren't you?"

"Yes." Sometimes Wilbur hates the things that come out of his mouth.

"Well, here you go. Another bowl of soup." Phil sets a bowl onto the table, a plain wooden one. One that won't break. 

Wilbur swallows.

"I can get you some crackers if you want," Phil continues. "Or a glass of- actually, you need some water. Wait one second."

Phil leaves without another word, folded wings casting shadows as he walks. Wilbur looks down at the wooden bowl, filled with soup. Carrot, potato, broth. It smells delicious. Absolutely wonderful.

Wilbur looks away. 

"Here you go," Phil chirps, walking back in with a cup of water in his hand, which he sets down next to the bowl, sliding them both towards Wilbur's seat. "I've already eaten, but I'll keep you company if you want me to. Even... Wil?"

Wilbur chews on his lip, looking away from the soup, away from the table, away from Phil. He feels sick. He's so hungry. He feels sick. 

"Wilbur? Is everything okay? I can leave if you want; I don't have to stay." A pause. "Mate?"

"I'm not hungry anymore," Wilbur strains, pushing the bowl of soup away. 

"Wh... that doesn't... you were just hungry, Wil."

"I- I don't... want it."

Phil blinks. "Yes you freaking do."

"Phil, please, just-!" Wilbur turns, slamming his fist onto the table and making himself jump with the loudness of it. "I don't- I don't really need... I don't-"

"This isn't because you broke the bowl, is it?"

Wilbur presses his lips together.

Phil sighs. "Wilbur, listen: I don't give a crap about that bowl. Okay? I really don't. When I heard glass shattering, the only thing that crossed my mind was whether you'd gotten hurt or not. I could not care less about a stupid piece of dish-ware, alright?" 

A moment passes without any words spoken. 

Phil leans closer. "You believe me, right?"

"I don't- I don't know." Wilbur puts his elbows back on the table, setting his chin on his hands. "I'm just so sorry, Phil."

"It's okay."

"I'm so sorry I broke it."

"It's o- hey, stop beating yourself up about this, okay? I don't freaking care."

"I know, I know, I'm just- I'm still so... I'm so..." Wilbur's chest heaves as he stutters in a breath, shaking his head back and forth. He looks at the bowl of soup, steam no longer rising from its surface. Cold. It's cold now, lying abandoned on the table. Then he looks at Phil; the hybrid is leaning forward, brow furrowed and eyes filled with concern. A strand of blond hair drifts in front of his face. Phil doesn't swipe it away. 

Wilbur begins to smile, which horrifies him only a little. "I feel sick. And it's because of a bowl of soup."

"Sick? Is-is-is your- here, let me feel-"

"Not that kind of sick." Wilbur lets out a chuckle, humorless and cold. Phil freezes, halfway between rising out of his chair. "It's a different kind, Phil. Gosh, I feel so terrible. I'm so-"

Wilbur's breath hitches. His smile falls off his face as suddenly as it had appeared. "I'm so broken."

Phil sits back down, slowly. "Hey. Wil. Look at me."

"I'm so broken," Wilbur repeats, staring at the table as he shakes his head, hands pressed against his cheeks. "I'm so broken, Phil. I can't- I break a dish and almost have a panic attack. That's not- normal, Phil. I don't- I don't-"

"Hey, hey. Calm down. You're okay."

"I'm not okay! Don't you hear me?" Wilbur pulls his hands away, resting his palms on the table as he makes eye contact with his father. Phil gazes at him evenly, expression carefully controlled. Wilbur breathes in roughly. "I'm broken. I'm just like the bowl, I-I-I fell apart, and now I'm just scattered pieces, and they're too small to be put back together. Don't you... I'm broken, Phil. And I don't- I don't want to be, I don't..."

Wilbur shuts his eyes tight. "I don't want to be broken. I really don't want to be broken, but I am, and I don't... want to, Phil."

[planete777]

LEAF TAPES 2・⁠｡♪ LN4

( lando norris x fem!reader ft. oscar piastri )

read part 1!

IN WHICH. after months of radio silence, y/n and lando go trending for the same thing again... but this time, it's not only them.

WARNINGS. 18+, MINORS DNI!, non consensual explicit video leaked, sexual descriptions, twitter environement, mentions of getting high (as per), very self indulgent so just sit back and enjoy

NOTE. it's finally here!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i've answered your requests, i hope you guys like it. my back aches from doing this so im gonna knock myself out lol. anyways, last fic for a few weeks, but i'll still be online/idle so u can still drop by my inbox if u want. okay ill let u go now bye and enjoy!!!!!

‧₊˚✩彡 taglist @laciijane @ferrarrigirl @norrizzandpia @mimi-luvzyu @multifandomwhore-003 (use askbox if you'd like to be added!)

-.-.-.-.-.-

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

yn_ln

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri and 789,331 others

yn_ln life lately <3

>comments<

landonorris literally obsessed with you

landonorris love the last picture who's that on the left -> yn_ln what happened to being obsessed with me :((( -> landonorris sorry 😅 i mean the left. -> user 😭

user oscar cameo!!!!! OSCAR!!! CAMEO!!!

user i want both of them!!11!!1!1! i can take both of you!!!! -> user so real

user couple goals.... brb just setting up the toaster and the bath

oscarpiastri picture 2.... minutes before disaster -> landonorris disaster??? i found it pretty entertaining -> yn_ln i'm still recovering 🤭 -> user CARE TO SHARE??? I WANNA KNOW!!! -> user yn girlie............ let's gossip -> yn_ln no can do luv xx 😌

oscarpiastri anyways i look so good -> yn_ln humble yourself babe x -> landonorris what she said ^ -> user don't listen to them oscar, you do love good ❤ -> oscarpiastri trust me, i know 😏

lily_mhe loved going out with u bby <3 -> yn_ln yes!! we should do it again.... without the boys 😒 -> alexalbon uhm wow -> landonorris i need to get used to sharing the loml </3 -> oscarpiastri lol -> yn_ln 🤭

user she's so pretty "$%$£"£$(!"£$

user why are they being so cryptic 😩 -> user they wanna kill me

user 🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨 -> user i've got so many questions

user lily and y/n are for the girlies xx sorry i do not make the rules -> yn_ln speak it!!! -> lily_mhe yup!!

maxfewtrell no pic creds?? -> yn_ln i can give donations? -> user LMAOAOAO -> user max being bullied pt 2838474

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

-.-.-.-.-.-

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

-.-.-.-.-.-

landonorris

liked by yn_ln, oscarpiastri and 1,302,811 others

landonorris ♾

<comments>

yn_ln look at us trending for the second time in 2 months 😝 -> landonorris ikr such icons -> oscarpiastri quite fun tbh -> user 😭 -> user u lot realllyyyyy dgaf and i love that for you

oscarpiastri i give the best cuddles ik -> landonorris u also give the best 🧠 -> yn_ln AND WHAT ABT ME? -> landonorris oh yeah... ig -> user what the fuck is going on??? 😭 -> user in broad daylist insta comments

user im surprised he didn't post a lil snippet on ig like yn did last time -> user literally 💀 -> user he wants us to have the full experience on twt fr

carlossainz55 im begging u, plz no more -> alexalbon 🙏 -> charlesleclerc 🙏 -> georgerussell 🙏 -> pierregasly 🙏 -> yukitsunoda 🙏 -> danielricciardo 🙏 -> lewishamilton 🙏 -> user they are going THROUGH IT!! -> landonorris we'll think abt it

user surprised, but not disappointed

yn_ln no more 🐱 for u! -> landonorris NO. U CAN'T DO THIS TO ME. -> user he survives purely off of the kitty cat. i support the hustle -> oscarpiastri spare the man 🙏 -> yn_ln nah he can just watch -> oscarpiastri fine by me

user foursome?? -> user join the line