#but i have never been someplace where people smelled so badly

[shanastoryteller]

this weekend I went to an erewhon for the first time so I could try the hailey bieber smoothie that's been all over my fyp (very good but not really worth $19) and.

the absolute stench of BO we were exposed to haunts me. we were there for 20 minutes and seven different people walked past me smelling so badly that I had to turn away

rich people pick up some deodorant and get in the shower challenge

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Lovers LUNATIC PARADE ;; Shuu Route ー Chapter 2

ー The scene starts in the Church

Yui: ( Huh...? Where am I...? )

???: Why hello there. So we meet again.

Yui: This voice...You’re from the other day...?

???: I am flattered you seem to remember me.

There is something I would like to ask you today.

Do you...Truly love him from the bottom of your heart?

Yui: ( Him? Is he talking about Shuu-san...? In that case ーー )

Yes, I love him with all my heart.

???: Do you really?

In that case, why do you oppose becoming a Vampire?

If you become a Vampire, you would get to be with him forever. Never aging, remaining beautiful...

It has nothing but advantages. Yet you oppose it. ...Why?

Yui: Well...

???: Yes?

Yui: ( ...Well...? )

ー Yui wakes up in the cave

Yui: ...!

( Huh...? Seems like I must have dozed off at some point. )

...

( I wonder what that dream from earlier was? )

( It might not be a coincidence, seeing as the same person from before showed up again. )

( B-But...In that case, why is he putting my own feelings to the test? )

( I love Shuu-san. That feeling will never change. ...Or rather, it should not... )

...Haah...

ー The wind blows in the distance

Yui: ( It’s cold... )

Um, Shuu-san. If we catch a coーー

( Huh? He’s nowhere to be seen...? )

Shuu-san...! Where are you...?

...

( No response...I wonder where he went? Did he go check up on the situation outside? )

( I want to go look for him but...It’d be bad if we end up missing each other, so it might be wiser to wait here for a bit. )

*TIMESKIP*

Yui: ( ーー Quite some time has passed since, but Shuu-san still hasn’t returned. )

( What to do...? I wonder if something happened while I was asleep? )

...Uu.

( I can’t. When I consider that something might have happened to him, I just can’t sit still here! )

( I’ll go look for him. )

ー Yui leaves the cave as the scene shifts to the forest

Yui: Haah, haah, haah...

Shuu-san...! If you’re there, please answer me!

Shuu-san!

...

( Oh no, he’s nowhere to be found. Something must have happened after all! )

( I have to find him no matter what...! )

ー She continues running around

Yui: ( Huh...? There’s a strange house over there. )

( Now that I get a better look at it...It’s made out of candy? )

( There’s nothing else around, so I might find Shuu-san in there. )

( I’ll try asking them. For now, I should get closer... )

ー Yui approaches the house

Yui: ( Looking at it from up close, you can really tell it’s made out of candy... )

( It smells sweet too... )

( I wonder what kind of person lives inside? )

*Knock knock*

Yui: G-Good evening.

...

( No response...I wonder if nobody’s home? )

*Knock knock*

Yui: ( What now...? )

*Knock knock*

*Thud*

Yui: ...!

( Seems like someone is inside. )

*Knock knock*

Yui: Excuse me...! I’m sorry for the sudden visit.

But I’m looking for someone...! Did a male Vampire perhaps come by here?

???: ...

No.

If you are looking for Shuu, you will have to try your luck somewhere else.

Yui: ( No way... )

( Hm? But... )

Yui: Please, wait!

How do you know it’s Shuu-san I’m looking for?

???: ...

Yui: Please tell me if you know something!

???: ...Haah...

ー He opens the door for her

Shuu: Yui.

Yui: Shuu-san!?

ー The scene shifts back to the forest

Shuu: I figured you would probably wake up any time now...But I didn’t think you’d come all the way here looking for me.

Yui: I-I mean...I was worried that perhaps something had happened...

Shuu: Well...I’m sorry for leaving you by yourself. I didn’t intend to stay away for long but... 

Yui: ( But...? )

Did something happen?

Shuu: Actually, the guy living here is the same person I’ve been looking for.

I remembered while you were sleeping.

Yui: ...! I see.

If you woke me up, I would have come with you though...

Shuu: You were sleeping soundly. Besides...

Riegel isn’t exactly fond of humans.

So I figured it would be best for me to go by myself.

Yui: ...Ah...

( Yet a human such as myself came to his house, so... )

I’m sorry, I...

Shuu: No, it’s fine.

But...

It seems like he knows something about the Count...

But he refuses to help out if a human is involved, so he told me to ask someone else.

Yui: ...I see...

Shuu: Anyway, let’s return to the city for now.

Yui: Yes...

( We’re back to square one. )

*TIMESKIP*

ー The scene shifts to Saint Nore Park’s venue

Yui: ( The Parade is in full swing, but we aren’t in the mood for that right now. )

Haah...

Shuu: ...

...Well, it’s not like being depressed will change anything about the situation.

Yui: ...Good point...

By the way, I wonder why Riegel-san has such a hard time opening up to humans?

Shuu: Who knows...He has been that way for as long as I can remember.

Yui: I wonder if there’s someone who knows the circumstances?

A close acquaintance of his, for example...

Shuu: ...

...Guess I could have my Familiars look into it.

*Flap flap flap*

Yui: Ah...!

Shuu: If this doesn’t work out, we’re basically out of options but...Well, I suppose it’s worth the wait.

Yui: ( I hope we can find some sort of clue. )

Shuu: ...Well, anyway...It’s kind of a chore to just stand around here, so why don’t we use the Parade to get our minds off things for a bit?

Yui: Eh...? Are you sure?

( This doesn’t seem like something Shuu-san would enjoy. )

Shuu: It’s not like we’ll stay for hours on end. Besides...

You look like you could use a little distraction.

Come on, let’s go.

ー Shuu walks ahead

Yui: Ah, y-yes!

( He’s doing this for me...Thank you, Shuu-san. )

ー She follows him

*TIMESKIP*

Yui: ( Waah, amazing! This place is really fired up. There’s so much happening, I don’t know where to look first. )

Shuu: Where do you want to go?

Selection

→ The House of Mirrors (☾)

Yui: ( I guess I should go for the most quiet option. )

How about the House of Mirrors over there?

Shuu: Yeah...Sounds good since there probably won’t be a lot of people in there.

Yui: ( Fufu, seems like I made the correct choice. )

ー They walk towards the House of Mirrors

Yui: ( So this is the House of Mirrors...It’s quiet in here just like I thought. )

ー They go inside

Yui: ( It’s a true maze here. It’d be bad if we were to get separated. )

Shuu: ...

ー Shuu walks off on his own

Yui: ( Ah! Right as I think thatーー )

W-Wait!

( Thank god...I caught up with him... )

Shuu-saーー

Shuu: ーー Oi, you’re talking to a mirror.

*Rustle*

Yui: Wah!

Shuu: Haah...I figured you’d mess up at one point or another...

But you really are so predictable, aren’t you?

Yui: ( Uu, I got made fun of. )

( However, I guess I should be glad that Shuu-san’s enjoying himself a little too...? )

→ The arcade

Yui: It’s a little further away, but how about the arcade over there?

Shuu: You really picked quite the noisy place...

Yui: ( Ah, he doesn’t seem too thrilled about my choice. )

Shuu: Oh well...Let’s go.

Yui: Y-Yes.

( Perhaps I should have chosen someplace a little more quiet for Shuu-san’s sake... )

ー The scene shifts to the arcade

Male Vampire A: As one would expect during the Parade, there’s people everywhere.

Male Vampire B: My thoughts exactly. Oh well, it doesn’t hurt every once in a while.

Yui: ( It really is crowded... )

Shuu: Haah...

Yui: U-Um...Should we go somewhere else after all?

Shuu: No, it’s fine. You wanted to come here, no?

I will...Take a seat on one of the benches in the back.

Yui: ( There he goes... )

( What now? I guess I should at least get him something to drink. )

Male Vampire C: Oi, girlie!

Yui: ...!?

Male Vampire C: Yes, I’m talking to you. Who else?

Yui: ( H-He’s talking to me...Right? )

Male Vampire C: Pretty sad, being all by yourself over here during the Parade.

I bet you’ve got nothing to do, do you? In that case, how about I keep you company?

Yui: N-No thank you...

Male Vampire C: Aah? Now don’t get cute with me.

I’m trying to be nice to you, you know?

Now stop complaining and just follow mーー

Shuu: Oi.

Male Vampire C: ...Ugh.

Yui: ( Shuu-san...! )

Male Vampire C: Che...What? You’ve got a man already...? One of the Sakamaki’s at that...

Shuu: Yes, exactly.

I’m sure you understand very well now that she is far out of your league.

Now get out of my sight already.

Male Vampire C: Heh...

ー The Vampire leaves

Yui: ( T-Thank god. )

Shuu-san...Thank you very much...

Shuu: Honestly...Even when you aren’t being targeted for your blood, I still can’t take my eyes off you for two seconds... 

I guess I have no other choice...Join me taking a nap over on that bench over there.

Don’t wander off by yourself. Stay with me.

Yui: Y-Yes...

( I’ll keep the fact that I’m kind of happy to myself. )

*TIMESKIP*

ー The scene shifts back to Saint Nore Park’s venue

Yui: ( Um, next upーー )

*Bang*

Yui: Wah!

( They’ve even got a shooting gallery. Fufu...Looks fun. )

Shuu: ...Want to give it a try?

Yui: Eh? Can I?

Shuu: You’re interested, right? We’ve got time anyway, so why not give it a shot?

I’ll make sure to get a good look at what you’ve got.

Yui: ( O-Okay! Gotta try my hardest! )

Explanation: The player shoots the target by quickly pressing the arrows and buttons indicated below the objects in the right order. You can move from one target to the other during the game by pressing the L and R buttons.

You can play this game in EASY, NORMAL or HARD mode.

Yui: A grand victory! Hooray!

ー Yui suddenly embraces Shuu

*Rustle*

Shuu: ...Aren’t you overreacting a little, latching onto me like that?

Yui: I’m just so happy because I’m more than satisfied with the record I put down.

Shuu: Hm...If you’re already satisfied, I guess you won’t need this?

Yui: This...?

Shuu: This ring was amongst the prizes. I picked it out since I thought it would fit you well.

Yui: ( Eeh!? I didn’t expect a ring at all...! )

Shuu: I have no use for it. I thought I could give it to you, but if you’re already happy as is, I guess you don’t need it either.

Guess I’ll have no other choice but to toss it away somewhere.

Yui: W-Wait, please! I’m not satisfied yet. I will gladly take it!

Shuu: Oh? You greedy girl...

But well, if you want it that badly, I’ll let you have it. Haha...

Yui: ( I got a ring from Shuu-san! )

*TIMESKIP*

Shuu: Phew...We walked around quite a bit.

I’m pretty sure the Familiars should be back any second now...

*Flap flap flap*

Yui: ( Ah! They’re back. )

*Flip*

Monologue

Inside the report delivered by the Familiars,

was a sad story,

about Riegel-san’s late wife.

ーー In the past,

Riegel-san was in love with a human woman, taking her as his wife.

Apparently they were deeply in love,

regardless of belonging to different species.

Riegel-san built a house made from candy,

which his wife had dreamt of,

for quite some time.

That is where the two of them,

lived happily together.

However, 

those days suddenly came to an end.

After his wife had spotted a Vampire man,

who had gotten himself lost in the woods,

she kindly invited him inside their house.

However, thirsty for blood,

this man sucked her dry,

ending her life in the process.

After witnessing his wife’s death,

Riegel-san’s grief was immeasurable, 

there was nobody who could soothe his pain.

After that experience,

he closed off his heart to others,

or so they sayーー

Shuu: This explains a lot.

Yui: How horrible...

Um, Shuu-san?

I...Even if he doesn’t give us any information on the Count, I just can’t let Riegel-san continue to suffer like this.

I just cannot write this off as someone else’s problem.

There might not be anything I can do for him, but...

Shuu: Haah...I had a feeling you’d say something like that.

But what can you do?

Yui: Well...

ー Yui recalls Riegel’s home.

Yui: ...Right!

How about we hold a party for him?

Shuu: ...And where does that come from?

Yui: I tried thinking about why Riegel-san’s wife wanted him to build a candy house for them.

It’s just a guess but...I think she probably wanted it to be a home where many people would come and gather...?

Perhaps that is why she wanted to live there with Riegel-san?

Shuu: Well...You do have a point that you wouldn’t build that kind of house if you wanted to keep people away.

Yui: Yes. 

In that case, granting her wish might bring some comfort to Riegel-san’s broken heart?

Shuu: ...

Yui: I’m sure...He continues to suffer because of what happened to his wife to this day.

That’s why he continues to live in that house all by himself...

( Vampires and humans have different lifespans... )

( Therefore I’m sure he knew that he would have to bid farewell one day, but... )

( After his wife died in such a horrible way, he has been all alone this whole time... )

Shuu: Well, I’ll admit you have a point.

Besides...

Like you said, it isn’t like his struggle is completely unrelated to us.

...One day, I might find myself in the exact same situation.

Yui: ( Shuu-san... )

Shuu: ーー Anyway.

If we’re going to hold a party, we have to get started on the preparations.

Yui: You’re on board with my idea...?

Shuu: It’s a chore...But we have no other choice.

I’ll send out my Familiars once more and have them research anything Riegel might like.

*Flap flap flap*

Yui: Thank you!

I’ll try thinking about what kind of party it should be.

Shuu: Yeah, please do.

Yui: I do think it would be good to have it related to the memories he shared with his late wife.

Shuu: ...Well then, in that case, I’m sure we have plenty of options.

Yui: Yes!

( Okay! I just have to give it my best shot! )

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

← RETURN TO CHAPTER 1

→ PROCEED WITH MAIN STORY [CHAPTER 3]

→ SUB-SCENARIO #1 [W/ AYATO]

→ SUB-SCENARIO #2 [W/ KANATO]

→ SUB-SCENARIO #3 [W/ AZUSA]

→ SUB-SCENARIO #4 [W/ SHIN]

[distinctlywhumpthing]

Together 3: Her name.

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CW: torture, captivity, wounds, broken bones, cauterization mention, strangulation, choking, implied conditioning, implied dehumanization, multiple whumpees, multiple whumpers, whumpee as caretaker, burns, unconscious, blacking out

It’s been hotter than usual for the past few days, even in our damp basement room. The other room is even worse, with dry, unyielding heat, as oppressive as the hands that strangled me until I saw stars over and over a few hours ago. We’ve spent the whole day lying around, rewetting rags from the first aid supplies at the cool tap. It’s been running with less pressure now which is the only reason we’re not just sitting with our feet under it all the time. Neither of us was out of the room for very long today, like all of our captors just want to go off to some pool or find somewhere air-conditioned to drink a cold beer. 

“I’d kill for an Icee right now,” I say, rolling onto my side to see if she knows what I’m talking about. 

She only turns her head, to show me her furrowed brow. I wonder if that means she’s been in this hole long enough she’s never had one or if she’s just from someplace where they have a different name. 

I explain, “It's like a slushy, you know grated ice and syrup. My favorite used to be these white cherry-flavored ones, but they were rare, so every time I saw it in a machine, I’d get the biggest size. It was so good. It would kind of burn in your mouth from whatever was in there, not quite sour but not too sweet either.” 

She raises one eyebrow and grimaces. 

“No, really they were good. I swear, Babe. I’ll—” I stop myself before I offer to buy her one sometime like we’re just new coworkers chatting by the water cooler instead of two people who might never see the light of day again. 

My almost-slip-up wasn’t missed and she rolls onto her back, staring up at the ceiling again. 

I suck at this. 

She’s always falling all over herself trying to help me, give me extra food, and protect me in whatever way she can. It’s not like I can return the favor even when she comes back leaning into the wall for support or looking so dazed I want to rock her in my arms. Even then, she does her best to help me before finally collapsing on her bed or sometimes mine when she knows I can walk to the other. The least I can do is try to distract her but I don’t know the first thing about her. 

One time, I asked if she knew any sign language or had ever played charades. I thought she was going to pass out because she’d frozen and held her breath so long. When she finally let out a breath and opened her eyes, she was blinking past tears. She’d shaken her head once, gaze vacant and dark, jaw still tight. Clearly, she’s not allowed to do anything more than be expressive with her face. Even her nodding has practiced restraint. She never does it more than once. It makes my stomach twist to think of what kind of sicko would reduce another human being to that. My torture makes sense but not hers and I still don’t know what goes on beneath the surface. It makes me wonder if it’s personal. Maybe he has some kind of vendetta. 

We could play twenty questions but I get the sense that might also be crossing the line. I don’t want to risk it. It’s uncomfortable enough without sending her into a panic or whatever it is that happens every time she gets cornered by her conditioning. She’s also still stuck wearing the long-sleeved turtleneck and leggings, while I’m shirtless in ratty shorts, so she must be stifling. They’re clean and soft at least, and I know she gets to shower every day if that’s any kind of comfort. I have no idea, it could be painful in itself for all I know. This is just making me depressed. Her situation is so much worse than mine. I’m sure she’ll be here long after someone messes up and pushes me into a grave sooner than planned. Even if they don’t, I know I have an expiration date, but I get the sense she’s a permanent fixture here. 

I push myself up, catching the lukewarm rag before it falls into my lap. I still have bandages on the cauterized stab wounds but the rest have scabbed over fine. Some of them might not even scar that badly, not that I care. Half my fingers are still taped, which is a pain, but it’s not like I have anything to do anyway. I walk over to stand beside her and hold my hand out for her rag, keeping away until she holds it up so I can grab the opposite hanging end, a good six inches from her fingers. I have enough useable fingers to twist the tap on but I have to wring the fresh water out of the rags between the heels of my hands so they aren’t dripping. I shut off the water and turn around. 

She’s propped herself up on her elbows and quickly looks up at the ceiling, eyes overflowing. I forgot that the burn scar on my back from a while ago sometimes does that to her, even though it’s long-scabbed over by now. I was pretty out of it for a few days after but every time I woke up she was doing that haunting, silent sobbing, like she was feeling every inch of it, too. I hope to god it’s not because she’s covered in similar burns.

I’ve never actually seen it but I can feel that it runs from the top of my left shoulder blade all the way to my right hip and there’s a curve from the hook at some point. When he did it, he wore some kind of fireproof gloves and pressed it into my skin, to get an uninterrupted line the entire length of the poker even with the curves of my spine and my then-present back muscles making it a less-than-flat surface. I’d passed out after a few minutes of screaming and choking on my own spit and snot. I don’t know how long he kept it there after but it took the longest to heal of everything, at least so far. 

I hold the cool rag out to her by one end, letting her grasp it from the other and give her a small smile. She returns it, meekly, and lies back down, eyes following me as I sit on the edge of my bed and stretch my legs out in front of me. 

“Okay, how about I—”

The light goes off. I didn’t realize it was “night” yet… 

She sucks in a breath and I hear her shift on the other side of the room. 

I jump to my feet, feeling the hair on the back of my neck stand up, and blink, trying to adjust to the dark, but I can’t see anything and she’s just shadows wearing all black. I think I see her hovering just beside the door but I can’t be sure and that’s when I notice the red light is also off. 

“Hey—”

Her cool hands grip my wrists and she pulls me down to sit on the floor between the beds. She really is like a cat burglar sneaking around soundlessly. My foot touches her shin so I uncross my legs and put my feet on the ground, pushing myself back until I’m against the metal bed frame. It’s only a few degrees colder than my body in this heat but it still feels nice. I can’t be sure in the dark, but it feels like she’s followed me and closed the distance I just tried to make although, we’re still only touching where she holds onto my wrists. She drops one now and keeps my right hand in both of hers, cradling it palm side up in one hand while the other still grips my wrist. 

“What—”

She lifts my hand with a little tremble to her grasp, brings it up so my middle finger brushes against her chin as she shakes her head. She lowers my hand, still cupped in hers, and presses her finger against my lips for a moment then she taps my ear. 

I nod while she can still feel it. I guess that even if they can’t see us, they can hear us. I trust she knows better than I do since clearly, that would be a keystone to whatever process resulted in this being the closest to a two-sided conversation we’ve ever had. 

She takes a deep breath and brings her shaking finger to my palm. At first, I don’t understand and think maybe she just wants to be near. Then I realize she’s spelling something. I gently shake my hand under her fingertip, like erasing an etch-a-sketch, so she’ll start again. She inhales again, which makes me think she understood. 

The first is E, I think. The next two are the same, following the assumption that the first was oriented to my perspective. One more and it’s unmistakable. I catch her paused, hovering finger in mine, gently, so she can pull away, but she doesn’t. 

E-M-M-A. 

It’s her name. She told me her name. 

I almost speak it out loud before realizing what it would mean if they heard. She effectively broke her silence by doing this and I don’t even know what she is risking or why she decided it was worth it.

I slowly take her whole hand in both of mine, tenderly, like holding a bird. Her breathing hitches up a notch and I can tell she’s already been working to keep it quiet. I bring her hand to my lips. This feels like a long shot and like it might be confusing or dumb, but I have to try. I know she’s likely not a lip reader but maybe for someone locked in silence, it will mean something. 

Emma, I mouth, Emma, Emma, Emma. 

Her hand is trembling by the time she slips it out of mine. She’s intermittently, unsteadily holding her breath.  

By now, I can see her silhouette in the dark and she is as close as possible without touching me. She—Emma—is sitting, curled up tight with her chin on her knees, arms wrapped around her legs in between my legs. My knees must be level with her shoulders and I can smell the scent of soap on her. I reach out slowly and her eyes flash to the side as they register my hand but she doesn’t move. I softly touch the pad of my thumb to her cheekbone, just under the outside of her right eye, and find it damp. I don’t dare lay the rest of my hand on her face but I can feel the air warming between our skin, growing heavy, until it develops its own polarity.

I don’t know how long we stay like that before footsteps in the hall separate us. She takes my hand in both of hers and squeezes my palm before going to stand by the door where a lackey appears with a flashlight and she goes quietly. They don’t come back for me and I eventually fall asleep. When I wake up, the red light is back but Emma is not. 

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[pennyserenade]

TINY DANCER 

tags: javier peña x female oc, javier peña, rockstar!au, fluff  rating: t ( teen ) (for now) warnings: language, alcohol  word count: 1.6k+ summary: a band of young men from laredo, texas are on the verge of rock’n’roll stardom and anita rodríguez is the woman who follows them into it. a story of rock’n’roll and all the fluff that follows notes: this is very self indulgent and heavily inspired by the movie almost famous, as well as whatever fleetwood mac had going on, and the book daisy jones & the six. as you can tell, this is a genre of fiction i favor heavily, and i’m more than happy to make this everyone’s problem. thank you for baring with me

Summer time has never tasted so sweet on the tongues of these impassioned young men from Laredo, Texas, she bets. Perspiration covers their foreheads as they stand under the much too bright colored lights, and the crowd before them cheers them on with an eagerness that belongs only to those who really loved music. And they respond like men who really love music—all smiles and grins and heavy panting from giving their young bodies away to it. One might even say their souls.

Even from behind the curtain, she can feel the wave of electricity that rolls off of them. It is a beautiful thing to hear after suffering under the heavy blanket of Texas heat for her own performance.

They had liked her alright, responded about as warmly as they could for an opening act they hadn’t really known, but they turn these young men into Gods. She feels it tight in her stomach, that everlasting and endless excitement reserved for falling in love, not with people, but with moments. Even if it’s all for not, this little musical and spiritual journey she has partaken on, she will at least have been there for the moment these men had exhaled themselves into true and complete stardom.

Not bad for a band called El Fuego, she thinks.

“My God they’re something, aren’t they, Anita?”

Her sister holds aside the curtain to make room for herself. “The one in the really tight jeans was talking to me during your performance. He’s beautiful, I swear it. Just godly.”

Anita smiles. “You can’t fall in love with rockstars, baby sister, it’s unethical and impractical. Have your years with me taught you nothing?”

“Yeah, but those rockstars were a dime of dozen and tight jeans looks like sex out there,” she whines. Anita scans over the men, trying to decipher whom she might mean. That’s when she catches Tight Jeans’ eyes. She gives him a grin and without missing a beat, he gives her a charming wink. A wink reserved for a man on top of the world.

“What’s his name?” Anita asks.

“Javier Peña,” she responds. “He’s just gorgeous isn’t he? They all are.”

All Anita can do is grin as she continues to watch the rest of their performance.

****

This isn’t her first rodeo. This isn’t even her second or third or fourth. In fact, she’s lost track of the times she’s been led back to hotel rooms with a slew of people she doesn’t know, swept dangerously up in the shared euphoria that is the after show comedown.

In her hand she holds her second drink of the night. It’s a concoction she’d mixed for herself, made up of too much juice and too much alcohol, but she deserves it, she reckons. She’s opened for a damn good band and she’s a pretty damn good singer most of the time, and that Javier guy has been looking at her all night, despite the group of women that surround him. He has a good way of being present with them and present with her, too, genuine grins and attention for all to spare. Like the charming and humble lead guitarist he is, he strums idly at an acoustic guitar while he speaks with the women.

She’s been standing in the same place for too long, drinking the same second drink, listening to the beginning of songs he starts before he falters off into the next one. Even over the light hum of chatter and the radio nearby, she can focus on him. She watches his fingers as they strum—watches the way he doesn’t need to look down at them to keep them steady and trained. He’s a professional musician, through and through, even if he may just be some guy from Laredo to most individuals in the world. His manager had been so brave to wager that they were going to hit nationwide success by next week when one of their songs got radio air. She asked if she could keep opening for them, when they got big. All he did was grin. She likes to think it’s a yes.

“Hello.”

Coming back to earth, Anita finds Tight Pants in front of her. Not starling close, but enough to elicit something ghastly in her.

He smells of leather and good cigarettes, and her baby sister was right, he does look like sex. He’s all lean muscle, and though the perspiration has gone from his forehead, she bets if he were to lean in close and press his lips to hers, she might be tempted to taste the residue of it in what would become haste and passionate kissing.

“Hello,” she responds.

“I’m Javi, from Laredo.”

He extends his rather large hand for her to take, and she does. She wonders if this is the approach he uses with a lot of women. He’s good looking enough to be dangerous, but then again, she’s smart enough to understand where the line between fun and serious ends and begins with these men. She’s a rockstar too, privy to sex and drugs just like the lot of them, even if she is just a one man band.

She puts her hand in his and he gives her a firm shake. “Anita,” she says, then inspired by the liquid courage in her, she adds, “From somewhere warm, but hopefully headed some place better.”

He gives her a laugh and she finds that unfortunately, it’s the sort that makes one’s own lips tug upwards.

“You sounded good tonight. Did you write that song?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “You sounded good too. I mean, you probably know that already, but.” She smiles. “Who writes for you?”

“Graham.”

“Graham’s the...”

“Lead singer. Dirty blonde over there talking to your—“ He looks at her. “Sister?”

She nods. “Yeah. She said she had talked to you earlier.”

“Yeah. We talked about your someplace warm. California, is it?”

“Cali indeed.”

“I’ve never been.”

“Well, Javi, I’m sure you’re about to.”

His dimple appears for her. He looks at her like she wishes he wouldn’t, because it makes her badly want to stick to his side for the rest of the night. And on his lips.

Even more unfortunate for her, he rummages in his pockets and pulls out a packet of those good cigarettes that make up his aroma. He opens it and takes one out for himself, sticking it between his lips, before offering her one.

“You smoke?”

She takes one. “Sometimes,” she nods. “Are we allowed to, in here?”

Javi shrugs his shoulders as he lights his. “Dunno,” he responds. She leans forward so he can light hers too. “Suppose we should go sit on the balcony on the off chance that this is the one hotel in America that doesn’t allow it?”

****

“You know Me and Bobby McGee, Laredo?” she nods down to his guitar.

The air outside is just cool enough to be comfortable in, so, despite that their cigarettes have long been stamped out and the party inside awaits them, they stay on the patio, rooted to the furniture. He hasn’t made any moves on her, a fact which takes her by surprise, and so they’ve lulled into a comfortable ebb and flow of natural conversation.

He tweaks his fingers on the neck of the guitar before he begins to strum the strings of it . His hair, overgrown in a way that suits a man of his occupation, cascades over his forehead as his brow becomes pinched from focus. In an instant, from his fingers comes the tune of her desire. He looks up at her, grinning, once he gets into the flow of it.

“¿Hablas español?” he asks, over his guitar.

“Un poquito, but not much,” she tells him. “Why?”

“No reason,” he dismisses, “Can you sing Me and Bobby McGee?”

“Sí.”

He laughs. “Well, put on a show then.”

***

She sobers up halfway between the sun tucking itself into the sky and the sun peeking back out from the horizon, but she can’t remember when. They’d played a lot of songs and her throat feels hoarse, but she can’t recall any one song that had felt particularly clear. It all sort of blended together up until this moment.

Javi lays, back rested against the chair, looking tired. His guitar now rests beside him, quiet, and he stares out at the city below them.

There’s a soft hum of normal people doing normal things below them; the horn of an eager taxi driver, the breaks of a bus, the chatter of patrons going in and out of the hotel.

They sit in the comfort of this city’s morning routine while she smokes his last good cigarette. “I was never much for staying up all night,” she tells him, passing it over to him.

He takes it between his lips and nods. “I was never much for sleeping all night.”

“And why’s that?”

He shrugs, exhaling the smoke. “Don’t know. Sometimes the past haunts me, sometimes it’s just too fuckin’ hot, sometimes it’s the company.”

“Mm,” she hums. “I must admit, I didn't peg you as the get-to-know-me-in-the-early-morning type. Thought you’d be content just charming me with your guitar for the rest of eternity.”

“Well,” he passes the cigarette back to her, pushing his digits against her own in the process. “I’m not, really, but we’ve talked about our favorite songs all night and you’re our opener for the rest of this tour, so why not?”

She takes a drag off the cigarette. “I’m not the opener for the rest of the tour.”

“No?” he asks.

“No,” she shakes her head. “This was a favor, I think. A very kind one.”

He looks out in front of him, falling into silence. Thinking.  Then he says, “I think I’m in the position to call in some favors right now if you’d liked to be. The opener, I mean.”

She lets the smoke out from the side of her mouth, which has risen up into a wide grin. “Javier from Laredo, I think I could kiss you right now.”

He takes the cigarette back from her fingers, offering her his own grin. “I think I’d like that,” Javi says, tone soft. Genuine.

She swings her legs over the side of her lawn chair, and holds herself up just far enough to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. He turns though, not entirely on purpose, she thinks, and their noses brush against one another. She rises from her seat when he leans down and fills the space between them, resting against his own chair as his lips move against her own.

No tongue, though. He pulls back after a few seconds, brown eyes full of warmth. She’s surprised by the amount of control he has over himself. Surprised that he wants to use it, too.

“I better go check on my sister,” she breathes out, resting her hand over his chest.

“Okay,” he nods. “I’ll see you in the next city, Anita.”

“Yeah,” she smiles.

“Look for me?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she promises.

She likes this man and his tight jeans, she’s decided. Likes him a lot.

EVERYTHING : @astroboots , @frannyzooey , @wyn-n-tonic , @rosiefridayrogersunday , @melaniermblt , @theorganasolo​ , @amneris21​ , @honestly-shite , @over300books , @elegantduckturtle, @pbeatriz , @pretty-brown-eyess , @brcwneyes  ,  @chronic-nosebleed

JAVI :  @wyn-n-tonic , @rosiefridayrogersunday , @disgruntledspacedad , @melaniermblt , @walt-breslin , @theorganasolo , @amneris21 , @hb8301 , @penajavier , @darnitdraco , @over300books , @dobbyjen , @paperbag33 , @rebel-fanfare , @p3dr0pasca1lov3r247

TINY DANCER : @itssmashedavo (just because i thought this might interest you)

[god-of-dust]

@richardcampbellganseytheiiird asked about the wip tag game:

I NEED to know what PRIDEMOTHEFPHUCKER is because that title has me gagging on laughter. xD

just so you know, i opened the document and the first line is “LOSE URSELF TO DENS”, all caps included.

the story is a modern AU describing zuko’s first pride and him meeting the gaang there; i had no actual plot in mind yet, apart from zukaang happening in the future.

an unedited excerpt, featuring starry-eyed zuko, mai being mai and also being queer for ty lee, aromantic katara and shameless jet bashing:

So this is what a pride parade really looks like.

Zuko was used to seeing them through videos and pictures, more often than not followed by horrible, demeaning comments about how degenerate and filthy those people where, and he privately had to admit that a lot of people were wearing revealing and flashy clothes (if they could even be called clothes, Zuko's seen people more covered at the beach).

What he's seeing now is a lot like those pictures, but also so much more. More people, for one, but also more color, more variety, more music, more balloons, more glitter—oh, the glitter—, more life.

Rainbows were everywhere, on every flag and article of clothing and smiling cheek; they hurt Zuko's eyes... and his chest, too. A healing kind of hurt, like the sting from disinfectant, but without the sterile smell.

He can imagine what his father—Ozai, he corrects—would say about his being here. Probably nothing at all, in fact. Ozai doesn't waste words when it comes to show his displeasure, and Zuko has the scar to prove it.

Nevertheless, not even Ozai's looming judgment is able to ruin this.

“Your eyes are falling out,” Mai says from his side. Like him, she usually steers clear of crowds, but  this time she was the one who convinced him to come. Well, it was more the combination of Ty Lee's influence on her and her knowledge of Zuko's weaknesses; the relevant part, though, is that now all three of them are here, admiring their surroundings, and smiling with uncharacteristic (except for Ty Lee, of course) openness.

“It's... a lot,” he admits, “but not bad.” I'm glad to be here.

That's when Ty Lee takes their hands and pulls them both into the heart of the crowd, yelling over the music, “Don't think I'll let you two stay in the sidelines all day! Come on!”

Everybody's moving, a pulsing wave of shaking hips and restless legs. He tries to blend in and follow the upbeat rhythm, swaying from side to side, stiff as a wooden plank; and yet, his ability to care about his lack of dance skills has taken a vacation. He feels his smile getting broader, ridiculously so. For the first time in ages, Zuko's surrounded by strangers and it isn't suffocating. He's a nobody here, a black speck in the middle of an ocean of others who somehow, someway are his kin; it's the day where the underdogs run the place, and he lets himself take in that power, that link, that humanity, to save it in a quiet corner of his memories. He'll probably need it in the future.

A body bumps into him, hard. Zuko turns in that direction, instinctively rooting himself in the best defensive stance the cramped space allows.

It seems that while Ozai can't rain on this parade, there's definitely someone else who can, and he's staring at Zuko with the usual air of superiority, head tilted as if in challenge.

How could Zuko have ever found that smirk charming, he doesn't know. What he does know is that expression on the face of the not-so-charming douchebag in front of him, and it means that he's trying to stir shit; from the murderous intent he can feel radiating from someplace on his left, Mai knows too.

“What a pleasant surprise to see you here,” Zuko's ex from hell says.

“Pleasant surprise, indeed,” Mai scoffs. She's murderous, Zuko can tell, and as much as it's comforting to know that she's got his back, he also has to put a stop to this before she decides to act.

Trust him to have never learned his diplomacy 101. “Jet, what are you doing here?” Great, Zuko, that's the right question to ask a queer person. Congratulations.

“Out and proud, remember? In fact, what are you doing here? Didn't expect you'd ever find the guts to be out so publicly,” Jet taunts, “What will your daddy think, I wonder?”

“That's none of your business.” It's easier to feign calmness when he's not forced to hear Jet's irritating tone and scornful words.

Jet lifts his chin towards Mai, whose hands are twitching. “Ah, but I see you brought your favourite beard. Still trying to cover your closeted ass?”

Diplomacy be damned, Zuko's tempted to just let Mai do her thing—the one with sharp blades and a not-so-polite amount of surgical enthusiasm. Why should Zuko bother preserving this asshole's physical integrity? It's not like he deserves it.

Whispers come from behind Zuko, and he remembers that he's not playing saviour out of the goodness of his heart; they're in public, people are all around them in a newly-formed circle, keeping their distance and watching with varying degrees of interest. Their conversation hasn't escalated enough to be worrisome, but Jet isn't famous for his self-restraint... and neither is Zuko, for that matter.

He's also remembering that he's not quite that comfortable with crowds.

As he opens his mouth to retort, someone steps in and places their body between them, their back to Zuko, effectively cutting him—and Jet—off. Their t-shirt marks them as security, and air almost freezes as they speak.

“I saw your friends and I knew you'd be somewhere close, stirring trouble. You never disappoint, don't you, Jet?” the girl says, with a cold, acrid venom in her tone that's nothing short of a work of art.

For a second, Jet's face makes a complicated thing; Zuko has no time to wonder about it, as it morphs lightning-quick into an arrogant upturn of lips.

“Katara! Since when are cishets allowed to play security?”

She tenses, then relaxes again. “I'm not having this conversation. Your gatekeeping shit's gotten old years ago.”

The scene unfolds in front of Zuko, and he really should take advantage of the crowd to make a swift exit. It's clear the two have history, and it's not his business anyway. He darts a glance to Mai. She ignores him, glaring daggers into Jet instead.

“Yeah, because you know I'm right and you don't belong here. You act like the troubled martyr as if you're not waving your little flag and claiming non-existing problems to feel special. Do chick-flicks oppress you, princess? Boo-hoo,” Jet mocks, wiping away imaginary tears with his knuckles.

Definitely not my business, Zuko's mind provides.

“Are you unable to talk with people without being an utter piece of trash?”

Nevermind. Now it is.

Mai's stepped forward to stand close to the security girl, chin high and back straight, elegant and dangerous as a poisonous flower; her enemy's enemies are her friends, after all, and Jet let his mouth run a little too much for her taste. In fact, she's been wanting to draw Jet's blood—in a not so figurative way—for a while now. The douchebag is offering her vengeance on a silver platter and her behaviour screams that she's going to take it.

Zuko doesn't want her to. He wants to leave. There's too much for him to lose here, badly stitched wounds ready to be exploited, new ugly memories ready to unearth the old ones from their shallow graves, emotions that he's not sure he's ever managed to hold secure.

But he loves Mai. She's started this and he'll back her up if needs arises.

Please, let this be quick and painless.

Then Jet looks at Mai and laughs, a revolting sound, and Zuko's fist is two seconds away from being snugly encased into the fucker's fucking face.

my notes say that katara is the one that decks jet in the face after this. ooops.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #487

(from two days back)

Can you remember your first day of school? I think I have a couple VERY faint memories. Do you watch the Disney channel? No. I watched it plenty as a kid, though. What's your favourite movie? The Lion King. What can you hear right now? I'm watching an Erosium livestream. Are you more into music or movies? Music. Have you ever seen a band live? Who was the last you saw? Only Alice Cooper. It was a great show. Who do you live with? My mom and two pets. Do you have a dishwasher or do you do dishes by hand? We have a dishwasher. I CANNOT STAND washing dishes by hand. Are there any cobwebs in your room? No. What made you laugh last? Something said in the livestream I'm watching. Have you ever used a pick-up line and had it work? I don't use those. Do you like the smell of lavender? Yeah! My body wash is lavender, actually. Have you ever entered a modelling competition? Would you? God no. Do you have a safe? Mom does for very important documents. What's the scariest thing to happen to you so far? A traumatic breakup. Have you ever been in a TV audience? No. There was an occasion though where Mom and I were going to go to watch some America's Got Talent auditions, but because of how absolute shit NC is and there wasn't enough interest in auditioning, the venue was cancelled. Have you ever entered the lottery? Won anything? No. When was the last time you were so angry you thought you would burst? I'm not sure. It's rare I get that angry. Do you skip breakfast? Pretty much never. Are you in any way close to reaching a personal goal? I mean, I'm losing weight very, very slowly. Dropping soda did it for my body. Do you prefer crosswords or word searches? Word searches. Have you ever drawn on a wall in your house? No. Do you like making collages? I never really did. What's your favourite video-game? Silent Hill 2 and Shadow of the Colossus. I want a PS4 for the SotC remake SO badly. :/ It's so goddamn beautiful, and I want to try and unlock all the secrets and stuff, especially the white version of Agro. Have you ever made up a word? Yes, for fantasy writing. Do you have a fan in your room? I have two. Do you use bug spray or fly swatters? We generally use fly swatters. Do you know where your parents are right now? Dad is probably at work, while Mom is in Tennessee, visiting my brother and his wife. They just had a baby, and Bobby (my bro) paid for her to fly over and meet him. (: What was the last thing you said out loud? Who knows. I was probably talking to Roman. Do you listen to any movie soundtracks regularly? No. What would you love to learn to do? Draw hyperrealistically. Do you prefer monkeys or lemurs? Lemurs, probably. Do you watch movies based on the actors or the movie plot? Movie plot. I don't care about who the actors are. Do you have any phone charms on your mobile? No. Are you more shy in real life or on the internet? Real life, FOR SURE. Do you prefer hardly toasted at all or burnt toast? Barely burnt whatsoever. Who's your favorite person? Idk. There are a few people that are contenders, but I don't want to pick one favorite. I love specific people for different reasons. Are you more of a cat or dog person? Cat. Are there any chores you actually enjoy doing? No. What's the weirdest compliment you've ever received? I don't know. Nothing super strange comes to mind. Have you ever wished you'd been born someplace else? Like, my whole life. I hate it here. What d'you think about videogames? In my opinion, they're one of the greatest forms of art. If not the greatest. The immersion they can accomplish can be unreal, and it just transports you to a new world entirely. You fall in love with characters that aren't even real, become entranced by imaginary scenery... Video games are just incredible, and I'm so thankful for them. Are there any forms of art you personally find pointless? No. Art has different meanings for everyone, and I am not about to judge anyone who finds comfort in any sort of harmless expression. Are you good at using Photoshop? I'm decent. What were you last embarrassed about? OH GOD I'm not sharing alskdjfalk;wejl;rjwa Do you have any projects on the go right now? No. What's a habit you find gross? I mean, I'm sure there's a lot that I just can't think of. The use of chewing tobacco is high on the list, though. What's your favourite name ever? Alessandra. Are you a hat person? No. When was the last time you were totally grossed out? Uhhh totally grossed out sounds kinda intense, so idk. Has anyone ever approached you in the street and asked to take your picture? Uh, no. That's creepy. Have you ever tried to walk on a moving vehicle and fallen over? No? That's dumb as shit. What is your favourite kind of bread? Is there any of that in your house? Pumpernickel. No. :( Are/were you in the school band, and if so, what instrument did you play? Yes; I played the flute. Who does the grocery shopping in your household? My mom. Have you ever ordered an unusual drink at a bar? No. Are you a fast-thinker or a slow-thinker? I am a VERY slow thinker, like it's embarrassing. Who was the last person you cuddled with? My boyfriend. What is your favourite seasonal candy? (only available at certain times) Probably gingerbread cookies. Do you know anyone who is fluent in a second tongue? This is America, y'all. Of course I do. (I don't mean that in a bad way, btw.) What is your favorite pizza topping? Jalapenos or pepperoni, depending on my mood. Which travel destination is top on your bucket list? Either South Africa or Yellowstone. I desperately want to see, touch, and photograph meerkats at the KMP, but I also promised Teddy I'd spread his ashes in wolf territory at Yellowstone. Have you ever owned a designer purse? No. Have you ever questioned your sexuality? For sure. I still do sometimes. I barely even care to label it anymore. What color was your first phone? Blue, I believe. Have you ever been overweight? I've been overweight since 2016. What pharmacy do you use? Walgreens. Do you take a lot of prescription meds? I do. Do you take vitamins? I only take Vitamin D for my legs. Who is your favorite Disney princess? I don't really know. Does Moana count as a princess? I can't really remember her position, but I remember she was such a brave, wonderful character. Do you wish you could afford expensive make-up? I don't really wear makeup, and especially not for a long time. I will say though it'd be nice to be able to afford nice black lipstick though, because the one I have is super cheap and only lasts to take a few pictures. Do you consider your family dysfunctional? Not really. There are some features to us that aren't perfectly healthy, but I wouldn't say we're dysfunctional anymore. Ever had a body piercing ripped out? Almost. Sara's dog Mabel once jumped on me and kinda badly stretched one of my earlobe piercings. Ever been given laughing gas? No. Do you like jelly beans? Certain flavors, but I can't eat a lot of them. Are you offended when you see women breastfeeding? Fuck no I'm not, and you are actual trash if it does offend you. Guess what tits are for, shitheads. What do you drink when you’re sick? If I'm sick to my stomach, ginger ale. Do you use mouthwash? Sometimes. Is your name/last name constantly mispronounced? No. Who wears the pants in the relationship? Girt and I are mature enough to know we share equal authority. Candles or incense? Incense. Can you juggle? No. Do you face your problems head on or do you run away from them? I run the fuck away. Do you catch lizards? I used to try as a kid, but I don't anymore. Lizards are very skittish, and I don't like scaring animals. Do you like pretzels? I loooove soft pretzels. Name me your three favorite flowers, s'il vous plait. Orchids, dahlias, and maybe roses. Or tiger lilies. Have you ever given food at a homeless shelter? Yeah. Has anyone a grade above you ever had a crush on you? Pretty much all my crushes and/or boyfriends in my school history were a couple years older than me. Is the window in this room currently open or closed? The blinds are open, but the window itself is shut. It's been very cold out. So…remember Girl Scout cookies? Any favorites you had/have? I loved the ones that were chocolate on the outside with peanut butter inside. Have you ever caught your clothes on fire before? No. Are you any good at improv? GOD NO. It's SO awkward to me. Are you better at writing fiction or nonfiction? Fiction. Can you keep a secret? You can bet your life on me never sharing a secret you tell me. Do you get sick of people who call themselves bipolar all the time? Yes, because it's very insensitive to people who actually suffer with bipolarity. It's a serious condition that can cause so much distress for the person. What color are the headphones you have at this moment in time? Pink. Something on the human body that grosses you out the most: Pus. Just... ew. Would you survive if zombies were to take over the world? Why or why not? Hell no. I'm horribly out of shape, and I'd be panicked beyond words at all times. If you were dying who would you say goodbye to first out of everyone? My mom. Are you someone who actually likes to babysit children? Holy fuck no. What’s your favorite lunch meat, if you even like any in the first place? Honey ham. Do you ever call your cousins just to talk to them randomly? I pretty much never talk to my cousins. What is your father’s best friend’s name? Do you know them personally? I actually don't know. Ever have a dream you’re being abducted by aliens? Was it scary? No. Is anyone in your family a firefighter? Who is it anyway? No. Are you fascinated by rivers? I think they're very pretty to look at. What’s the closest river to you? The Tar River. Have you ever been in a building with over 100 floors? No. What bird is the cutest? Hummingbirds. Do you like watching shows about natural disasters and destructive weather? No. That shit sets off my anxiety. Are you scared to look at your own organs on x-ray or ultrasound? No. It's honestly cool. Have you ever walked on a frozen lake/river? No, I'd be way too scared of falling in. Have you ever held a real sword? No.

[insomniac-dot-ink]

The Emptiest Part of Cities

People talk of cities as “full” and “cramped,” they say they don’t want to live in them because they’re too noisy and smelly and crowded, crowded, crowded. But Diana never saw it like that. There are plenty of places in cities that are empty, blank, flush with negative space. However, it’s not the pretty “face” of cities that are bare, not Times Square or Harajuku neighborhood or Piccadilly Square.

It’s the belly and the heart and the insides, the “bad” neighborhoods with office buildings with basements where barely even rats make nests. Car junk yards with only dead bodies of metal and stiff broken tires and wheels. Alleyways that are too dark and narrow for even bums to spend a night in.

There are empty places in cities, but there’s usually a reason for it. Reasons you don’t usually want to find out. Diana was coming home from her second job with cigarette smoke still powdering her clothes and the street lights just now flickering on.

It was the type of street where they rarely replaced the bulbs and cars sat on cinder blocks and the rest of Chicago sent blankets and food bank stuff to in the winters. It was fine though, it fit her lifestyle well enough. After Diana cut all her hair off and learned to growl instead of smile she had been fine on her own as she walked home in the evenings.

She had her earbuds in and was listening to a podcast on the true crime murder of Spider Savage when a figure caught her eye. Diana was taught to never stop for anyone in most parts of the city, but this was a woman she recognized.

Diana took an earbud out as an older woman in a lank floral dress stood and stared down a narrow side street. Her face was blank and mouth slightly parted. Her hands were stiff beside her like she forgot how to move them and her body was tense with pinched shoulder blades. Her purse was dropped on the ground beside her.

“Miss Hernandez?” Diana asked tentatively.

The older woman had her hair in a loose bun and there were deep wrinkles under her mouth and eyes that hadn’t been there before. She glanced over toward Diana after a pause like she was traveling across several state lines just to reach her.

“Did you hear that?” She whispered and her lips barely moved as she said it.

Diana frowned slightly and she went to stand next to the woman. “Are you, uh, feeling alright?” She whispered because there was something breakable about Miss Hernandez’s expression. “I mean, how… have you been?”

It was a non-question. Diana knew how the other woman was doing since last October, it had been year now, and she knew how she was doing after the amber alert had been sent out. Very, very badly.

Her eyes turned back to the side street. “Listen…” She said softly and Diana looked down the alley.

It looked like a normal street that wasn’t really a street, one of those caverns of the city that was carved out for no discernible reason. The shops on either side didn’t have any fire escapes leading down onto it’s damp concrete. Some trash bags were piled up haphazardly by the walls, but no hulking green bins were situated in the small space.

The walls around it were brick and stone and the space would only be big enough for them to walk into side by side if their shoulders were touching. It was narrow and smelled of something wet and slightly turned. Like bad milk maybe.

The hairs on Diana’s arm started to stand on end as she really looked down the street more carefully. There were no lights casting any glow down its dank insides. Her neck started to prickle as she realized there were no windows facing into the street. It was just walls and ground, and distant polluted skies above.

It was a long several minutes of silence with Miss Hernandez standing beside her. She was the type of woman who wanted to join a community garden if she ever got time off. She wanted to do more needlework that said things like “Not Taking Stupid Questions at This Time” if she ever got time off. She was the type of woman who kept the door of the apartment open when she was cooking and hated church music but went every Sunday nonetheless.

Well, that was her before October. Now she was mostly long faces and urgent phone conversations that ended with red eyes.

It was several long minutes with Diana standing there in silence before she turned to Miss Hernandez. “Want me to take you home?”

She shook her head and it came. Soft, and distant, and wispy.

“I dunno…” A small voice called with girlish tickle to the words. “It’s a little late.”

The words sounded like nonsense, but the voice itself was unmistakable. “Miss Hernandez,” Diana said quickly and whipped around, “That can’t be Dominique.”

Miss Hernandez gave her one short look and then straightened up. “So you do hear it too.” She started walking.

Diana didn’t want to manhandle a middle-aged woman, but there were no windows facing the inside of this alley. “Wait.” She grabbed for Miss Hernandez, but she was already out of reach and plodding down the street with her practical clogs clacking.

Diana started jogging after her.

“Huh, I’m not sure.” The child’s voice said from somewhere far ahead.

“Dominique!” Miss Hernandez called and her pace quickened. “Sunshine.”

Diana reached for her, “you can’t.”

Miss Hernandez turned with a surprising amount of force and pushed Diana away. “I have to. If there’s any chance, I have to.” She spat, “don’t try and stop me.”

Diana stood there for a moment, dumbstruck. This wasn’t the type of woman to raise her voice, but there was a fire to her eyes that could have burned down Chicago a second time.

“If you say so…” Dominique said softly from somewhere ahead.

Miss Hernandez kept walking.

Diana glanced at the place where the narrow street turned and thought about turning around. She could go home and come back later with more people. She even considered calling the police, but she doubted that would do anything good. Miss Hernandez took a left turn and disappeared.

And she was the woman who knocked on Diana’s door on Christmas when she was alone and asked if she wanted something hot to eat. She bought her candles to light when her cat died. She had lived in her hall ever since Diana was kicked out of her own home.

Diana took a deep breath and reached into her purse to get her keys out. She put each one between her fists like wolverine claws and then followed after.

The next turn brought them to someplace that didn’t look like it should exist from the outside. The walls opened up and these strange wooden boxes piled high one either side, they looked like old-fashioned crates and thick canvas fabric draped over them.

Diana covered her nose as the smell of rotten milk sharpened. “Miss Hernandez,” Diana reached deep inside herself for something more. Something soft to offer or comfort to provide. “She’s been gone for a year. Please…”

Bits of wood were strewn across the ground as they kept walking. Boxes and canvas and shards of wood piled high on either side of them with something looming at the end of it all.

Diana took another deep breath but rotten milk layered over her tongue and something even more putrid under that. She forced herself not to gag.

She finally reached out and grabbed Miss Hernandez’s shoulder to stop her.

Miss Hernandez wasn’t looking at her though. She was looking at the end of the street, “Dominique?”

“Alright, sure, I’m coming.” The girl’s voice was crisp and clear through the night air and there was no doubt it was hers.

“Please! Come back,” Diana could feel her shaking. “We can talk about it. I won’t be mad. Never.”

“I’m coming.” The wall itself seemed to shifted and Diana realized there was something beside them. Tucked in between the boxes and so still she hadn’t noticed before.

She turned and it was not Dominique.

There are many empty parts of cities. Caverns and hollows and places where your footsteps echo and echo and echo. And they are empty for a reason.

He was twice the size of a grown man and just as broad. Covered in coarse brown hair. He had arms that reached all the way down and knuckles that rested on the ground. His head was covered in the skull of a deer-- either placed there or grown there.

The skull of the deer opened up and a voice drifted out. “Are you sure?” Dominique’s voice was sweet and careful as it left the mouth of the beast.

“Run,” Diana wasn’t a brave person, but she had already made her wolverine claws. “It can’t have both of you!” She pushed Miss Hernandez who barely got a few steps away.

A hulking hand reached for her throat and Diana punched upward. She connected with its thick wrist and knocked the hand away.

A new voice came out of the mask and it wasn’t a young girl. It started low and crooning at first but then it was a singular mash of sound: aaaaaaahhh.

Voices, ten, twenty, thirty streamed out of the mask all at once. “Aaaaaah!”

“I said run!” She pushed Miss Hernandez again who finally started to teeter in the other direction. Diana went to follow, but a hand crashed down in front of her and blocked her path.

“What is that?!” A woman’s voice yelled from inside the mask.

“You fucking ugly bastard.” A man’s voice cried out.

“What is this a joke?” A teenager’s voice broke across the words.

“Run!” The last voice sounded familiar. Far too familiar. The creature’s face loomed closer and closer with a deliberate slowness. Diana tried to back up, but found herself hitting another pile of boxes behind her.

“Are you… are you friendly?” The last voice was a young girl. The mouth was wide open now and the smell of rotten milk flooded over her. There were teeth like needles on the inside.

Diana opened her mouth and despite herself she let out a shriek. “Aaah!” But the scream wasn’t coming from inside her. The beast retracted his hands around her middle and lifted her off the ground. The fight seemed to leave her body as no sound came from Diana’s voice. It was gone.

She looked up, and there was sky, the last thing she saw, no stars, no moon, and no clouds, but there was deep, blue depthless sky. And perhaps that is the emptiest part of cities. Just the sky.

[the-opal-dragons-roost]

my focus has been shit today, so i tried something different with Ghost. Basically, I got him to wander around the Core and let me type out his thoughts. It's really interesting, watching him explore. Just reminds me that I need to develop the rest of the place so he can explore more and maybe not be alone while he does it.

writing under the cut

He wants me to write. To explore. Let’s try this.

I’m in my house. On the couch. I’m… not sure this is working.

He asks me to try.

Okay.

The air is still and smells like rain even inside my house. Everything is dimly lit, but warmly so. There aren’t overhead lights and the one on the tables flanking the couch don’t give off much light. There is an overhead light in the kitchen, but it’s not very bright.

This place is mine. It’s… nice. I feel like I had a hand in making it, though I’m not sure I did. I like it, though, and I think I can make adjustments as time goes on. A fern now sits on the dining table. A painting hangs above the couch. Beyond the door to my right, my bed is suspended above the ground like a single bunk. I think there’s a closet beneath. I don’t know if it’s full or not right now, but it will be eventually.

He wants me to explore. I do too.

I get up. I am… thinking? I am thinking and he is writing.

The air outside is still. Cool and dark, but so still it feels dead.

He gave me a breeze. I appreciate it, but it doesn’t cover the deafening silence. There are buildings around me, but I can’t see what they look like or what their purpose is. It doesn’t matter. Right now they are all empty.

He reminds me that I’m not alone. Should he come with me? Or another part of his soul?

I don’t want that. Not because I don’t enjoy his presence, but because I want to see what this place is without him. After all, ideally, this will be where I stay when he can’t be with me.

I wear a coat. I can’t tell what it looks like. Dark blue, I think, and the material is something like a thick felt. Is it cold here? With the breeze, I suppose it is.

The road is little more than tightly packed dirt. It’s flat and even underfoot as I move away from my house and drift to the left. His Home is there. I’ve been inside, but I don’t feel like visiting. He knows what it looks like, and therefore, I do too. However, it isn’t Home yet. It hasn’t been marked and claimed like the first one did. Therefore, I don’t think I should go there, especially not alone. I’ll wait until it feels less… sterile.

The path I take is to the right of Home. I pass the road leading up and instead turn toward another building. It’s a house with a flat front. An older style place with a flat front. No porch or steps. Shutters lay flat against the white walls. The door is big and brown and has an ornate design made of glass and metal. I think I’ve seen the pattern before, but it’s blurry. I know it’s there, but I can’t see it clearly. I think there should be a dragon on it.

He agrees.

I don’t bother knocking. Is anyone here? I don’t think so. Three people will live in the house eventually. One is undergoing a design change. Omicron. He will arrive whenever August gets around to doing that. I’m looking forward to it. He thinks we can be friends. He wants us to be friends. So badly. I would like a friend. I hope he wants to be my friend too.

The other one is the Core’s avatar or mascot. Arguably I’ve taken their place since I’ll be doing most, if not all of the talking to the public, but I don’t mind if they keep the title. I’m still the voice of the world, and it’s my image that will appear in the story. Areetala doesn’t hang around here much anyway.

They will more when the café has more business. I can see what he plans, what he intends for this place. When there are more people to live here and interact with the shop, Sage will have to man the counter. When Sage is more active, Aree will return and likewise be more active.

Not yet, though.

I saw Ren and his giant dragon bird, Risk, earlier. I don’t know where they are. I think they are supposed to live here too, but nothing is settled yet. There is space carved out for them, a room set aside, but I don’t know what it looks like, and I don’t think they can live there until it’s decided.

The door opens and I am standing in a kitchen. It’s kind of plain and open and runs straight through the building. There’s hardwood planks beneath my feet. Before me, the wall opens up. Not like a door, but like the wide sliding doors that lead to a patio. Except, there isn’t a sliding door. The space opens up to the porch beyond.

He wants me to explore the house. Is asking me to. He says I can say ‘no’.

However, I’m curious. Will what I see affect the reality here? Will my observations change what might have been? Neither of us can tell how separate our thoughts are. There are differences, but only small ones.

The living room, if you can call it that, is more like a dining area. There is a table. It’s old and turquoise. There is a lacy tablecloth draped over it like a giant doily. The chairs match the table and the far end of the space has a stone hearth. It looks like one that he’s seen before.

It’s strange that I have his memories to draw from and to compare to. I never saw those things, but I remember them. It’s not like the daemons, who arguably did see what August did with their own eyes. I feel like I’m looking through a scrapbook I’m not supposed to have.

I wonder if my memories could ever be kept away from him like that. Could he feel like an intruder when looking through my mind? Could we one day be so separate that it would be possible?

He’s losing focus and I got off track.

To the right of the living/dining space is a hallway. It is very dark, the only light being from the moon. It illuminates the space in a way that August’s moon can’t, and everything has a blue tint to it.

The doors are confusing. Are there two on each side? I think so.

I choose the first door on the left. It’s a bedroom, but I’m not sure whose.

It’s dark. There’s a closet in front of me, and then a window-seat style bed against the far wall. It looks more like a mattress, or a fancy couch. There’s a circular rug on the floor. I think it’s ugly and looks out of place. It has become square and dark blue. I can’t tell what color the walls are.

There is a dresser just beside the door and something against the corner. A fullbody mirror? I can’t tell. This room feels like something that we both should recognize, but can’t.

I don’t want to be here. The emptiness of this place makes my skin crawl. I know I’m not the only one, I am not alone, but I am also completely alone. No one else lives here yet.

Sage lives above the barn. She is here.

I quickly withdraw from the room and look out from the patio. The cold of the night feels better. My heart is beating fast.

The barn is hard to decipher. It’s connected to the hillside, but it still has windows. There is a light on in the window above the main entrance. The big barn opening is dark and there is nothing inside.

Wait, that’s not true. Ren hasn’t been properly established here yet, but his birds are here. The one is, anyway.

I’m not an animal person. I had a bird/dragon form of my own, but whether I want to keep it or not is up in the air. I haven’t fully decided yet.

I’m not sure if I want to go closer. Both Sage and the other bird, Melody, are there, but I’m not sure if I want to talk to either of them yet.

August wants me to, but I know he is also reluctant. I think he’s afraid that awareness will spread, and he will have even more homeless thoughtforms on his hands. I don’t want that for him. Or for me. Is it selfish that I want to keep being the only non-daemon thoughtform in the Core? For now, anyway.

The light has calmed me down. I no longer feel unwelcome. I am not going to keep exploring the house.

I try to remember who Sage is. I don’t think August ever developed her beyond being the shy receptionist for the Opal Dragon’s Roost and Aree’s love interest. She can’t think like I can. Characters don’t understand the way I do, or so I’ve been told. Truthfully, when I think about it, I wonder if we’re really so different.

I want to stop thinking.

I turn around before remembering what else is in the field beyond. There is a lake. It is far from winter, but if I ask him to, August will freeze it for me.

I look down. My coat has changed. Now it is soft and pale blue with cream fur trimming. It’s easier to maneuver in, but I don’t think I want to wear it while skating.

I look back out at the lake and think it over. It was nice, skating the night before. But that was to music. Do I want music? Maybe. August doesn’t, however, and I’m afraid the noise will sever the link we have. It’s not possession or switching or whatever else I’m supposed to be able to do. But it’s… something. Is he acting as a proxy? It almost feels like I’m the one typing.

But no, I am the one standing on the porch and staring out into the dark and trying to decide what to do.

I decide to leave.

Back through the kitchen and out the door. Back passed Home and toward my house.

I’m not afraid the way I was moments ago, but the emptiness is back. I want to explore something. Or someplace.

Exploring here is hard. Only half is imagination. There’s a hint of planning to this.

I remember a place I can visit.

I pass my house. The Opal Dragon’s Roost is to my right. I consider stopping in. No, not tonight. Another time. It will always be there. I think it is the oldest thing here.

My house is on the left. There is something like an indent in the hill that makes up one wall. Two small pine trees flank a hammock. I like hammocks. It’s nice to relax in, to feel the wind move.

He’s getting tired. For once, I am not.

I keep going.

Around the corner of the café, there is a dirt road carved through an incline of about five or six feet. It leads to the gathering area. August and Agate initially said arena, but I think parties and plays can take place there.

What would a Core party look like? Would August be able to manage it? That’s a lot of people. I think I would like to dance with someone.

Earlier, Agate tried to take the form of an emissary and dance with me. She’s never taken that form before, and I appreciate her thoughtfulness. It did not last long. She doesn’t have an image for that form, so it couldn’t be held long. She said she will do some designing and then come back.

I know they can read this, but August says it’s alright. I like Agate more than the other two daemons. I think it’s because she and August are so similar. Cairo and Cobalt are parts of him that were created for some August-centric reason or another. Agate is simply another version of him. He says she represents his past, but I think she’s just more obviously marked by it. Essentially, the two are the same, and so she too brought me into this world.

Before me, on the other side of a field of flowers, I see the dome. They call it the ‘creation dome’. It hasn’t existed in the Core for a long time. I don’t think August or Agate themselves ever used it.

I can’t help but wish I’d been created earlier. No, that’s not right. I know why I wasn’t and why it probably wouldn’t have worked in the first place. Most Core things created during the height of the Trio’s reign did not survive their fall. Their Home included.

Still, that was when the Core was at its peak performance. There was life here. Everything made sense and had a place and a name. The town itself was quiet, but it still had beings to occupy it. I kind of wish it were so complete now.

August feels bad. Agate tells me it will be whole again. I don’t want them to feel bad. I know they’re working so hard because of me. And really, I am pretty great, but the magnitude of that truth makes it hard to joke about. It’s his world, his Core, but he’s developing it for me.

The space around the creation dome isn’t complete. Aside from Home and the back end of my house and what little of the gathering place I can see from here, there is nothing but fields stretching on to the horizon. Eventually, there is a forest. We’re not sure what else. Another map needs to be decided on, needs to be drawn.

A project for tomorrow.

I can’t find the door at first. It doesn’t face the road. I find it on the other side. It’s a circle that is barely discernable from the rest of the dome’s smooth outer surface. It looks a bit out of place with everything else taking on such a natural plant theme.

I push on the door. I can’t tell if it slides away or disappears entirely.

Inside, it is unnaturally bright. I squint my eyes. The light seems to come from everywhere and nowhere. Unlike the moon, it is a white light and doesn’t turn everything blue.

My eyes adjust. I look around the empty space.

Why did I come here?

Perhaps just to prove it exists. It’s close to useless to me, but it’s another place to go. Oddly enough, it has a life of its own. Things have been made here, have been brought to life here. In a way, so was I.

August tells me that my design was a fit of inspiration.

Again, I remind him that my design is one thing I believe he got 100% right.

He tells me I can create here too, but I don’t know what to make. What would I make? This isn’t the same as making a picture or knitting a sweater. This place is for making people. Worlds. Thoughtforms.

The idea that I could influence a potential companion for myself crosses my mind, but I decide against it. It wouldn’t be fair to them. Sure, I’m mostly happy with my existence, but then, I wasn’t designed with relationships or stories in mind. I was just a pretty face and a beautiful voice and a charismatic attitude.

August expresses a bit of concern that what I’m thinking (or more like what he’s typing for me) doesn’t really fit with my established speech pattern. This is thinking, not talking. This is also new. And truly, though I love the persona he made for me, I think it’s mostly just that. He’s described Cairo as an actor before becoming a daemon. I guess I was an actor too, though nothing changed when I gained awareness. Not that I mind acting. It’s one of my talents, after all.

It’s getting late. Thoughts are getting frayed. I consider letting him just think me back to my house.

No, I want to see this.

I leave the creation dome. I will come back. We discussed forms and whether I want another. We can come here and decide together. But not now.

I go back along the road. I’m not sure how to feel about what’s coming. He needs to sleep. I know I fell asleep our last two forcing sessions (he hates this word and I’m not a fan either), but I’m not tired now. Maybe I will be by the time he drifts off. I don’t mind being awake while he’s asleep, but it feels… not great. I don’t know if I exist while he’s unconscious. I’m not an actual part of him, but I still share his head and live in his Core. We are still very connected.

He asks me to try to find him in his dreams. I’m not even sure if I can do that. He’ll have to find me.

I walk back slower than I had before. I look out at the field. There are flowers close by, but they begin to merge and blur into the vast rolling hills. Not all of this space will be occupied, but a fair amount of it. Along with the town, August has considered establishing a ketter colony nearby. Maybe I can help design some of them.

I am closer to home.

I remember Friday and Kii and am happy. August asked if I’d like to take care of them. I think I would. They have their own story to survive, and I don’t think I’m a part in it, but I’d like to be here for them when they get better established. Maybe we can do that tomorrow. I want to see them. For some reason, talking to them doesn’t scare me.

I am back at my house. Just in time. The focus is fading and our link along with it. I pass the couch. August is sitting there, his laptop balanced on his knees and claws at the keyboard. He looks like he’s in a trance, hands moving but eyes staying still as he fixates on the screen. I leave him to it.

[star-spangled-steve]

His New Partner

Chapter 3: The First Date

Series Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Words: 1645

Warnings: Fluff, motorcycle riding, talk of actress!Reader, talk of reader being able to sing.

A/N: I felt bad for the last chapter only being like 300 words, so I put this one out quicker lol. Also, Y/C means Your Country. If you’re from America then don’t worry, there's not too much talk about her being from somewhere else. I hope you enjoy!

It was exactly one week since Steve and Y/N had met. Tonight was the special date, and to say that they were both nervous was a big understatement. Steve hasn’t been in anything even close to relationship in about 67 years. Y/N was just worried she’d accidentally trip in her heels or spill something down her dress. After all, it was the famous Captain America that she was going out with. Yes, she was well known too, being a professional actress and everything. But, this was different. He was different.

Y/N was downstairs in the lobby of her expensive building waiting for Steve to arrive. She glanced at her phone, the time was 6:55. Since Steve said he would be here for 7:00, it should be any minute now.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a motorcycle approaching and then suddenly stopping. Y/N turned her head to the glass door and much to her surprise, saw Steve getting off said motorcycle.

He looked perfect as ever wearing khakis, a white button up, and his vintage brown leather jacket. Simply classic.

Before Steve had to go through the hassle of buzzing the apartment phone, Y/N quickly made her way to the door and walked out.

“Hey, Steve!” She called, waving her hand in his direction before making her way to him.

He looked up from his motorcycle, jaw slightly dropping.

Y/N was a vision. The light blue summer dress that went just above her knees. The beige heeled sandals giving her legs a few inches. Soft H/C curls cascading onto her shoulders, along with those baby pink lips that looked absolutely delicious to Steve. She was a vision indeed.

“Uh, wow... hi.” He said walking up to her, stunned. “You look...” He puffed out a breath “beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Y/N said bashfully, looking at her feet before looking up at him. “You look quite handsome yourself.”

“Thank you.” Steve smiled. “Uh, I hope you don’t mind that we’re taking the bike.”

It was in this very moment, that Y/N realized she would have to actually get on this thing. As hot as Steve looked standing next to it, she didn’t see the need to put their lives in such danger.

“It’s the only thing I got, and I figured it’s better than calling a cab, right?” He continued.

But of course, Y/N being the shy and always polite girl that she is, never vocalized her fears.

“Um... ya, of course!” She told him. “I’ve never actually rode one of these before.”

“That’s alright, a lot of people haven’t.” He assured, before pulling out a jet black helmet. “Which is perfect because I brought this.”

“For me?” Y/N questioned.

“Yup.”

“Why do I have to wear one and you don’t?” She asked, lightheartedly.

“Hmmm...” Steve was trying to come up with some sort of answer that wouldn’t be considered dumb, sexist, or overprotective. “Because I said so.” He smirked.

“He’s bossy… I like that.” Y/N commented playfully.

Steve let out a couple laughs before placing the helmet on her head.

You wouldn’t think that adjusting someone’s chinstrap could be considered intimate, but right now as they were looking into each other’s eyes, that’s the only word you could use.

Steve tongue slightly darted out between his pink lips as he finished shaping it to her size. “Perfect?” He inquired.

“Perfect.” Y/N repeated. Whether she was talking about the helmet or his dreamy blue eyes, was her business and her business only.

“Alright doll,” Steve interrupted her thoughts, probably for the better considering she was about to start drooling. “Just hold onto me tight and you’ll be safe.” He instructed as he straddled the motorcycle.

All Y/N could do stare in both fear and delight.

“C’mon.” He politely urged, nudging his head in the direction of the motorcycle.

She did as Steve said and hopped on the bike, his back to her chest. Y/N could practically feel the muscles through his jacket.

“I’m sorry. I’m just a tad scared.” She told him.

“Just focus on the breeze and the smell of fresh air.” He comforted. “Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to ‘ya.”

Y/N’s heart started to race in her chest at his words. God, she hoped he couldn’t feel it against his back. “Thanks.”

Steve smiled to himself. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

And they were off.

Y/N’s arms immediately squeezed Steve’s waist much tighter than before, the shock of the motor almost being too much. Though she had to hand it to him, Steve was a pretty great driver. His steadiness and precision almost being enough to calm her nerves. He expertly drove them down the city roads, and it then occurred to Y/N that she had no idea where he was taking her.

But before she knew it, they were parked at what looked like a little old diner. The sign said ‘Brooklyn’s Best - Est. 1922’.

They both hopped off and she handed Steve the helmet, before he fastened it to the bike for safekeeping.

“This place was around back when I was growing up.” Steve told her. “It was a town favourite. I hope you don’t mind that we’re not eating someplace nicer. I just remember how great the food was and have been meaning to go back. Actually, we can go somewhere fancier if-”

“Steve,” Y/N stopped his rambling with a giggle. “This is perfect.”

“Good.” He sighed before opening the door for her and following in after.

They both choose a booth and Steve waited for her to sit down before doing so across from her. His gentlemanly ways were definitely noticed and appreciated by Y/N.

“I didn’t know you grew up in Brooklyn.” She started.

Steve was slightly surprised, considering everybody always seemed to know everything about him. “Ya, I did. Though Brooklyn back then was slightly different than Brooklyn now.” He chuckled.

“I bet so.”

“Where did you grow up?” Steve asked.

“Actually, I grew up in Y/C.” Y/N told him.

Well that explained why she didn’t know too much about him, he thought.

“Really?” He questioned.

“Ya. I know it’s a bit ironic considering who you are.” She laughed.

“No, no, it’s actually a bit relieving.” Steve assured. “It could be a bit awkward if you grew up reading about me in your history textbooks.”

“Well then I guess we’re safe.” She quipped.

“I guess we are.” Steve breathed out, unexpectedly happy with this new information. 

The waitress came by and asked for their drink orders, giving them a smile before walking away. She must have realized who they both were.

“So, you’re an actress?” Steve asked.

“Yes, I am.” Y/N said with a smile. “I’m a bit surprised you knew that, actually.”

“Well, Tony told me after we met.”

“Ohh, okay. That won’t be a problem, right?” She asked, a bit worried.

Steve was now curious. “Why would that be a problem?”

“Well,” Y/N explained “some guys find it a but stressful, being in the public eye and everything.”

“Trust me, I’m plenty used to it.” He joked.

“Oh ya, true. What am I even saying?” Y/N realized. “It must have been hard, being thrown back into everything so quickly, eh?”

“Well, sometimes you just got to do what you just got to do.” Steve said. “What I have to do just so happens to be… well, I don’t even know what to call it.”

“Avenging?” She suggested. Quite adorably, Steve might add.

“I guess so.” He spoke.

“You must miss everything, though.” Y/N added. Just the thought of having to wake up tomorrow, 70 years in the future was almost too much for her to handle. She can only imagine how he feels.

“I do.” Steve told her, truthfully. “And it definitely was hard at first. But after a while, sitting round reminiscing won’t get you anywhere.” He paused. “The world needs Captain America.”

Y/N paused herself.

“And what does Steve Rogers need?”

That question seemed to stunt him. He’s spent so much time thinking about everyone else, that he seemed to forget about himself.

“He doesn’t know…” Steve said, before looking Y/N up and down. “Yet.”

*****

“Well come on, now I have to hear you sing!” He laughed with her as they walked up to her building.

After the pair finished their delicious meal, Steve drove Y/N back only to see that their were no parking spaces available. So, he parked down the street and insisted on walking her back.

“Well,” she said playfully, as they got to the lobby door, “I only sing for guys on the fifth date.”

“Is there going to be a fifth date?” Steve asked, looking into her gorgeous E/C eyes. The atmosphere instantly becoming very serious.

Y/N, suddenly just as nervous as she was earlier in the night, asked him “Do you want there to be?”

“I do.” He stated.

“So do I.” She agreed, instantly making Steve smile, that triggering her own.

God, she had perfect lips, he thought to himself. Lips that he so badly wanted to put his own on.

But instead, ever the gentleman, Steve leaned down and kissed her right cheek. The moment felt sweet, tender, and overall just... right.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” 

“Goodnight, Steve.”

And with that he walked away, giving her one more glance as she unlocked her door, thanking the Heavens that he was the one to go rescue her from that crashing building, instead of Thor.

Once Y/N got inside the lobby, and completely out of Steve’s view, she put her and on her cheek in the exact same place he kissed her. Still warm, she thought. She let out a little happy dance and way too loud squeal, then immediately pressed the elevator button, and got inside. Did she notice the side eye from 68 year old Mrs. Crockford? Yes. Did she care? No. It was totally all worth it.

Next Chapter

Feedback is always welcome!❤️

[cagestark]

Can i request something i dont see enough of, which is AlphaPeter/OmegaTony ? :D Lots of fluffy happy stuff, i love angst too a slong as theres a happy ending - { holographic-starker }

this was a tough one to write, but I enjoyed myself and feel like I learned a lot about myself as a writer, even. Thanks for the request, let me know if you’re displeased

Read here on AO3.

Warnings: ABO, consent issues because Tony is in heat. Alpha!Peter, Omega!Tony. Peter is 18+ though. Explicit. 

-

The thing is, the kid is too polite.

Peter is freshly eighteen when he moves into the tower and begins interning for Tony, spending every last moment Avenging and patrolling and attending online classes. Being thirty years older than the kid, a part of him assumes that he should take on the role of a cantankerous old man complaining about the boorish youth. His knees have certainly taken it upon themselves to method act, protesting hours spent cross-legged on the floor. His hair has obviously been visiting wardrobe and makeup without his notice, because there are more gray hairs there than he remembers there being last year, last season, last month.

All this to say that Tony is getting older, and it is no secret that the younger generations are fucking irritating. Disrespectful, he’d say, channeling Howard or Jarvis through that internal Ouija board that keeps coming back no matter how many times he throws it out. And alright, it’s part of their rite of passage. Find him a generation who doesn’t annoy their elders and he’d eat Cap’s shield.

The one exception: Peter.

The kid has sweetness in his DNA. Authenticity clings to his red blood cells which explains why every bone in his body is genuine and kind. The respect he shows the Avengers is nearly comical—would be, if it didn’t drive Tony up the walls for other reasons. He is firm and gentle, thoughtful and conscientious. There are no valid complaints to be had about him.

The kid, if anything, is too polite.

Which means that he can’t possibly be doing this on purpose.

Peter presenting as an alpha shocked Tony to the core, and he wasn’t alone. “I’ve had him pegged as an omega since he was in diapers, Tony,” May had whispered to him while they watched Peter having his blood drawn by Bruce inside the Hulk-proof enclosure beneath the ground at Stark Tower. Judging by how Peter’s face flushes red, he can hear through the glass.

“A lot people had me pegged as an alpha,” Tony responds, maybe a little too coldly. But maybe it hits a little too close to home—children having their designations determined for them at such a young age. How much of Peter’s upbringing had influenced his disposition? Had he been groomed to be an omega even despite his biology? The thought makes Tony sick. He knows how that feels. He knows. “This doesn’t change anything about him. He’s still Peter.”

But it did change things.

Because now they are playing this game together, and either Peter is a better bluffer than Tony ever anticipated, or the kid genuinely doesn’t know what he’s doing to the older man.

It starts the first day Peter returns to his work in the lab after his rut. They have been putting in hours together working on a new AI, one Peter has affectionately dubbed Saturday, no matter how many times Tony tells him that the key to a good name is all in the acronym). Since it is Peter’s first effort to make an artificial intelligence, Tony is letting him lead. He is bent over the lab table examining a microchip the size of his thumbnail, miniature soldering iron clutched between in his fingers when the door to the lab opens.

He whirls around on the stool, beaming. Peter is dressed in his old Midtown High sweatshirt, the collar of his dress shirt blooming around his neck. His hair is dark from a shower, wet curls clinging to his forehead. He looks—good. Healthy. Strong. Fertile.

They smell each other for the first time.

It’s not Tony’s right to tell anyone to wear scent blockers, though he ingests his own via pill form twice a day, showers with them, has them mixed into the sterilization stations at lab’s exits so he can clean his hands and neutralize any happy-angsty scents that were brought about during the day’s tinkering. Because it’s a polite thing to do. Alphas and omegas are very sensitive to smells. Polite alphas will wear blockers to avoid overwhelming omegas or antagonizing other alphas in public—and when it comes to omegas, scent blockers are like protection, like the nano-tech suit he goes nowhere without. If no one can smell Tony, they can’t look at him like a piece of meat, lust over him, come on to him when all he’s trying to do is walk down the fucking street.

The kid is not wearing blockers. Before he presented, Peter had the blandly neutral scent of a beta, and he would have been incapable of scenting Tony. Peter smells of something fond. It takes Tony only a moment to place it: the mahogany of the bookshelves in his childhood home, the lemon-basil scent that would cling to Jarvis after days spent in the kitchen.

He sees Peter’s nostrils flair, surely trying to take in a scent that for all intents and purposes, he shouldn’t be able to smell. But by the way his eyes go hooded, throat bobbing, he can. The boy’s mouth opens, literally mouths the word wow. Tony feels remarkably like a rabbit caught in a dog’s gaze.

Tony burns himself. “Fucking—fuck!” He drops the soldering iron and it barely misses the microchip.

“Mr. Stark, are you okay?”

Peter comes over to examine the burn, a dark, flushed pink, the skin already raw and shiny. The smell comes with him, each of the boy’s emotions playing out like a symphony for his nose: concern, comfort, anxiety. And yeah, arousal.

Tony pulls away before their skin can touch, jamming his hands into the gloves that he should have been wearing from the start. “Fine,” he says. “Don’t worry about it.”  

Peter becomes—distracting. At best. Arousing at worst. Days spent in the lab under Tony’s tutelage are filled with emotions for the young, enthusiastic boy: joy when he solves a problem, frustration when he can’t, the soft melancholic scent of rotting wood on days when his smile is muted and his eyes seem far away. Tony is too receptive to him. More than once, he’s found himself opening his mouth, desperate to ask for the love of God, Pete, will you take a shower? Will you wear something, anything, to come between your scent and my nose? But the kid doesn’t deserve that, and Tony isn’t sure he could stand the embarrassed, insecure scent he’d give off after being confronted. The need to comfort might be too strong to overpower.

Tony does his very best to maintain a professional relationship, but Peter seems determined to cross every boundary.

Next comes the scenting. To be fair: maybe he doesn’t know how incredibly personal it is. Tony knows that it’s common in schools to separate kids by designation and teach them only the information absolutely pertinent to them. Maybe growing up small and thin and soft hearted, pegged O’ from birth, they didn’t teach him what it means when an alpha scents someone who they aren’t related to.

Tony himself doesn’t know what it means when Peter does it. Maybe Peter doesn’t even know, maybe it’s just an itch that needs scratched, and he knows that scenting Tony can scratch it. Some things are just that innocent. But on his dark days when Tony is hunched over at the lab table, back and eyes aching from working through the night, all it takes is Peter brushing by. His steps will stutter just beyond Tony’s shoulders. He inhales—now Tony is trained like one of Pavlov’s dogs, and the relief, the arousal, it often comes right then, even on just the inhale—and then Peter’s forehead will loll forward, soft hair and skin nuzzling at the scent gland on Tony’s neck until their scents are mixed. Until Tony’s body is soft and pliant (except for his cock, which is hard and throbbing).

Then Peter moves on like nothing happened.

What the fuck, Tony sometimes mouths, keeping his eyes on the tablet in front of him, terrified to turn and acknowledge what the boy just did.

It might not be so bad if they weren’t so fucking compatible. Yeah, he can admit it. Tony had spent weeks agonizing about that after the kid first brought his scent down into the lab, he’s come to terms, thanks. It’s a biological fact, one he remembers any time he takes in a whiff of mahogany and lemon-basil. God, he didn’t think a smell could be so comforting and arousing all at once. It makes him ache, someplace in his chest where the arc reactor used to sit, and somewhere lower, deep in his pelvis where he should have grown children, if he’d been a decent omega. If he hadn’t spent so long trying to pretend to be an alpha, frying his biology, cooking his ovaries right to medium-well-done, AKA infertility.

What use would Peter have for him? Tony is old, past safe childbearing years even if he wasn’t barren. Alphas want legacies, they want homemakers, they want everything Howard worked so hard to empty Tony of. Far too often he finds himself maudlin and thinking such thoughts before the futility of them strikes him. His attractiveness is a non-issue; he is determined that he and Peter will never come together that way.

As it is, the scent blockers Tony takes, while being ultra-effective, aren’t as effective for a pair—not a pair. No, they’re not a pair. Just two friendly friends, mentor and mentee, platonic hi there Mr. Stark how are you doing goodness, no knots involved. God. He should not be thinking about the kid’s knot—anyway, the blockers aren’t as effective for people who are as compatible as Peter and Tony are. They are his last defense, and he often burns through them before the afternoon hits, body working overtime to make his scent potent again so that he might have a chance to attract the virile alpha across the room. It’s embarrassing, smelling so badly of pining omega that he can smell himself in the enclosed space of the elevator.

Like he is right now.

Although, it isn’t the elevator. It’s the bathroom.

Tony grabs the hand towels off of the rack and stuffs them at the bottom of the door where the crack is, desperate to keep his own smell in and Peter’s smell out. Then he crawls into the bathtub there and draws the curtain shut. As if that’s going to help.

He looks to the ceiling, wondering why a deity he doesn’t even believe in seems to be punishing him like this. Inside his pants, his cock is aching, and he can’t help but to press the heel of his hand against it, exhaling in the brief relief it gives. Lifting his wrist to his nose he breaths deep and can’t stop the groan that passes his lips. He smells like Peter, their scents combining, lemon and sugar to make lemonade, so sweet his mouth waters and his teeth ache.

When Peter arrived in the lab just moments before, he’d brought with him the scent of fury: scorched earth, and something sadder. His eyes were red from tears, lips pressed thin together. Tony watched him, paralyzed, as he tried three different times to enter his access code to the lab before FRIDAY showed mercy and let him in. Then as soon as there was nothing between them, it was like two oppositely charged magnets coming together.

They collided. Tony’s arms wrapped around him and Peter’s nose buried in that spot between his neck and shoulder, inhaling and exhaling fire on Tony’s exposed skin. Peter babbles away, lips brushing his skin, something about an argument with Ned and MJ, both sides feeling neglected and wronged, long overdue issues just now bubbling to the surface, he’d imagine. He can barely focus on what the boy is saying. It feels like there’s an invisible hand on the back of his neck, tilting him into the perfect position for his alpha to scent and find comfort in him. Tony holds him until all the anger and hurt and helplessness have seeped out of him.

What the fuck, Tony mouths to the ceiling. One of these days, he’s going to ask FRIDAY to create a montage of his WTF moments so that he might literally have concrete footage of how weird his life is.

Then one of Peter’s hands drifts up like he is going to cup Tony’s shoulder, but instead he firmly presses his thumb into the gland there and it’s like Thor has sent a bolt of lightning down. Tony’s entire body jerks and melts, every bone in his body relaxing for his alpha except for the one in his pants, and speaking of, Peter whimpers and shifts and there is no mistaking an alpha’s cock. There just isn’t. It’s veritably huge and hard and how many years has it been since he’s had an alpha inside him, since he’s been knotted—

The scents around them change, thick with arousal. It takes him that long to realize that Peter’s heightened emotional sensitivity might have a biological cause.

He is going into a rut.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter slurs, hips shifting. “You smell sooo good.”

It takes herculean effort to separate their bodies. The sheer heat and pheromones that Peter is throwing off are tangible even when he’s resolutely breathing through his mouth. He must be a sight: eyes wild and terrified, cock stiff, sprinting bow-legged to the bathroom so that he could get just a moment—just a moment to calm himself down and use his brain.

It’s going…about as well as can be expected, Tony thinks, desperately fisting his cock in the bathtub. If he could just rub one out, maybe it will bleed some of the fire from his veins. There is a gentle knocking at the door and Peter’s muffled voice, but Tony can barely hear it. He’s so close, building up to an orgasm so quickly that it should be shameful, but at least there is no one here to see. Wrist pressed to his nose, he inhales Peter’s scent like a man coming up from water, desperate for air. His balls are drawn up tight, stomach twisted into knots—and still he doesn’t cum.

“Mr. Stark, are you alright? Are you hurt?” Peter’s voice is raised, worried. Tony realizes that he has been whimpering, surely loud enough for the genetically enhanced boy to hear.

The pain inside him rises up but never crests, just rests there, aching in his gut. Cramping. Curiously, he reaches down past the petite testicles, down—

He’s wet. Soaked. The touch of his finger nearly brings him to ecstasy. This is what he needs, something inside of him, filling that emptiness that is so acute it aches. One finger isn’t enough. His hole is already loose, taking two easily.

The door breaks down. I’m in heat, Tony thinks numbly listening to wood splinter and hinges break. Maybe there was a slow build up that he missed, but it burned away in an instant in the face of this alpha. That is why Peter went into rut. Because of me. He barely has time to shove his cock back into his pants. For a moment, after Peter wrenches back the shower curtain Tony feels like a woman out of the old bodice rippers his mother used to keep in her bedside drawer. The ones with helpless omegas ravished by alphas who were driven mad by their scents, alphas who couldn’t have stopped their urges even if they wanted to.

The look Peter gives him is certainly aroused enough. He is hard in his jeans, a bulge that looks impossibly huge compared to Tony’s own. Peter’s chest rises and falls so rapidly that the older man is worried for his health. Those dark eyes scan Tony from head to toe and then the boy collapses, knees striking the tiled floor, groaning. He crawls to the bathtub and rests his feverish cheeks against the lip of the tub, mouth open and panting.

“Mr. Stark.” The voice is absolutely wrecked.

It is pure restraint as a result of his years of experience that keeps him from rolling onto his hands and knees to present for this boy, this wet-behind-the-ears alpha who has barely started his second rut and probably never popped a knot in his life.

“Mr. Stark I don’t feel so good,” groans Peter.

Even burning up, cramping, shaking, Tony reaches out to pet at Peter’s head. He hopes to offer comfort, but the boy snatches his hand out of the air in a bruising grip. Then he draws it to his mouth and presses in the fingers that were just inside Tony’s sopping hole. The boy’s tongue slips between the fingers, searching every crevice for more slick, groaning even as he licks the palm tasting only heart-love-life lines. “Mr. Stark,” Peter pants, trying again for words. “Can I have you? Please. Let me have you.”

“Yes,” Tony gasps.

They come together clumsily. It takes a moment for them to realize that Tony is trying to crawl out of the tub while Peter is trying to crawl in. They end up outside of it on the tiled floor, Tony spread out underneath the young alpha. Peter sheds his shirt and there should be violins, there should be mood lighting and a spotlight because the kid is fucking built. He almost has as many abs as fingers, so lithe and strong. He reminds Tony of spider silk, thin and so strong.

“Undress,” Peter says lowly, helping Tony to sit up so that he might pull off his shirt. Yeah, Tony isn’t 18 years old with genetically enhanced muscles but he likes to think he does okay. Peter’s eyes roll, palms flat on Tony’s pecs to drag down and down, over the scarring where the arc reactor used to be, scraping at the chest hairs. It melts the omega’s brain, primal parts of him purring. His body is satisfying to his mate, even if he is older and grayer and harder than any omega has a right to be. “God, you’re so—Jesus you’re hot Mr. Stark.”

“Knot me,” Tony groans. His hips are thrusting up into the hard cradle of Peter’s pelvis. His cock is throbbing, leaking, but it is nothing compared to the emptiness inside of him. The room is small and filled with so many potent scents that he can barely keep his eyes open. All of his senses are consumed by Peter, by what he’s doing with Peter. “Come on, kid. It hurts.”

Peter goes feral at the thought. He tears at their clothes, ribbons of jean and cotton, tennis shoes nudged off of feet. When he is naked as the day he was born, the fever in Tony seems to reach its boiling point. The kid is sculpted; it’s indecent. If there was any doubt he was meant to be an alpha, his cock disputes it. Tony, who has had plenty of fulfilling sexual experiences with people of all genders and designations, is still intimidated. Aroused. Anxious. He knows that his biology has prepared him for this. His body is made to take cocks of that size, but what if it doesn’t? What if he displeases this alpha, displeases Peter?

A hand comes to rest on his shoulder, thumb pressing into that tender part of his neck that has his legs jolting. “Easy,” Peter says, and Tony’s entire body relaxes. That voice drains all the fear and anxiety out of him, Novocain for the soul. Why was he worrying? His head is pleasantly fuzzy like with the buzz of a few strong drinks. Underneath it all is the ache in his cock, the emptiness inside him, but he does not beg. Does not squirm. Because unbearably tender, Peter assures: “I’ll take care of you.”

The tiles under his palms and knees are cold on his feverish skin when he turns over. He lets his back bow to appease the ache inside him until he is presenting fully, cheek pressed against the floor. The sounds Peter makes behind him are wrecked as he folds himself over the omega beneath him, mouth hotly over the skin at the nape of his neck. It makes all the hairs on his body stand on edge—god the only thing better than mating with alpha is bonding with this alpha, bite, bite, please—

“Can’t,” Peter groans. “Can’t bite you. You don’t mean that.”

Tony bucks the boy off until Peter is sitting back on his haunches, cock obscene between his legs, looking more like a confused pup than an assertive alpha. Tony bares his teeth even in the face of his instincts which recoil just at the idea. “I thought you knew what I needed,” he goads.

Peter’s eyes harden. Maybe this polite young man defers to him on most things, but not this thing. He fists a hand in Tony’s hair and wrenches him up until their naked bodies are plastered together from knee to neck. Teeth brush his neck again and it’s like touching a live wire. If he’d jerked any harder, he might have broken skin. As it is, Peter just holds him there, bite firm and bordering on painful until all the fight goes out of him. The boy guides him back down, body lax like all the bones are gone. One hand drifts up and back to run over where the alpha’s teeth were, desperate to feel the indentations.

“Didn’t break skin,” Peter promises, like Tony doesn’t already know. No broken skin, but close. Close enough to have him pliant and purring, the fever in his skin giving him the briefest respite. Then Peter’s fingers dance downward to where the omega is wet and hot and so empty it hurts. Just the brush of fingertips, the promise of pleasure, has Tony groaning into the tiled floor.

Gently, Peter presses in. Attuned to the alpha’s senses, he hears the younger man’s breath catch, turn high and breathy. A second finger joins the first and yes, that’s better, so much better than the gaping emptiness. By the third finger, Tony feels like he could cum from this alone, even if Peter has done nothing but skim his fingers over that spot inside him that’s so good it aches.

Peter hushes him, a hand planted over that fading mark on the back of Tony’s neck. His other hand grips his cock, notching the head where Tony needs it most. The omega takes the first half before he feels full, sated even, but then there is more. Peter makes the rawest noises, and Tony laments not facing him, not being able to see his expression. He can imagine it: the eyes squeezed shut, mouth open, head back. But then there is more cock inside him than he thought was possible, and it burns everything else from his mind. The only thing that exists is that cock, anchoring him to this reality. He can feel the flared base of the alpha’s cock already puffing, desperate to knot.

Content that his cock isn’t going to split Tony in half—though it certainly feels like it from the other side of things—Peter sets a brutal pace. The finesse his fingers might have lacked is overshadowed by his cock which probably couldn’t miss Tony’s prostate if it tried. All he can do is take it, fingers scrabbling to find purchase on the slick floor, body singing, prepared to burn out at any moment.

“To-ny,” whines Peter, drawing the word out obscenely. The next word is softer, said through teeth: “Omega.”

“Alpha,” Tony gasps. “Harder—more. Come on. Need it, need your knot—”

“Then take it,” Peter cries. “Take it! God, you feel so good, you’re perfect, perfect—”

Tony cums, cock spurting onto the tiled floor. Every muscles clenches, cramping, spasming as his orgasm goes on and on, spurred on by Peter’s cock. Tony can’t even take it enough breath to scream, just gapes, cheek pressed to the cool floor. He can feel Peter’s own end coming, the knot growing, the sounds he makes becoming louder and less inhibited.

When Peter finally cums, he howls, crying out the way a man might if he’d just been stabbed only he’s the one stabbing Tony, stabbing him with his cock, forcing the knot past the rim and Tony doesn’t know if he can take it, there is brief pain cresting and then—it’s like it all goes white. His first orgasm was nothing compared to this. This would be painful, if it weren’t so good, if it weren’t exactly what he needed. It’s so much deeper than when he cums from his cock; in a way that feels so external. But this is inside him, deep in his womb, his entire body and being rejoicing at the alpha inside him loading him with sperm. Every spasm of his body is matched a heartbeat later by the cock inside him.

The come-down is slow. Having lost his strength ages ago, Tony is prostrate on the floor, knees and back aching. Above him is a firm, warm weight. The breaths are too ragged for Peter to be sleeping. Still, there is no speaking. Not until the knot inside him deflates and Peter draws back, cum and slick slipping out from inside of Tony.

When he manages to get up on his hands an knees, reaching out to use the sink to brace himself to stand (trying hard not to slip in all the bodily fluids), he sees that Peter is sitting back on his haunches, face buried in his hands, shaking with tears.

Tony nearly flinches at the sight. His heart pounds—alpha, hurting.

“Peter? Pete? God, what is it? Are you—”

“I’m so sorry,” Peter wails.

“Wh—what the hell are you sorry for?”

Peter can’t even answer, he’s so distraught. Tony isn’t good at this. It’s safe to say that most emotional situations have him withdrawing, and hastily. But this is Peter: the young man he’s had a soft spot for even years before the attraction arrived. So instead he lowers himself back down and sits next to the boy, drawing him in. Peter buries his face in Tony’s neck, scenting and scenting. It isn’t hard to exude comfort and warmth, not when he has the young alpha in his arms. Peter’s tears slow and then stop.

Heart in his throat, Tony asks: “What that—not good for you, kid?”

When Peter pulls away, his face is twisted with confusion. “What are you talking about? That—it was—God, Mr. Stark. I’m going to be thinking about that for the rest of my life, probably.”

The omega inside him purrs. “Thanks for the ego boost.”

Peter sighs, wiping at his face. “That’s just so not how I wanted it to happen. When you’re, when you’re in heat you can’t technically consent. You ran from me and I literally—oh shoot, Mr. Stark, I broke down your door.”

“About that—it’s coming out of your paycheck.”

“I’m not being paid, I’m an intern—"

“You—what? You’re not being paid? That doesn’t sound—”

“Can we, like, talk about my pay later?”

Tony’s mouth clicks shut. He nods.

“I just,” Peter sighs, relaxed with his head in the crook of Tony’s neck. They’re both naked, sweat cooling rapidly, but their bodies pressed together are more than enough to keep them warm. “All that effort I put in trying to attract you, trying to treat you right, like an alpha is supposed to treat an omega—then I went and broke your door.”

“Jesus,” Tony mutters. “I should have known you’re too smart not to know what you’ve been doing. Scenting me like I’m going out of style.”

“You’ll never go out of style Mr. Stark,” Peter assures. “I thought I was being subtle. It never seemed to work. Then I got worried that maybe you just weren’t interested. But I can smell you.”

“I’m interested,” Tony says into the younger man’s hair. “Trust me. Interested is putting it lightly. Not to mention, I’m a pretty creative guy. I could have probably stopped you if I wasn’t interested.”

“Even if you could, it’s not right for me to, to just—consent is important!”

“You’re goddamn right it is,” Tony says. He draws Peter’s chin up so they can meet eyes, and even bloodshot and wet, Peter’s are still warm and sincere and painfully adorable. “So, while I’m of sane mind and in between waves, let’s just go ahead and say I’m giving you consent. Enthusiastically. Deal?”

It’s Peter’s turn to melt and then purr, a low growling in his chest, looking like the spider who caught the fly, only more charming and with far less legs thank god. He mouths at Tony’s neck, kissing the gland there to make him shiver, and when he speaks Tony can feel the brush of his lips moving against his skin: “Deal.”

[presidentofprocrastination]

DAMN THE VIOLIN!!!

Sometimes, it happens that...who am I kidding? Most of the times, it happens that an object will always be present within your eyesight. You find it lying around when you are looking for your homework. You find it lying around when you are searching for your glue stick. You find it lying around when you least need it but when you actually want it, it magically disappears.

Meet Louis, a high school sophomore who badly wants to impress his crush. He had a crush on Christina ever since middle school. Unfortunately, he has the courage of a peanut when it comes to talking to people at school and never was able to even hold a proper conversation with her. But now things have changed. He firmly believes he can win the girl of his dreams with his ‘flirting skills’ acquired by watching youtube videos at 3 am in the morning. All he needed now was the goddam violin. He knew Christina was head over heels over instruments and music. His plan was simple. He would go to the talent show auditions tomorrow that he knew Christina would be filming. He would play the violin. The girl would be immediately impressed and hug him.

(Honestly, I think this Louis guy or whatever has seen too many unrealistic high school movies)

After hours of searching, he finally finds the thing which has been playing hide and seek, in the attic. He goes downstairs to his room. He puts up a YouTube video and tries to revise what he taught himself yesterday. He learnt all the theory. He just need to improve his chords. Lilly, his 13-year-old sister knocks on the door. “Do you want your lovely baby sister to DIE BECAUSE OF BURSTED EARDRUMS BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT GONNA HAPPEN IF YOU DON’T STOP PLAYING THE DAMN THING” He lets out a puff of air. He has to move someplace else.

He decides to go to the guest bedroom. That's where his grandfather is sleeping but that old man sleeps so deeply, he wouldn't wake up even if a hurricane takes down the entire house. He settles there with his violin and iPad. Suddenly, the video pauses. “Mom! What happened to the internet?” “Oh Honey, I totally forgot to tell you. The carpenter is here to fix the cupboard. It'll take a couple of hours to back the internet.” She replies from the living room. An old middle-aged woman around her early sixties enters the room. “Ya know kid. Back in the day, we didn't have all this internet and all.” “Back in the day, Grandma. You weren't lesbian and didn't have any Christinas to impress by learning an instrument. Men are way easily impressed than women”, he whispers under his breath while packing and leaving towards the kitchen. At least, the kitchen won't have any distractions

(except for the food)

He sits on the floor with his legs crossed and a violin resting on his shoulder. He was ready to prepare to impress. A white-furred poodle hops onto his lap. Duffy had been brought by Mr.Johnson, two years ago. Louis loved Tuffy, but this too was unfortunate and tragic anecdote- a one-sided love. Tuffy rarely came near Louis. Even if it did, it wouldn't be as enthusiastic as it was near his sister. There were very few occasions when Tuffy voluntarily played with him. Somehow, in all these two years it decided that this is the best time to play with Louis. It makes circles around Louis, occasionally kicking him with his tiny foot as if to ask Louis to get up. “Christina...Meh! Poodles before Crushes” They both go to the backyard to play. Duffy jumped into Louis’s arms. “Who’s a good boy? My little Tuffy is!”

2 hours pass by. Both of them were exhausted. Louis promised himself that he would take a nap of only 30 minutes and back to learning Violin as soon as he wakes up. He goes and falls asleep in his bedroom with Tuffy. He wakes up and sits. Rubbing his eyes, he looks at the clock. “Darn it!” Somehow his half an hour became 3 hours.

(It's hard to admit but we've all been Louis at some point in our life)

He immediately grabs his Violin, hoping that his sister has her headphones on or she would be too busy to notice the sounds and give death threats. A drilling noise fills the house. It stops and it comes back again. He ignores the dreadful disturbance. It stops and it comes back again. Both him and his sister come out their respective rooms, bothered by the noise. The Carpenter is struggling with the drilling machine. They both sigh.

Lilly just puts back her headphones and increases the volume, meanwhile Louis has to find another room.

(Wow, that rhymed. I think I will start my career as a poet as soon as I'm done being a procrastinator)

Anyway, back to our protagonist. Louis decides that he would go back to the backyard. The sun is about to set. The sky is infused with peaceful colours. It's so amazing. The nature, the wind. The pleasant sound of music would just be the cherry on the top for this situation. As soon as he starts to play, the word ‘pleasant’ probably remembered it had some work and ran away because the sounds Louis was making with his violin is just the opposite of pleasant. Louis knew this, deep down that he wasn't meant to be a musician. He hoped that his plan will work out in the end, even though he knows that isn't what's gonna happen at all. He knows for a fact that he sucks at most of the things he tries to do.

(This Louis is getting more and more relatable. It hurts)

Two minutes into practising his chords, something interrupts him, again. It's their neighbour.

Their neighbour is an old woman. His Grandma and her would often go out for Bingo nights together. One major problem is that she too had a problem in understanding technology. She thinks that whenever her son calls her from Italy, she has to shout in order to talk to him since he is far. Louis would often go to the old lady’s house and tell her but she continued doing what she thought was right. “HELLO? CAN YOU HEAR ME, SON?”

He finally decided to go where he found the violin in the first place. Even though the place was dusty and small, there was no Tuffy to get distracted, no sister to yell at him, no drilling machine that made a noise louder than his class during recess. ‘Finally, some peace! I can't wait to see Christina’s face when she learns that I play the violin like her favourite musician.’ He thought.

He thought of all the wonderful things they say about music, the elegance of violin and benefits of it as said by the bald man in some video. He didn't care about all the other advantages. He only cared about Christina. He thought about her hair- blonde and silky. Her smell that reminded him of freshly baked bread. Christina’s mother was a baker. He finally, decided to play. He practised the basics he knew. He finally was getting better. His hopes went up. The smile on Christina’s face he imagined, grew clearer and happier. He closed his eyes and let himself drift into the happiness of music. He suddenly heard a sudden raise of tempo for a split second, almost if something came loose. He noticed a string just broke.

“Ahhhhhhhh!”

[artificialqueens]

forever is composed of nows (trixya) 2/2 - beanierose

(part one)

AN: This monstrosity of a chapter would not exist without my amazing betas nadia and meggie, as well as the wonderful cheer squad that is conny, shea and mia. Thank you all so much for listening to my nonsensical ramblings at all hours of the day and night.

(read on a03) | (find me at katiehoughton)

It’s a soulmate AU where you feel the opposite emotion to whatever the other person is feeling | 15,497 words

It feels a little like they exist outside of time. It’s still early, and the street below is quiet. Katya has her kitchen window open; she leaves it that way all summer, even though Mama tuts and frets. She likes the smell of the morning, likes feeling like she’s the only one awake in the whole world.

She isn’t. Trixie is here. She extracts herself from Katya’s arms but stays close, her body warm and good next to Katya’s. She swipes at her cheeks with the pads of her fingers and huffs a self-conscious little laugh. Katya likes her so much.

There’s a box of tissues on the countertop and Trixie pats delicately at her face like she’s forgotten she’s not wearing makeup and is trying to preserve her mascara.

“Sorry,” she says. “I’m not really a crier. I don’t know why I can’t stop today.”

Katya snorts. “I am. The drama of it all? I love it.”

It makes Trixie laugh. Making Trixie laugh is her new most favourite thing to do. Katya wants, so badly, but everything is tentative. She’s not looking to freak Trixie out here. She turns away from her and busies herself with the kettle, setting it on the burner to boil. A tingling hyperawareness of Trixie travels up her spine and along her arms, into her fingertips.

She’s right there. It’s so surreal. She’s waited her whole life to find her sestrinskoye serdste and now she’s here in Katya’s kitchen like they do this every Saturday. Trixie is rummaging in the refrigerator and singing something under her breath.

“Breakfast?” She pops back out to look at Katya around the door.

“I’m teaching a class in about an hour. I don’t like to eat till after.” Trixie wrinkles her nose at that. She’s holding a carton of eggs in both hands, cradling it against her stomach protectively. Katya wants to let her do whatever she likes. Is going to let her. “But we could go out? When I’m done.”

Trixie nods, a few more times than is strictly necessary. She puts the carton of eggs back and closes the door, leans against it. Every time Katya looks at her, it feels like the first time. The light makes Trixie’s lashes and her eyebrow hairs look extra blonde. She has a dimple in her left cheek when she smiles.

And Katya feels, clearer now than she ever has, the tenderness that Trixie has towards her. It’s making her punch-drunk, a bit lightheaded. The kettle starts whistling and she’s glad to busy herself. Trixie works right beside her, slicing up a lemon into segments. The way her wrists move and the delicate grip of her fingers around the knife makes Katya wonder whether she plays piano as well as guitar.

She’s so femme. Not that Katya is at all that butch, but Trixie is something else. Her ponytail is held up with a pink scrunchie and she’s wearing a white mini dress with a pink denim jacket on top. Katya wants to undress her, wants to look at her soft stomach and her thick thighs, but she also doesn’t really want to deconstruct this carefully cultivated look.

“Do you have a container? Usually I like to freeze them.”

Trixie is going to leave things in Katya’s freezer. Trixie is going to come back here, lots and lots of times. She waits patiently for Katya to absorb that information, her face totally smooth and free of uncertainty.

“Um. Yeah. Sure.” She digs around in the cabinet for a Tupperware and hands it to Trixie over her shoulder, not looking.

She takes it. She takes it, and her other hand touches the back of Katya’s head. It’s so quick, could have been an accident, but Katya feels Trixie’s intention behind the wall of her own chest. Trixie wants to touch her.

“I’m gonna go right ahead and slice them all up.”

Katya leans back against the countertop and rests her hands either side of her hips. She knows it makes the muscles in her arms flex, makes her tattoos shift, and she catches Trixie looking. Ever since she met Trixie she’s felt off-kilter, like she has to tread carefully so she doesn’t lose her balance. It’s not really her.

She’s a top, thank you very much.

“That’s very presumptuous, Miss Mattel.” She lifts one eyebrow, sees the two lovely spots of colour that appear in the apples of Trixie’s cheeks, is thrilled by that.

For a second she wonders whether Trixie will be flustered. Instead she puts the knife down - right, oops - and narrows her eyes at Katya. “We are literally soulmates, you dumb slut.”

It’s the first time that either of them has said it so plainly, and it takes them both by surprise. Trixie’s gaze immediately lowers and Katya sucks in a sharp breath through her teeth. She likes the way that sounds, would like to hear Trixie tell it to everyone she knows. Katya wants to lean out of the open kitchen window and call down to the people beginning to fill the street below.

“We sure are.” She grins, waits for Trixie to smile back at her. “I gotta get ready for work. Make yourself at home. Fill up my freezer with whatever you want.”

She leaves Trixie in the kitchen, carving her bag of lemons into neat and even segments. Katya’s outfits for teaching vary quite wildly. It depends on how lazy she’s feeling and how on top of her laundry she’s been that week. She just did some, so she picks out her favourite red unitard. It has little eyes embroidered around the bottom of the legs and the built in sports bra makes her tits look bigger than they actually are.

She winds her hair into two braids to keep it out of her face during class, even though her bangs are in her eyes again so she’s still going to end up cranky and sweaty. Maybe Trixie will trim them for her later. Katya puts on some more deodorant, sprays some perfume as well. She’s primping now, and it’s not for her students.

When Katya comes out of her bedroom and Trixie catches sight of her, she drops the knife into the sink. It clatters loudly, and the water is still running, but Katya hears the strangled little noise that Trixie makes. She doesn’t say anything, but Katya doesn’t need her to. She can feel it. The knot of desire tightening in Trixie’s stomach, the frantic pounding of her heart, the rush of blood into all of her extremities.

“You’re so- I just want-”

Trixie holds her wet hands out in front of her like she doesn’t know what to do with herself. She’s cleaned the kitchen while Katya was changing, and she’s poured Katya’s tea in a travel mug for her to take to the studio.

Katya wants, too. She does. She’d like to call in sick to work today and take Trixie to bed. But they’ve only known each other for a handful of hours, and if this is going to be forever…she’s not looking to rush things. They deserve more.

“You like it?” Katya turns around to let Trixie see the back of her outfit. Her ass is nothing spectacular compared to Trixie’s, but it’s toned and round and she enjoys showing it off.

She turns back around, and Trixie is blushing again. Still. “I like it very much. You look really hot.”

“Thanks. I gotta leave now, but you can hang out here and I’ll see you when I’m back?”

“No, I’m gonna go back to my hotel,” Trixie says. Katya tries very hard not to let it show on her face, and then remembers that Trixie can feel the disappointment that has just reared its head in her stomach. She comes hastily around the kitchen island to take Katya’s hands in both of hers. “To freshen up. I’ll meet you someplace.”

She feels childlike with wonder. Trixie’s fingers are warm, not so slender and bony as Katya’s, and her thumbs are making absent-minded circles over the backs of Katya’s hands.

“Oh. Okay. Yeah.”

“I want to spend the whole day with you. If that’s alright.”

Trixie is just as tentative as Katya is. She can feel her own heartbeat and feel Trixie’s too, ever so slightly out of sync. Neither of them knows what they’re doing here, not really. Katya had asked her last night if she knows many other soulbound people and she said she doesn’t think so, but since she’s never told anybody before it’s not something that really comes up.

In her nearly forty years on the planet, Katya has only met three soulbound couples. She knows plenty of people who haven’t found their sestrinskoye serdste yet; up until yesterday they’ve been the only people she has who really know how hard it is. But only three who have actually made it work. There were the Sullivans that she grew up watching not at all discretely every Sunday at church. Her friend from college, Brooke, who just last year got married to Vanessa. And her colleague Raja who used to talk non-stop about Raven, her wife.

Three couples is not many, not nearly enough that Katya can hazard a guess as to how this is supposed to go. And anyway, Brooke’s the only one she’s close enough to that she felt comfortable asking what it was like. With Brooke and Vanessa everything happened so quickly, like a flash flood. Katya isn’t sure if it’s because they’re soulbound, or because they’re lesbians.

“I want to spend the day with you too, Trixie.” She still enjoys the sound of her name very much. It feels like an incantation, like if she says it enough times everything between them will go smoothly.

And, well, she’s been waiting thirty years to put a name to her sestrinskoye serdste. When she was younger she used to try and imagine what it could be, would sometimes name them inside of her head just to see what it felt like. Trixie never crossed her mind.

Not just her name. Everything about her.

“I’ll walk you to work?”

Katya agrees to that. She can’t imagine not agreeing to anything that Trixie suggests. She has her gym bag with everything she needs for work slung over her shoulder. It keeps slipping down so she has to hold on to it, but she still has a hand free to hold Trixie’s. They’re clasped loosely so that they can walk, and she likes how warm Trixie’s palm is and the way that their knotted hands will sometimes bump her hip, sometimes Trixie’s.

At the door of the yoga studio, Katya takes her travel mug of tea back from Trixie. Everything this morning has been so achingly domestic. She likes the way Trixie looks in her space. Katya isn’t usually one for sharing her apartment. She loves having friends over, but loves equally when they leave again at the end of the night. It isn’t like that with Trixie. She wants her there again, as many times as Trixie would like.

She has trouble focusing during class. Her students can definitely tell. Usually, she is completely committed to their growth, making sure to divide her attention evenly between all of them. One of her regulars is still having a bit of trouble with her salabhasana and Katya kneels beside her and helps guide her into it, but she’s thinking about Trixie. Kneeling beside Trixie, putting her hands on Trixie.

It takes her until the class is almost over to realize that part of the reason is because Trixie is thinking about her. Trixie is back at her hotel, freshening up — Katya can’t fathom how she could possibly look more like a perfect paper doll cut neatly from a magazine — and thinking about her. And she can feel it, and she can’t focus on much more than the heat between her thighs.

When class is over and Katya checks her phone, she has a text from Trixie. Her head snaps up and sure enough, Trixie is right across the street leaning against the edifice of the laundrette. She has her phone in both hands, her head bent over it. Katya watches her for a second. She wonders if other people are watching her too and wondering who she is. Katya likes the idea of that, of getting to walk outside and greet Trixie and maybe some of those other people will see them and be jealous.

A couple of her students are waiting behind to ask her questions. She’s patient with them, because she feels good after an hour of practice and because she likes them. They’re enthusiastic and willing to learn and she appreciates it. She feels eyes on her and when she sneaks a glance Trixie has put her phone away and is watching.

Outside in the sunshine, Katya gets to hug Trixie hello. She’s let her hair down and it falls in soft curls all across her shoulders and her back. She’s put makeup on, an intricate and graphic eye look and a pink lipstick and more blush than Katya has ever seen on a real person before.

“You know you don’t have to put makeup on for me.”

“It’s not for you,” Trixie shrieks, indignant, and swats at Katya. “It’s for me. I’m feeling my fantasy.”

Katya laughs at that and reaches for Trixie’s hand to hold. She can’t fathom not touching her. Not after how long they’ve waited, how much they’ve hurt. Trixie has sunglasses on top of her head and she puts them on, looks at Katya through the pink circle lenses.

“You’re beautiful either way,” Katya says. She doesn’t mean it to come out with quite so much tenderness, but the way Trixie chews on her bottom lip is worth it.

Just like Trixie suggested, they spend the whole day together. Trixie’s been to Boston a couple of times before but hasn’t seen much of the city, so Katya gets to show her around. Trixie is sweet and enthusiastic, tethered to the end of Katya’s arm. She has something to say about every single thing Katya points out to her. She overflows with opinions and anecdotes, and Katya wants to collect each one like a pearl and thread them all together.

Things between them are so easy. And it’s not just the soulbound thing. Katya is sure after only a day that even if Trixie wasn’t her sestrinskoye serdste, they would still be friends. They have the same sense of humour. Trixie keeps up with Katya’s tangents in a way that not many other people are able to. They laugh all day long.

Trixie likes to take pictures. She takes pictures of Katya and pictures of both of them and pictures of the duckling sculpture in the public garden. When they stop for lunch, Trixie posts a few to her Instagram story. She’s tagged Katya in one of them. It’s a photograph of her, head turned so she’s almost in profile. Trixie’s put a few gifs of hearts around Katya’s head like she’s a cartoon, all lovestruck.

“You kind of have a lot of followers on here,” Katya says. She’s not really sure how to feel about that. Thousands of people are going to see her in Trixie’s story and wonder about her.

Trixie sets her fork down and looks at Katya across the table. “Katya. I’m already sort of famous, and that’s only going to keep growing. Or I hope so, at least.”

“It will,” Katya hurries to reassure Trixie. She believes in herself so much that Katya knows it’s going to happen for her.

“If that’s gonna be a problem for you,” Trixie trails off, waves her now empty hand in the air.

Katya does Trixie the courtesy of really thinking about her answer before she says anything. Just because they’re soulbound doesn’t mean they won’t still have to compromise and work at things.

“It isn’t a problem. I’m really proud of you.”

She can sacrifice a little of her privacy if it means that she gets to be a part of Trixie’s private world. Trixie is smiling into her salad. Beneath the table, she slides her foot forward until it nudges in between both of Katya’s.

“Obviously. I’m incredible.” She fans herself with one hand and makes a little moaning sound and Katya feels it like a hand around her throat, has to press her thighs together even as she laughs.

They head back out into the warmth of Boston in the summertime. Katya sweats even in her unitard, which professes to wick moisture away from the skin. She didn’t bring sunglasses with her and she has to shade shadesher eyes with her hand so that she can even see Trixie.

“Here,” Trixie says. She hands Katya the carton of cigarettes she’s been carrying around all day in her little clear plastic backpack.

Katya didn’t want to carry her duffel around with her all day, so she left it at the yoga studio. They’ll swing by later to get it, but for now Trixie is carrying Katya’s phone and keys and wallet and her cigarettes. It’s so domestic that it aches physically in her chest.

Katya fishes a cigarette out of the pack and lights it, hands everything back to Trixie to put away. She inhales deeply, holds the smoke in her mouth for as long as she can before she has to exhale.

“You keep doing that.”

“Hmm?” Trixie turns to look at her. Her sunglasses are so huge that Katya can’t see much of her face, but she gets the idea. “Doing what?”

Katya takes another drag. “Handing me cigarettes before I even ask.”

She’s done it three or four times so far today. It’s cute, she likes it very very much. And likes too that Trixie doesn’t seem to mind Katya smoking, even though she really shouldn’t be enabled and she’s going to quit soon, she is.

“Oh,” Trixie laughs. “Yeah. I can feel when you need one. I’m craving them too, you bitch.”

Katya stops walking in the middle of the sidewalk, just exactly how she always hates when tourists do. Trixie takes hold of her elbow and draws her to the side so that they’re both leaning against the warm brick of the building beside them.

“You can feel that?”

“Yeah. I can feel pretty much everything.” Katya opens her mouth to apologise, because God knows even she can barely deal with how much she feels sometimes, but Trixie cuts in. “I like it. I like being soulbound to you, Katya.”

It wipes her out. Katya presses the back of her hand to her forehead and closes her eyes. She’s still holding her half-smoked cigarette and she stubs it out against the wall.

When she opens her eyes again Trixie is watching her. She doesn’t look nervous. And that’s probably because she already knows, before Katya speaks.

“I like being soulbound to you as well. A lot. I can’t believe you’re real.”

Trixie takes her hand, now that it’s free. She’s been doing that a lot, all morning. Reaching for Katya, wanting to be near her. It’s sweet, and it’s good, because Katya wants to be near Trixie every day from now on.

“I’m real. You are, too.” She squeezes Katya’s fingers as if to ground her. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Katya says, and finds that she means it.

It takes her the better part of an hour to plan out in her head how to ask Trixie to come up to her apartment. Spending the whole day together has been wonderful, and Katya wants Trixie to spend the night, too.

Not for sex. They’re not going to have sex today, she’s pretty sure. Trixie deserves better than for Katya to shove her up against the front door the second that they get inside, even though it’s all she’s been able to think about for most of the afternoon.

At the door to the building, Katya opens her mouth, but Trixie gets there first. “Can I come up? I don’t wanna say goodbye to you.”

Trixie’s anxious to ask; Katya feels her heart fluttering in her own throat. Both of them are swinging wildly between ease and awkwardness.

“Yes. Yeah, God. Come up.”

Each time Trixie is in Katya’s apartment — this is the third, already, wow — she seems more at home than the last. Katya’s been wearing her unitard out and about around the city all day. Trixie had asked her whether she wanted to change and she had levelled her with a look, had done a little pirouette right where she stood to prove to Trixie that she’s comfortable in her skin.

She leaves Trixie to go shower. And yeah, she hurries, and maybe she gets her makeup remover in her eye and curses loudly up into the stream of the water. She debates, once she’s out. Part of her wants to put on something cute, but she’s tired and she wants to be comfortable. She iscomfortable, around Trixie.

Katya pulls on a pair of gym shorts that she’s had for so long the material has started to go bobbly, and an oversized tee that hangs off one shoulder. Back out in the living room, Trixie has settled herself on the couch and is scrolling through Netflix.

“You look so cute,” she says when she sees Katya.

Her heart grows wings, soars up into her throat. Trixie thinks that she’s cute. Trixie is patting the seat cushion next to her and looking at Katya expectantly.

Inviting Katya onto her own couch. It shouldn’t be hot, shouldn’t send another rush of want through Katya’s stomach and thighs.

She leaves a respectable distance between them when she sits down, and Trixie huffs and shunts over until their legs are touching. Hers are bare too, her dress riding up, and she’s taken off her jacket.

“Do you know what this is?” Trixie gestures at the screen with the remote.

“Do you think I’m some kind of crazy bitch? I’m not that old, I know what Friends is.”

Trixie laughs and dumps the remote on the coffee table. It’s stained with rings from all of the mugs Katya likes to set down carelessly, and one of the legs has a dent she doesn’t even remember putting there. She can’t imagine anything in Trixie’s apartment is less than pristine, but she doesn’t seem to care at all.

“White people problems,” she says in a nasal valley-girl voice that makes Katya wince and hide her face against Trixie’s shoulder.

The sound isn’t even on, she’s got it muted with subtitles, but that’s good. It’s good. It means they can talk. And they do.

Katya has known Trixie as a whole, for all of her life, but she is still not certain about all of the different pieces. And that’s alright. There’s forever to learn.

Last night was hard and lonesome; her body hurts. After an episode and a half, Katya lays herself down right in Trixie’s lap. It’s something she does all the time with friends, but there’s a different sort of intimacy to it tonight.

Trixie’s hand comes to her hair right away and her fingers sift through the knots and tangles. She’s so gentle. When she’s finished, she leaves her wide warm palm at Katya’s cheekbone and her thumb makes slow arcs back and forth.

Katya closes her eyes and allows herself to drift slowly in and out of consciousness. Trixie is above her, smelling so good and still petting Katya’s hair. She talks for a little while longer, but Katya is listening more to the intonation of her voice than the words themselves. Her mumbled, lazy noises in response get more spread out and eventually she gives up altogether.

Trixie is behind her when she wakes up again properly, laying down on the couch. Her arm circles Katya’s middle so that they don’t both roll off, and Katya is delighted to find her there. She’s awake too, Katya feels her awareness like a third presence in the room.

She rolls over, careful not to dislodge Trixie’s arm. “Sorry. I didn’t sleep a lot last night.”

“It’s strange,” Trixie says, and there’s a note of wonder in her voice. “When you’re sleeping. It’s like, this absolute calm. I felt so good, just now.”

I want to make you feel so good, Katya thinks, but does not say. She met Trixie yesterday. And, as much as it aches low down in her gut, she’s enjoying the anticipation too much to give in just yet.

“Do you want to come to bed? The couch isn’t so comfortable.”

“I can’t,” Trixie sighs. Her eyeliner has gotten a little smudged and her lipstick has worn away in the middle. It’s a different Trixie, her first time meeting this version of her, and she likes her just as much as all of the others. “I have to get on the bus at six.”

She sits up, and Katya lets her because she isn’t sure what else to do. They’ve only had this one day and it is so unfair of the universe. To drop Trixie right in her lap and then take her away again just as quickly is cruel and barbed and makes it so that her breath catches in her throat.

“Tour bus?”

“No. I’m not that successful yet. An actual bus.”

Katya likes that. How she says yet, how she believes in herself so unwaveringly. She hopes that Trixie will grow to believe in Katya like that, and in them both together.

“I can’t believe you have to leave already.”

“I know.”

Katya is still in Trixie’s lap and she looks up at her. It’s not a flattering angle, shouldn’t be cute, but Katya likes the smooth column of Trixie’s neck and her round chin.

She sits up, because Trixie’s thighs are warm and soft and right there. It would be so easy to turn her head just a little and open her mouth against Trixie’s skin. Katya feels a bit spaced out from her nap. When she settles upright her brain takes a second to catch up and she closes her eyes, pinches the bridge of her nose.

Gentle fingers at her shoulder make her open her eyes again. She’s not startled by it. It seems as if she will never be startled by Trixie, and Trixie won’t be by her either, because she is as aware of Trixie as she is of her own hands.

“I should go,” Trixie says, and does not move.

She’s got her elbow propped against the back of the couch, her head resting in the cup of her palm. And she’s looking at Katya, and her face is smooth and patient and gentle. Her hair is a little funky in the back from lying on the couch and her makeup is coming away so that Katya can see her pink nose and cheeks.

It’s lovely. Trixie’s lovely.

“You should go,” Katya agrees.

They both know that when Trixie leaves here, they’re not going to get to see each other for weeks. She’s got several more dates of her tour, and then she has to go back to Los Angeles for a bunch of meetings with her producer.

After that’s done, she told Katya that she’ll fly back to Boston and spend some more time with her. Real time, time that can be just theirs. It’s too far away though, and Katya can’t fathom one single day without Trixie now that she knows her.

Trixie’s phone vibrates with a text from Bob. She wrinkles her nose and reads it aloud to Katya. It’s a very graphic description of what Bob is going to do to Trixie if she misses her bus in the morning.

“Go, honey,” Katya says gently. She doesn’t really mean for the hypocorism to escape her, but Trixie blushes immediately and gets this open-mouthed, startled look. “You need to get some sleep.”

Instead of getting up, Trixie tips forwards on the couch until her face is hidden against Katya’s shoulder. She brings her hand up to cup the back of Trixie’s head, touches her thumb to the shell of Trixie’s ear.

“I don’t wanna leave you.” She’s a little petulant, a little bratty, but it’s because she doesn’t want to say goodbye to Katya so it’s just about the most endearing thing she’s ever heard.

This middle of the night tenderness is making Katya brave. She lets her lips brush the crown of Trixie’s head and lingers there for a little while. “I don’t want you to leave me, either. I really don’t. But you’ll be miserable in the morning.”

“I’ll be miserable in the morning anyway,” Trixie says, and sits up. She blinks at Katya. “I can’t believe we only get one day.”

She looks a little teary again. Their twin sadnesses live inside of Katya’s chest, one red and one blue and just slightly offset so that she can hardly breathe around the three dimensional ache of it.

“We don’t just get one day. We’ll see each other soon, honey.”

Trixie nods and bites her bottom lip like she’s trying not to cry. She gets up from the couch and collects her jacket and her backpack, puts her pristine white sneakers back on. She lets Katya walk her all the way down to the lobby and they wait together for her Uber.

They’re holding hands again. Katya’s not wearing any shoes or a bra and Trixie looks like she’s just been released from her twist ties and lifted from her packaging. They must make an insane pair, but it’s nearly one in the morning so Katya doubts anybody’s going to judge them for it.

When the car pulls up Trixie lets out a strangled little noise. She turns to Katya and wraps both arms around her waist, presses her face to Katya’s neck. She has to bend to do it, because she’s several inches taller, and Katya likes the arc of her spine.

“I’ll see you soon, baby. It’s gonna be okay.” She gentles Trixie with her fingers through her hair.

Trixie straightens again and she’s not crying but her eyes are pink and she’s blinking much more than usual. She reminds Katya of a bunny with her soft hair and her big eyes and her little sniffles.

She steps out of the building and greets her Uber driver, slides into the back of the car. Her face is turned towards the window and she flutters her fingers at Katya in a little wave.

Katya turns around to head back upstairs, because she doesn’t want to watch Trixie drive away from her. In her apartment she brushes her teeth and turns out all the lights and flops right into bed. She has both arms around her other pillow and she cradles it to her chest, gives it warm soft skin and thick thighs and hair that smells like juniper berry and lavender.

Her phone is plugged in on the nightstand (she’s proud of herself for remembering) and it buzzes with a message notification. She rolls over and opens one eye to peer at it, the screen too bright even though it’s turned all the way down.

today was one of the most fun days of my whole life, Trixie has sent her. While she’s looking at their conversation, another text comes through. i’m so happy I found you.

Katya still only has one eye open. Her heart is molten and pouring down to pool in the pit of her stomach. She types awkwardly with one finger.

im happy i found u too u rotted skank bitch from hell

go to sleep now, mother

She chases her messages with a whole string of the heart emojis Trixie likes so much. She’s out just that quickly, before Trixie’s reply even comes through, and she sleeps better than she has in weeks.

Texting Trixie becomes a part of Katya’s day right away. She’s not usually big on messaging people, prefers to see them face to face or at least call if that isn’t an option, but she likes it. She likes feeling her phone buzz and seeing the notification and thinking of Trixie.

Sometimes it’s intermittent. They’re both busy, and on separate schedules. Katya wakes up in the mornings to a bunch of messages from Trixie detailing how the show went that night, and she replies for Trixie to see when she wakes up in four or five hours. They call and FaceTime too, but it’s harder to make time for that.

Katya is sitting at the tiny dining table she has crammed in next to the window, working on a bowl of cereal and trying hard to ignore her phone. She’s taught two classes already this morning, back to back early ones, and she’s starving.

good morning baby

She hasn’t sent anything else yet, because she wants to really talk to Trixie. Katya stirs her spoon around and around in her mostly empty bowl. She has her chin propped in her other hand and she gazes out of the window, watches a man across the street setting up to paint a storefront.

Two weeks today, since she met Trixie. It feels like forever ago, and like Trixie was here just last night. She worries at her phone, pulls the case off the corner and back on over and over, and wonders whether Trixie is awake.

She isn’t, Katya is pretty sure. She thinks a lot about waking up and rolling over to look at Trixie, the awe in her voice when she told Katya how good it was to watch her sleep. She can usually pinpoint the exact moment Trixie wakes up because she gets a little flare of awareness in her chest and then less than a minute later her phone vibrates with a new text.

Katya has a Russian class to teach tonight. She busies herself with her lesson plan. This despondent version of her that spends all day squirming around the hook in her guts is someone she doesn’t know and doesn’t particularly like.

She likes Trixie. Likes her very much. But she has to go on with her life. She can’t sit around like it’s 1860 and she’s waiting for her lover to return to the homestead, even if the idea of putting on a prairie dress and sighing dramatically is extremely appealing.

Katya’s phone vibrates and she hurries over to it on the kitchen counter, props her forearms either side of it so she can lean down.

morning gorgeous, Trixie has sent. Heat rushes into her cheeks. Last week, Trixie requested that Katya send her a selfie because she wanted to set it as her phone wallpaper, and when she did Trixie had sent her about forty fire emojis in a row and told her she’s beautiful, a model, she looks like Linda Evangelista.

Katya watches the three dots flickering in the grey bubble and thinks about Trixie touching the screen of her own phone a few hundred miles away.

how’s your morning been??

Katya starts typing, and then thinks better of it. She calls Trixie instead, tries to stifle her grin against her palm when she picks up on the first ring.

“That bad?” Trixie says.

Katya taps the button to put Trixie on speaker. She likes this the best — having Trixie to talk to while she does things. “No. It’s been good actually. How are you?”

“I’ve been awake for about four seconds. Please don’t grill me during this very difficult time.”

“Sorry honey,” Katya laughs. She starts running water to fill the sink; there’s a few days’ worth of dishes piled up that she should really take care of.

Trixie is still talking, telling Katya about the show last night and how amazing the crowd had been. She sounds like she’s laying down still, her voice all soft and breathy. Katya aches to know for sure, to lie next to Trixie in the mornings and see her all sleep-rumpled and cute.

“Stop it, Katya,” Trixie says gently. “I can feel you making yourself sad. Only two more weeks of tour. We can do it.”

Katya is up to her elbows in suds, fumbling gracelessly with her plates and bowls because she can never figure out why her dish soap makes everything so slippery.

“I don’t want to do it.” She says it like it’s a secret, even though she doesn’t really have those from Trixie. “I miss you.”

She does. She misses Trixie so much that it hurts, which makes no sense. They had a day and a half together, that’s all. Last week Katya called Brooke at three in the morning (which is only two in Nashville, so whatever) to ask whether it ever stops being like this.

Brooke said that she and Vanessa have only spent at most three days apart in a row since they met. That when they first met, when it was new, they were not out of each other’s company for more than an hour at a time for weeks and weeks.

It wasn’t particularly helpful.

“I know, babe. I miss you too. But I’ve been trying to think of it like this: I get to have you with me always. Tons of couples do long distance and have to snatch moments wherever they can, but I get to feel you every minute of the day.”

Katya is standing still as a river stone, Trixie’s words sliding smoothly around and over her. Her ears are ringing. She swallows roughly once, and then a second time.

“Couples?” she finally manages to grit out.

“Oh God. Oh my God.”

Trixie sounds more like she’s talking to herself than to Katya, and it’s that that breaks her open. She laughs, too loud in her small apartment, and pulls her hands out of the sink. Katya dries them and takes her phone off of speaker so she can press it to her ear again. It feels more intimate; she likes to hear Trixie right there.

“Don’t freak out on me now, Trixie. You said it.”

She gets a long sigh, and she feels Trixie’s trembling shock at her own self. “Yeah. I did. I want to be a couple. With you. You awful crone.”

“I want to be a couple with you, too. God knows why; you’re so mean to me.”

It makes Trixie laugh, and Katya is laughing too, and it doesn’t ache quite so terribly anymore. This is a temporary predicament, and she still gets to talk to Trixie all the time, and it’s going to be okay.

“Katya,” Trixie says, right as a wave of longing crests up from the pit of Katya’s stomach into her throat. “I wish I was there. I wanna touch you so bad.”

“Yeah. Me too. Listen, I uh- I gotta go. I’ll catch you later. Bye.” She hangs up before Trixie can protest and bows over the counter, head in her hands.

A couple of times when they’ve talked on the phone, Trixie has done this. All of the breath support comes out of her voice. She talks about want, and Katya hears rustling on the other end of the line and has to close her eyes.

It’s not that she doesn’t want to talk Trixie off. Of course she does. But not for their first time. It’s romantic, which is not like her, but something about Trixie makes Katya want to be chivalrous.

She tries to busy herself cleaning the kitchen, but her thighs are trembling and there’s an ache between them that she’s struggling to ignore. It starts ramping up and Katya closes her eyes and breathes raggedly through her mouth.

And then it dawns on her.

Katya fumbles for her phone and types quickly, doesn’t give herself the time to think over whether this is a good decision.

beatrice mattel!!!!!

i know what ur doing

can u pls not im trying to live my life

Her nipples are hard and rubbing uncomfortably against the fabric of her sports bra. Katya runs the faucet until it’s as cold as it’s going to get and pours herself a glass of water, downs two thirds of it in one go. It doesn’t help very much. Her knees buckle and she crashes against the cabinet, almost goes to the floor.

Katya reaches for her phone again. For a second she debates calling, forcing Trixie to respond, but she can’t listen to her while she’s like this.

trixie. please. dont.

Part of the reason she doesn’t enjoy texting so much is because she finds it hard to convey tone. Trixie teases her a lot about being older, but this is one area where she really feels it. Trixie wields punctuation and capitalisation and emojis like weapons to make clear just exactly what she means.

Katya still feels desperate and fragile, but the edge of it comes away and her phone vibrates.

sorry

didn’t mean to upset you

won’t happen again

She sighs and balls her hand into a fist, presses her knuckles to her forehead. Trixie is a bit of a brat, she’s entitled and she takes exactly what she wants. And Katya loves it, wouldn’t want her any other way.

im not upset

im horny

you cunt

Part of her wants to go to her knees on the kitchen tile and stuff three fingers inside of herself. She’s so close; it wouldn’t take a lot. But it feels indecent and she doesn’t want her own hand. She wants Trixie’s.

i know

i did it on purpose

since you won’t talk dirty to me

Oh, but she will. She will, she wants to, she is going to. Katya is not in the business of saying untrue things, or of not saying things that are true. She thinks there’s an important distinction there. She takes a deep breath and taps out her message.

trixie

trixie

i cant stop thinking about kissing you

The response comes through immediately. Katya imagines Trixie typing with her left hand, wiping her right clean against the sheets. Imagines her chest all flushed and her pupils blown wide and her thighs trembling.

why didn’t you then?????

i wanted you to

i was waiting

For a second Katya is affronted that it’s her responsibility. Trixie could have kissed her just as easily. But then she supposes Trixie hasn’t ever had to do that before, hasn’t needed to make the first move because everyone around her seems to give her exactly what she wants at all times.

trixie oh my god

the second youre here

This time Katya can’t blame her arousal on Trixie. She feels like every single hair on her body is standing on end. She moves for the bedroom, stripping her bra off over her head as she goes and leaving it dumped in the hallway. Her phone buzzes in her hand.

yeah?

Katya puts it down for just a second so she can pull her yoga pants and her underwear off. She climbs onto the mattress on her knees and sinks down, grinds against the sheets.

She wants to touch herself; she doesn’t want to stop talking to Trixie; she can’t call her.

yeah

i wanna kiss you for hours and hours

She pauses for a second, but it’s not like Trixie doesn’t already know. There’s no mystery when Trixie’s arousal pulses hot and insistent between Katya’s thighs.

and then i wanna taste you

and touch you

and hear you

god, trixie

im gonna fuck you so good

Katya turns her phone over then and puts it on the nightstand out of her way. She lets her right hand drift between her legs. She’s so wet that it’s all down her thighs, and as soon as she brushes her fingers over herself her hips buck sharply.

She rolls her left nipple — it’s a little more sensitive — between two fingers, and sets a rhythm of tight little circles over her clit. Already pleasure is tingling up the column of her spine and all across her scalp. She’s embarrassingly close, considering all she’s been doing is texting.

But she’s been texting Trixie. And Trixie’s been touching herself, has brought both of them right up to the edge. Katya’s going to be the one to tip them over.

Their first time is still going to be special. This doesn’t count. They’re both touching themselves and thinking of each other and it’s the hottest fucking thing that has happened to Katya in her whole life.

Katya slides a finger inside of herself and clenches around it so violently that all of the breath leaves her chest like a gut punch. She adds another and then a third, her hips rocking wildly and without rhythm so that she barely has to move her hand at all.

The circles she’s making over her clit are getting faster, and she’s so wet she can hardly get enough friction. Katya bites down hard on her bottom lip and curls her fingers and comes hard. Finds herself whispering Trixie’s name as she does.

And then just as she’s coming down another wave hits her and she realises. That was Trixie.

Katya flops onto her back on the mattress and throws an arm over her face. She feels more blissed out than she has in months, maybe years. Since she got sober. She laughs out loud into her empty apartment, and then her phone starts ringing.

“Did you just-?” Trixie says in lieu of hello.

“I sure did, mama. You?”

There’s a beat of silence and Katya imagines Trixie arching lazily in her hotel sheets. Not that she’s ever seen that. They’ve never even kissed, for God’s sake.

“Yeah. It was- really good.” Trixie’s voice is living room quiet, middle of the night tender.

Katya’s breathing is still a little faster than normal. It’s the middle of the day, which is indulgent and unusual for her. For Trixie this probably counts as morning sex.

Or, well- does it count as sex? If this were a normal situation, Katya would say not. But when she was touching herself she was thinking about making Trixie feel good, wondering whether Trixie could feel everything with the same intensity. Katya is fuzzy-skinned and plump like an overripe peach.

“If you’re gonna do that again, I need some warning. Can’t have you jerking off while I’m trying to teach a class.”

The laugh Trixie lets out at that is loud and long and caterwauling. It makes Katya laugh too and she rolls over onto her stomach, phone still held to her ear and getting a little sweaty now.

“I have to ask your permission to come now? What are you, my dad?”

Katya groans and hides her face in the pillow, but she’s already pretty desensitised to Trixie’s off-colour humour. Other parts of her are not so desensitised and she rolls her hips down into the mattress.

“You slut,” Trixie gasps right into her ear. “You’re not done?”

“I hate you so much.”

She can hear Trixie’s grin, the way her words arc around it. “Yeah. Hate you too. Can’t wait for you to sit on my face.”

“Fuck,” Katya says, and hangs up on Trixie again.

Her wrist hurts from the awkward angle she’s at but she’s close enough already, again, that it doesn’t matter. Katya rolls her hips down against her fingers and wishes Trixie were here. She wants to put her face between Trixie’s thighs, wants to feel her heels dig into her back. The thought of it is enough and she comes open-mouthed and silent, Trixie’s name caught in the back of her throat.

After that, things are different.

Trixie gets braver and brattier. She likes to tease, a lot. Sometimes Katya reciprocates, but mostly she shuts Trixie down. She always gets into a snit over it and refuses to text back even though Katya can feel how much Trixie misses her when they go more than an hour without talking.

There are four days left of Trixie’s tour. Four days until she’s back in Los Angeles. She has a lot to take care of once she’s home, so she told Katya she won’t be able to make it out to Boston for another few weeks.

That’s fine. It’s fine, because Katya got Trixie’s roommate’s phone number from Fame, and she’s going to LA.

The Russian class she teaches is on summer break now, and she’s taken a week of the vacation days she never usually uses from the yoga studio. She’s going to be there, when Trixie steps off her plane, and then they’re going to spend a whole week together.

It is an enormous effort not to think about it too much. If she gets excited, or anxious, Trixie is going to know and she’s not going to drop it. Katya has texted Kim a few times to arrange things. They’ve talked on the phone once and she had to sit on the floor in padmasana and breathe slowly through her nose and focus on absolute stillness so she didn’t clue Trixie in.

The night before Katya leaves for Los Angeles, she sits on the sill so that she can smoke out of the open window. It’s so hot in Boston that she’s only wearing her underwear. She’s got Spotify pulled up and her speaker playing from the kitchen, everything Trixie’s ever uploaded.

She’s performing right now. Katya closes her eyes and leans her head back against the wall. She thinks a lot about the first time she saw Trixie perform. If she was a little smarter she would have realised before they met that Trixie was her sestrinskoye serdste, because she suffered so badly watching Trixie get her life up on the stage.

Now, it’s like being high. She gets to feel Trixie’s euphoria, her pride in herself, the joy that buoys her to bounce around all over the place while she performs. It does worry her a little. She’s an addict; she can’t really be trusted with things that feel this good.

Sweat is collecting in all of Katya’s creases, her elbows and the backs of her knees, but she doesn’t want to move. This is the time that she feels the closest to Trixie. And she is so achingly proud of her she can hardly stand it. Tomorrow she will fly across the country. Trixie isn’t back until the day after, so Katya has an evening to acclimate to Trixie’s space and hope that she gets along okay with Kim.

It feels as though she’s been waiting all of her life, because she has. Only, these last few weeks have been different. They talk all day long, their hearts are full up with each other almost every moment. While she has been waiting, Trixie has been with her.

Flying is not her favourite thing, but Katya has both of Trixie’s EPs saved to her phone and she plays them on a loop for the whole six hours. She closes her eyes and thinks about Trixie, about how she’ll get to touch her tomorrow. Kim has promised to keep Trixie as distracted as possible today so that she won’t notice Katya has disappeared off the earth for a handful of hours. She’s going to manufacture a crisis, apparently.

Kim is a good friend who loves Trixie very dearly and is thrilled that she’s found Katya. She knows that Trixie is soulbound now, apparently, and Katya wonders who else Trixie has told but is too afraid to ask.

She answers the door and lets Katya in to the apartment. Her makeup is kind of similar to Trixie’s, looks like it must take hours and hours to do in the mornings. She’s tall and her hair is lilac and Katya is immediately obsessed with her.

“That’s Trixie’s room.” Kim gestures to a closed door off the living room. “Make yourself at home. Help yourself to whatever. She’s going to absolutely lose it.”

Katya drags her suitcase into Trixie’s bedroom and leaves it just inside the doorway while she takes the space in. The walls are a soft pink like the inside of a shell. Trixie’s bed is in the middle of the room beneath the window, made neatly with white sheets. There are plants on almost every surface, fairy lights strung up along the bookshelf.

It’s clean, and beautiful, and so Trixie that Katya has to sit down in the white chair at Trixie’s vanity table. She has a blanket folded over the back of it that looks handmade, and Katya brushes her fingers over the wool.

Kim pokes her head around the doorframe. “I’m making tea, if you want some?”

“Sure, thanks. Whatever you’re having sounds good.”

“It’s so like her in here, isn’t it,” Kim says. She’s got this soft little smile on her face and Katya realises for the first time that she’s not the only one missing Trixie.

There are lots and lots of people in her life. People Katya doesn’t know, has no idea even exist. She’d like to meet them, like to hold Trixie’s hand and be introduced to them all as her girlfriend. She’s been calling her that inside her head, but hasn’t yet been brave enough to say it out loud.

It turns out that Kim is great. She’s got a sharp sense of humour that is so much like Trixie’s. They make sense, the two of them. Katya gets to hear stories about what Trixie is like to live with, what she was like in college.

She knows, sort of, because she felt her every single day. It’s nice to attach some anecdotes to the emotions. While Trixie’s been away, each day Katya has chosen a random excerpt from her journals to share with her. It’s like a horoscope, but it’s a recollection and not a prediction. Sometimes Trixie has remembered the events vividly and shared them with Katya, and other times she’s had no idea what was happening.

Katya sleeps in Trixie’s bed. It doesn’t smell too strongly of her, because she’s been away from it for nearly six weeks. Tomorrow night though, she’s going to sleep in this bed with Trixie right beside her.

Her flight gets in pretty early in the morning, which means she’s definitely going to be grumpy. Katya puts on one of her favourite dresses, a long-sleeved black one with floral embroidery. At the airport she gets a chai latte for Trixie and a black coffee for herself and she stands at arrivals, watching everybody pouring out.

The way the airport is set up, with glass all along the hallway, means that she can see Trixie quite easily. She’s coming up the ramp, dragging her pink suitcase behind her. She isn’t looking where she’s going; she’s got her phone in her free hand and she’s typing rapidly with her thumb.

Katya’s phone buzzes insistently in her hand over and over and she unlocks it, opens her messaging app.

babe

tell me not to turn around and get on a plane to boston

that’s a dumb idea, right?

Katya grins and darts a glance at Trixie. She’s almost at the exit now but she still hasn’t looked up from her phone. Even coming off a flight she’s so beautiful, her hair in two braids down her back and little pieces curling around her face.

its a very dumb idea, yeah

because im not in boston

Trixie’s head snaps up at that. She picks Katya out of the crowd right away and when their eyes meet she stumbles, the rhythm of her stride knocked off balance. Katya feels Trixie’s shock hit her and has to take a steadying breath, but the rush of joy that immediately follows is so good it makes her lightheaded. Trixie smiles so big and then ducks her head like she’s shy.

When she reaches Katya she barrels into her and wraps her arms tight around her shoulders. Katya brings a hand up to cradle the back of her head.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she laughs, and Trixie makes a small, strangled noise.

“What are you- how did you get here? Holy shit. Katya.”

Trixie untangles herself from around Katya but doesn’t go far, captures her face between her palms. Her own face is slack with awe so that she’s not even smiling, but Katya is, can’t seem to stop.

“You should tell your roommate not to let strangers into your apartment while you’re out of town.”

“I missed your first time meeting Kim?” Trixie pouts.

Her hands are still on Katya’s face and she seems to remember that quite suddenly. Her thumb comes to Katya’s bottom lip and drags it down experimentally (she sends a silent prayer of thanks up to the gods of liquid lipstick).

Katya sucks in a breath. This is her last ever first kiss. She wants it to be right. Eyes closed, she waits to feel Trixie’s mouth on hers. Instead, their foreheads meet, and when Katya opens her eyes again Trixie’s looking down at her like she’s drowning.

“I wanna kiss you so bad,” she says, and her voice is all punched out and breathy like she already has. “God. I want you so much.”

Katya lifts her chin a little and lets her hands settle at Trixie’s waist. Go ahead.

“But once I start, I’m not gonna be able to stop. And I don’t wanna do it here.”

That’s a very fair assessment. Katya laughs to break the tension and hands Trixie her chai, takes her suitcase from her so she can focus on drinking it.

“Come on, honey. Let me take you home.”

They sit on opposite sides of the car in the Uber to Trixie’s apartment, leaving their hands on the middle seat. Trixie strokes her fingers across the back of Katya’s hand, kneads her knuckles into the meat of Katya’s palm. Trixie’s hands are the most tender part of her, Katya thinks. Not her heart. Trixie’s heart is strong and sure.

Kim has made herself conspicuously absent from the apartment, left a note to tell them that she’ll be back in the morning and to please at least disinfect the surfaces when they’re finished.

While Trixie freshens up from her flight, Katya runs through a very quick flow for calm and inner stability. She’s nervous, which is ridiculous, but Trixie makes her feel like a teenager. When she comes out of the bathroom Katya is on the couch, scrolling blindly through Twitter so that she doesn’t look like she’s just sitting waiting for Trixie.

“Hi,” Katya says, and intimacy colours her voice so it sounds like come here.

Trixie does. It doesn’t surprise Katya at all when she sinks down right into her lap, knees bracketing Katya’s hips and her thick thighs framing Katya’s slender ones.

She’s got her hands braced against the back of the couch either side of Katya’s head like she doesn’t trust herself not to ravage her immediately.

“I’ve thought about this every moment of every day since I met you,” Trixie says.

She’s doing a really good job of sounding confident, but Katya feels her uncertainty just as intensely as she feels her own.

“I have too,” Katya confesses. She reaches up to touch Trixie, the soft skin of her cheek. “God. You’re so beautiful.”

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” Trixie says. Her voice is so quiet, gentle like she gets when Katya’s anxiety is bad and she’s doing her best to soothe her. “If that’s alright.”

When Trixie leans in and closes the distance between them, Katya can hardly breathe around the swell of her heart in her throat. Trixie’s lips are soft and she tastes like mint, must have just brushed her teeth. Katya’s ready for Trixie to deepen things right away but she doesn’t, kisses Katya soft and slow. It feels so good, and she feels how good it is for Trixie too and it’s almost too much. She finds herself balling her hands tightly into fists and then flexing her fingers again, over and over at Trixie’s hips.

“You can touch me,” Trixie says against Katya’s mouth. “I want you to touch me.”

She splays her hands wide at Trixie’s ass and uses that grip to haul her in close. Trixie’s hips rock down sharply against Katya’s and she can feel the heat of her already. Trixie’s hands are in Katya’s hair and she tugs experimentally right at her scalp. Katya gasps into Trixie’s mouth and presses her legs together, can’t quite hold back the low groan that rumbles out of her.

“Really?” Trixie grins down at her. “Huh. I thought you were the top.”

Even after only four weeks, even though this is their first time doing this, Katya knows how much Trixie enjoys making her flustered. She likes to hear Katya strung out and desperate. It makes sense that she’d want to see her that way too, beneath her on the couch.

“I brought a strap, you fucking bitch,” Katya says, and gets her hand up beneath Trixie’s dress to brush against her.

It makes her stop laughing immediately, makes her fall forwards and let out an utterly obscene whine right against Katya’s ear. She rocks against Katya’s fingers, already soaked through her underwear.

Touching Trixie feels so good, and she can feel how good Trixie feels to be touched at the same time, and it’s the hottest and most intense thing she’s ever experienced.

She pushes the fabric of Trixie’s underwear out of the way so she can get her fingers against the slick heat of her. When Katya touches Trixie’s clit she yelps and a shudder rips through her entire body.

“You brought a- a dildo through TSA?” Her voice is coming in short bursts now and she’s panting already, her breath hot at Katya’s neck.

“No,” Katya snorts. “Just my harness. Figured you probably have your favourites.”

Trixie clenches around nothing at that, Katya feels it both where her fingers are and between her own legs. She’s still making lazy circles against Trixie’s clit and she picks up the pace a little bit.

“Oh, fuck, Katya,” Trixie says when she slides one finger into her.

“Yeah, baby. Working on it.”

Trixie likes to talk, is a chronic interrupter. It’s not at all surprising that she talks constantly while Katya fucks her. She adds another finger pretty much right away, because Trixie is so wet and desperate that there’s no resistance at all.

“God. Fuck. You feel so good. Did you-” Katya curls her fingers and Trixie growls in the back of her throat. “Did you know it would be this good?”

Katya has her open mouth against Trixie’s neck and she lets her teeth graze very lightly against the smooth skin there, lets the tip of her tongue just dart out to touch.

“I didn’t know. But I hoped.”

Trixie bites Katya’s clavicle. “More, Katya, please. I need more. I need you to fill me.”

She obliges, adds a third finger that makes Trixie cry out. Katya is barely even moving, just letting Trixie ride her hand and grind against her palm. They’re both still fully clothed.

When Trixie comes she’s silent, which is interesting. They’ve touched themselves together a few times, so Katya knows what it feels like when Trixie comes, but it’s different having her right here in her lap. She works her through it, fucks her with three fingers until she’s trembling and collapsed against Katya’s chest.

As soon as she gets her breath back, Trixie climbs off of Katya’s lap and goes to the floor. She kneels in front of the couch and wraps her hands around the backs of Katya’s thighs, hauls her to the edge of the cushion. Trixie shoves the skirt of Katya’s dress up out of her way and pulls her underwear off, tosses them aside somewhere behind herself.

The anticipation is driving Katya nuts. She can feel Trixie’s warm breath so close to where she needs her, and she can feel how badly Trixie wants her. Trixie lays her cheek against the inside of Katya’s thigh and blinks up at her.

“I’ve thought about this so much. Your thighs. How much I’ve been wanting to be between them. I wanna eat you out every day for the rest of my life.”

Katya’s hips lift at that, chasing Trixie’s mouth. She decides to play nice, for once, and licks Katya slowly. It’s so good. Katya pulls her dress up over her head. She’s not wearing a bra and she pinches and rolls her nipples, stares down at Trixie between her legs. Katya grinds against Trixie’s face, chases the coiling tension in the pit of her stomach.

Trixie slides two fingers into her at once and sucks hard on her clit and that’s all it takes, she comes with a little shout and arches off the couch cushion.

Still on the floor, Trixie smiles sweetly up at her. “I want you to fuck me. Properly. I’ve been thinking about it. A lot.”

“Sure, honey.” Katya sits up and leans forwards, takes Trixie’s face in both hands so she can kiss her. She smoothes her thumb over Trixie’s eyebrow. “Since you’ve been such a good girl, we can do that. Go pick out something nice. I’ll be right there.”

She makes herself wait much longer than she’d like. Katya likes to top, she likes the control that it gives her and it makes her feel good to be wanted so badly. She just needs a minute to get into the right headspace. She pours herself a glass of water from the Brita in the refrigerator and drinks it slowly.

In the bedroom, Trixie is lying on her front in the middle of the bed. There’s a dildo next to her on the sheets, pink and thinner than Katya would have expected. She rummages in her suitcase for the ring harness and steps into it, glad Trixie is face down and doesn’t get to see this part. Once everything is in place Katya gives an experimental tug on her dick to make sure it’s secure.

Trixie is whining very quietly and her hips are rocking back and forth, but she doesn’t turn her head, doesn’t look at Katya. Between her own thighs, Katya feels how desperately Trixie needs her right now.

She puts a knee on the mattress and Trixie keens when her body dips towards it. Katya nudges Trixie’s legs apart and settles between them, drapes herself over Trixie’s back. She kisses Trixie’s shoulder, open-mouthed, and lets her dick slide against the crease of Trixie’s ass.

“Good girl, Trixie. You’re so patient. Are you ready, baby?”

Trixie nods. She’s got her face squashed against the pillows so Katya can’t see much more than the curve of her cheek and her delicate ear. She wraps one hand around her dick and guides herself into Trixie.

For the very first time, Katya realises what it must be like to have an actual dick. As she pushes inside of Trixie she feels it, feels the stretch and how good it is to be filled. Trixie angles her hips up and back and Katya pulls out just a little, fucks into her hard again.

“Oh, Trixie, that’s- wow,” she says into the back of Trixie’s head, and gets a little keening noise of agreement.

Katya sets a steady rhythm, fucks Trixie hard and reaches around underneath their bodies to rub at her clit. She can feel exactly how much Trixie can take, knows just how hard she can push it. Sweat beads at her hairline and slides down towards her ears.

“Wait, wait, stop,” Trixie says.

Her hips still immediately and she supports her body weight on her elbows. She doesn’t think she hurt Trixie. She’d have felt it, surely, and it doesn’t feel like Trixie’s upset.

“I wanna see you. I wanna kiss you.”

Katya pulls out and gives Trixie room to roll onto her back beneath her. She pushes back in immediately, because it feels so fucking good to be inside of Trixie and she wants to stay there forever.

The snap of Katya’s hips against Trixie’s does not at all match the leisurely way that she kisses her. She licks into Trixie’s mouth, bites her bottom lip and sucks on it to soothe her.

“Oh, yes, right there,” Trixie gasps when Katya shifts the angle of her hips. “Don’t stop, Katya. Don’t stop.”

When Trixie comes she closes her eyes and tips her head back and clutches at Katya’s shoulders, one leg up around her waist and the heel of her foot digging into Katya’s ass.

After they’ve both used the bathroom and Katya’s taken the harness off and gotten each of them a glass of water, she joins Trixie in bed. Trixie tucks herself under Katya’s arm and traces lazy, concentric circles over her stomach with the tip of her finger.

“Ever let anybody rail you on the first date, before?”

“Only my uncle,” Trixie says, and then screams a laugh at herself. “But this wasn’t our first date.”

It wasn’t. She’s right. Katya kisses Trixie’s forehead because she can, because Trixie’s right there and she’s been thinking about it for a month.

“I’m so happy you’re here. I can’t believe that you’re here.”

“It’s okay?” Katya asks quietly. Part of her has been worried that Trixie is going to be mad, isn’t going to want Katya in her space.

Trixie props herself up on one elbow so she can look down at Katya. She has an adorable little crease between her eyebrows and she studies Katya for a long time.

“When you’re not near me,” Trixie starts, and touches the tips of two fingers to Katya’s chin. “It is a physical ache. I don’t ever wanna do that again. I don’t ever wanna be away from you for that long again.”

They spend almost the entire week together and settle quickly into a routine. Katya wakes up early in the mornings and does yoga in the living room, smokes a cigarette on Trixie’s tiny balcony while she waits for the kettle to boil. She comes back to bed with tea for them both and gets to wake Trixie. Every morning, when Trixie opens her eyes to look at her, Katya feels a little surge of joy right in the centre of her chest. She likes being the first thing Trixie sees each day.

Today is her last day in Los Angeles. They’ve gotten to walk around holding hands in the daylight. They’ve hiked and gone to the movies and gotten ice cream; they’ve fucked like every time is their last. Katya finds that she likes LA, even though it’s even more disgustingly hot than Boston.

She could see herself here.

Trixie is still sleeping and Katya leaves her tea on the nightstand in case she wakes up, goes back out onto the balcony with her phone in her hand. She dials, listens to it ring twice before it connects.

“Katenka?”

“Da, Mama. Privet.” Now that she’s older, and less stubborn, Katya speaks mostly in Russian to her parents. She doesn’t want to lose it, and now that she’s not living with Sasha anymore it’s good to practice.

Katya leans against the railing and holds her phone to her ear, only half listening. Her mother likes to begin every conversation by catching Katya up with all of the neighbourhood gossip. Half of these people she hasn’t seen for fifteen years, but she offers her mother a little assent every now and then anyway.

“Listen, Mama,” she says when there’s a break in the conversation. “I found them.”

“Your sestrinskoye serdste?” her mother gasps.

They’ve been worrying. Papa doesn’t show it, but Mama often frets that Katya is approaching forty and maybe she should forget about being soulbound and just settle down with someone. She knows that they’re afraid they’re going to die without seeing their daughter married off. But now there’s Trixie.

“Da. Her name is Trixie. She’s a musician. She lives in California. I’m at her apartment right now.” She pauses to give her mother time to digest all of that and then she says, softer, “I really like her, Mama.”

“Oh, Katenka, sweetheart. That’s wonderful. I’m so glad. Can we meet her?”

She thinks about that, about bringing Trixie home to her family. She knows that Trixie’s relationship with her own family is strained, thinks about her mother hugging Trixie hello and bringing her into the kitchen, trying to fatten her up. “Soon, Mama. I promise.”

The sliding door to the balcony makes a screeching noise when it’s pushed open further, and then Katya feels the warmth of Trixie right behind her. She wraps both arms around Katya and draws her back against her chest, kisses her cheek.

“I have to go. I’ll talk to you later. I love you,” Katya says, and hangs up the call.

She turns in the circle of Trixie’s arms and leans in to kiss her good morning. Trixie is responsive, opening her mouth and sliding her tongue against Katya’s. When they break apart her cheeks are flushed.

“That your mom?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re so fucking sexy when you speak Russian.”

It makes Katya laugh and Trixie grins too, pleased with herself. Her hair is a little rumpled and Katya smoothes it down for her, leaves a little kiss at the end of her nose.

“She wants to meet you. She’s very excited that I found my sestrinskoye serdste.”

“I still can’t believe you call it that.”

Katya lifts both eyebrows and leans back a little against the grip of Trixie’s arms. “What do you call it?”

“A soulmate. Because I’m not a pretentious asshole.”

She swats at Trixie, pouts at her, but she knows Trixie can feel that she’s not offended. Quite the opposite. Every single thing Trixie does endears her hopelessly to Katya. They make out lazily on the balcony for a little while, neither of them caring that the whole world can see. Katya still remembers the way Trixie looked down at her and said she never wants them to be apart. It makes her brave.

“Hey, Trixie?”

“Mm,” Trixie hums, and kisses her again.

Katya takes a small step back, her ass hitting the railing, so she can see Trixie properly. “What do you think about me moving out here? I could get a really tiny, really shitty apartment and teach yoga.”

“No,” Trixie says. It doesn’t match up with the joy that has come to life in her chest, the joy that is pouring slowly through Katya as well like longing made liquid.

“No?”

Trixie shakes her head, says it again. “No. No tiny apartment. Move in with me.”

For a long moment Katya can only stare at her, slack-jawed. She thinks about it. She’s always been a solitary creature, afraid of commitment, afraid of intimacy. But then, isn’t that because all this time she’s been waiting for Trixie? It doesn’t scare her. Not like it used to. She still hasn’t said anything, and she knows it’s freaking Trixie out but she can’t make her brain work.

“Katya. I know this is insane. I know we’ve only known each other for like a month and a half. But- I’m in love with you. I love you.”

She remembers the very first time Trixie felt it. They had been in the kitchen, Katya cleaning the dishes from the dinner Trixie had cooked for them. Trixie had been sitting on the countertop, swinging her bare legs and occasionally poking Katya in the side with her toes.

“Why don’t you go run yourself a bath? I got you a new bubble bar while you had your meeting, today,” Katya had said. A rush of clear and brilliant adoration had washed through Trixie and she had gaped at Katya for a second before kissing her, with more tongue than she anticipated.

She remembers finding it funny that Trixie had only just then realised. Katya’s known it from the very start. It’s been a fact of her life: her name is Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova, she is an addict, she is in love with her sestrinskoye serdste.

“Oh, Trixie, baby,” she says on a bubble of wet laughter, has to close her eyes so she doesn’t cry. “I’ve loved you for your whole life.”

They’re both crying then, and laughing, and clutching at each other. Kim pokes her head around the doorframe to look at them.

“What are you two lesbians doing?”

“Kimberly,” Trixie says like she’s thrilled to see her. “Is it cool if Katya moves in here?”

Kim snorts. “Is she gonna contribute to the rent?”

“I sure will. And the chores. I’ll be a very good roommate.”

Trixie’s hand is inside the waistband of Katya’s yoga pants and she tugs them away from her skin to let cool air inside. It’s very distracting, makes Katya shiver. She reaches around behind herself and circles Trixie’s wrist in her fingers to keep her still.

Kim is watching them, a look of disgust on her face, but then she grins. “Then yes. It’s cool. It’ll be nice to have someone else to share the burden of living with Trixie.”

“Wow, fuck you too,” she says, but she’s smiling still.

Suddenly the prospect of leaving tomorrow doesn’t seem so awful. They spend the afternoon at the beach. Trixie’s wearing a pink coverup and a huge hat and she sits neatly on her towel and reads, occasionally looking up at Katya over top of her sunglasses.

Katya wades into the ocean. A small child is watching her from a few feet away, staring at her tattoos. She smiles at them, allows them to touch her skin when they come closer. She’s got her hair tied up on top of her head in a scrunchie so they’re all on show, even the one between her shoulder blades that isn’t visible very often.

Once the child’s parent comes to collect them, Katya walks a little deeper until the water laps at her waist. From here Trixie looks like a vintage drawing, like a 50’s pin up girl. She’s got the front of her hair pinned in curls around her face to complete the fantasy.

The water is cool and lovely but Katya still feels hot. She put on sunscreen, mostly because she wanted Trixie to rub it into her back and then she got to rub Trixie’s back too. It’s difficult to cool off when Trixie insists on lying out like a lizard, but she doesn’t mind really.

They’re going to get to do this forever. The thought makes her smile, and suddenly she needs to be close to Trixie. She starts making her way to shore, the water dragging at her thighs and calves so she can’t move as quickly as she wants to.

When she reaches Trixie, Katya kneels down beside her. She keeps her in place with one hand at her thigh and leans in beneath the brim of her ridiculous hat. She kisses her, lets herself linger because this part of the beach isn’t too crowded.

“Hi, beautiful,” she says when they separate. “I missed you.”

“You were twenty feet away,” Trixie says, but she knocks her forehead against Katya’s and then steals another kiss from her.

Katya unrolls her own towel and stretches out next to Trixie on the sand. She doesn’t have the attention span for sunbathing usually, but lying here watching Trixie she has plenty to keep her occupied.

After a while Trixie sets her book down and pulls a notebook and a pink pen out of her bag. She’s working on a new song; Katya’s spent the last few nights lying with her head pillowed on Trixie’s thighs and feeling the reverberation of the guitar through her skull.

She likes to watch Trixie work, see her chewing on her bottom lip and sighing every now and then. Sometimes she will hum the melody very softly so that Katya almost thinks she’s imagined it.

They leave the beach when Trixie gets hungry and get dinner at her favourite vegan burger place. They have fries to share and Trixie lets Katya feed them to her across the table. She’s sad, and trying not to be, because she doesn’t want to make Trixie sad as well.

“How long do you think it’ll be. Before you can move here?”

Katya chews and swallows her food because she knows Trixie hates it when she talks with her mouth full. There’s a little streak of sunscreen on the tip of her nose from when she reapplied before they ate that Katya can’t stop looking at. She feels good, warm and loose-limbed and sitting out on the patio with the woman she loves beyond her capacity to love.

“M’not sure. I’ll have to give notice on my apartment, and at work. Break it to my parents. Pack everything up. Hire movers, I guess?”

Her chest gets tight. There’s so much to be done. She’s really going to uproot her whole life for somebody she’s known not even two months. It’s insane, and she’s definitely going to be scolded by her family and her friends and colleagues.

And then Trixie reaches across the table and takes her hand. Her skin is so soft. Katya knows now that it’s because she moisturises religiously, has been allowed to work Trixie’s expensive lotions into her legs for her at night.

“You don’t have to do this. If it’s too much.”

“It’s a lot,” she agrees. “But honey, you’re the only person that I want to be with, every single day.”

That makes Trixie blush and Katya feels her squirming pleasure, remembers too late that when she knocks the breath out of Trixie like this she has to deal with her own lungs caving in too.

“I love you so much. I’m so excited.”

Yeah. She is too.

*   *   *

Katya packs up her entire life in five neatly labelled cardboard boxes. They hire a truck and make an adventure of it, her and Fame. She says she wants to visit LA anyway, now that summer is rolling lazily over into fall and she can bear the heat a little better.

People have been a lot more accepting than Katya anticipated. Her mama had cried when she told her she was moving, but had insisted it was out of joy that she finally found Trixie. Most people, when she tells them she found her sestrinskoye serdste and she’s a tall, blonde country singer, are thrilled for her.

There are a lot of yoga studios in Los Angeles. Katya finds a job easily and finds that she loves it. It’s winter and she doesn’t need a coat or three layers of thermals. She likes the sunshine and she likes the beach and she likes Trixie most of all.

It’s a Wednesday afternoon a week before Christmas. The apartment is decorated, and Kim and Trixie even let Katya hang some of her ornaments on their tree. There are little plastic babies and eyeballs and hands and the two of them are gracious enough to pretend they don’t think she’s a lunatic.

Katya hears footsteps thundering up the stairs and the clutch of excitement in her chest, suddenly. The door opens and Trixie comes hurtling into the apartment, goes straight for the kitchen. She turns on the radio and fiddles with the knobs, grabs blindly for Katya’s hand when she comes to stand beside her.

“Are you okay, honey?”

“Shhh. Listen.”

Trixie turns up the volume and the two of them stand hand in hand in their kitchen and listen to the radio announcer, introducing newcomer Trixie Mattel! and the lead single from her new Christmas album.

“They’re playing it!” Trixie yells, and throws her arms around Katya.

She can feel the wide arc of Trixie’s grin against her neck. “Oh my God, baby, I’m so proud of you.”

Trixie’s phone is vibrating frantically with messages from just about everyone she’s ever met in her life. She turns it over and dumps it on the counter, holds Katya in place with both hands at her shoulders.

“They’re playing it,” she says again, on a whisper this time, and shakes her head like she can’t quite believe it.

Once her song finishes she shuts the radio off and they stand in the silence together. Trixie is shaking, her lashes are wet and sticking together and she’s staring open-mouthed at Katya.

It would be difficult for her to put words to how she’s feeling right now. But that’s alright, because Katya feels everything too just as fiercely. And she knows that Trixie knows how proud she is, so she doesn’t have to embarrass herself by trying to say it out loud.

After that, everything happens quickly. She knows it doesn’t work that way, that Trixie has been trying for years and years to break into the mainstream. That the radio calling her a newcomer just reinforces the idea that things fall magically into her lap, when really Katya knows how much she has to fight for everything she wants. But it seems like one minute they’re sharing their tiny two bed with Kim and the next, they’re shopping for houses.

Trixie is very particular about it, which comes as a surprise to absolutely no one. They’re looking for a fixer upper, partly because the royalty checks Trixie gets in the mail aren’t quite that fat yet, and partly because Trixie wants everything to be just to her taste.

Their taste, she keeps insisting, but Katya doesn’t care as long as there’s a space for her practice and Trixie lets her hang some of her favourite drawings. Katya likes the idea of doing things herself, of making their home pretty for her girlfriend, and has taken to spending hours in the evenings on her laptop in bed next to Trixie researching how to plumb a toilet or demolish a soffit.

She wears her glasses, because she’s thirty eight years old, and because she knows it makes Trixie hot for her. She gets an hour at most before Trixie takes the laptop from her and climbs into her lap and kisses her deep and slow.

Everything is feeling very adult, all of a sudden. She has a job and a girlfriend that she’s buying a house with and suddenly the future isn’t so intangible. She’s planning for it, letting herself think about five or ten years from now.

This year, in September, she will have been sober for five years. There are days it hardly crosses her mind, and days she can’t focus on anything else at all, but those are a lot more rare now. If Trixie comes home from the studio or meetings or a television performance and finds Katya on the bathroom floor with all of the lights out in the apartment, it doesn’t take her by surprise because she feels Katya’s fear. And because of that, she knows to wrap both arms around her and sit in the silence until she comes back to herself.

Most days are good days. It helps, that her reason for staying sober is no longer just for her own sake. She was always terribly selfish, because all addicts are, and she likes that Trixie has made her selfless.

“What’s this one?” Katya calls out.

She can’t see over the top of the cardboard box in her arms and she feels juvenile yelling for Trixie like they’re playing Marco Polo. Today is one year since they met and — they haven’t done it on purpose — they are moving into their first home. It’s a three bed bungalow in Pasadena that Katya is only paying for about twenty percent of, but Trixie insisted.

Katya can’t stop thinking about Trixie in overalls with a scarf tied around her hair, standing on tiptoe to paint the parts of the walls that Katya can’t reach. She has a tour coming up in the fall, and neither of them want to think about being apart for seven weeks, but everything is different now. Trixie will come home from tour to their house. She will help Katya raise their dog, a rescue named Bunny they both absolutely adore.

“That’s for my office,” Trixie says right into her ear. It startles her, but Trixie catches the box before she’s even really dropping it.

Katya pads down the hall after Trixie and follows her into the room at the front of the house they’ve designated as her workspace. All of her guitars will hang on the wall in here eventually. Right now there are drop sheets down still to protect the new floors they had installed throughout. Trixie sets the box down and turns to look at Katya.

“Hey,” she says. Come here.

Katya steps into her space and slides her arms easily around Trixie’s waist. She kisses her, slow and exploratory until she feels Trixie’s knees start to liquify and she sags in her arms.

Since they’ve lived together, things have settled down a bit. Katya no longer feels every single tiny blip on Trixie’s emotional seismometer. She still gets the big things, like how it was when they were growing up, but so much better.

“I can’t believe this is our life,” Katya whispers. She kisses Trixie again, takes her time because they have time. They’ve got all the time in the world, now. Trixie is always responsive, always sweet and silly, and she kisses Katya like she likes her so much.

“Listen. I gotta talk to you about something.” Trixie takes a deep breath and meets Katya’s eyes. “I don’t want to be your girlfriend anymore.”

There’s mischief flitting with crêpe paper wings inside of Katya’s chest. Trixie’s mouth isn’t smiling, but her eyes are, and she’s clinging tight to Katya’s hands.

“Oh no?”

“No. I want to be your wife. I wanna marry you, Katya.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on your knees or something?” Katya says, and is proud that her voice only cracks once.

Trixie kneels down as daintily as she can. She’s wearing jeans today, which startled Katya so badly this morning that for a second she felt like she’d seen a poltergeist. The floor is dusty and there’s still protective paper covering the window and a bulb dangles grotesquely from a wire over their heads because they haven’t picked a fixture yet.

It’s perfect.

“Katya,” Trixie starts. She takes both of Katya’s hands in hers and Katya kneels down in front of her, wants them to be on an even keel for this.

“I could say a bunch of straight people shit, like that I can’t imagine my life without you in it, but the gag is that it’s true. I can’t, because I’ve never experienced that.”

Trixie laughs, and Katya does too even though hot tears are already sliding down her cheeks and off the end of her nose. It earns her a look of concern from Trixie and she makes a little noise to say keep going.

“And I know that we’re forever and it’s just a piece of paper and it doesn’t really mean anything, but…it kinda does mean something. To me. And I just really like the thought of calling you my wife and never ever shutting up about it.” She darts a glance over to the dog, who is hopping around and wagging her tail furiously. “Plus, our daughter is illegitimate and we just can’t have that. The scandal of it all.”

Katya chokes on a sob and then surges forwards to kiss Trixie. It is not at all sexy; she’s openly crying into Trixie’s mouth and Bunny is barking at them both, getting swept up in the excitement.

She kisses Trixie deep and open-mouthed, lets her tongue slick inside and keeps Trixie in place with her palm at her cheek. She’s going to be her wife. Katya likes that thought, and likes the thought of being a wife herself, too. It doesn’t terrify her anymore. How could it?

Here is Trixie, warm and soft and good and asking Katya for something she has always intended to give. They separate and the dog nudges her way in between them and licks Katya’s neck, her wiggly body bumping into Katya’s stomach.

Katya keeps Bunny aside with a hand at her chest. Trixie is grinning so big that her eyes are creasing and Katya can see all of her teeth. Her freckles are dark with the summertime and her nose is a little sunburnt and Katya loves her.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes, you fucking monster. You swamp thing.” She rests her forehead at Trixie’s chin for a moment, just to catch her breath, and then she straightens to see her again. “Yes. Of course. Of course.”

[thessalian]

Watcher!Mych vs Splintered Reef

Eder: This ain’t our usual route back to Neketaka.

Watcher!Mych: Exploration is still a thing. Last time, we found Rekke.

Rekke: I can come with you on next mission, yes?

Watcher!Mych: ...You’ve heard all the stories, right?

Rekke: Yes! Many stories!

Watcher!Mych: And you ... still ... want to come along with me on one of these.

Rekke: I am to explore! I would like ... to see with my own eyes!

Watcher!Mych: Okay fine. Here’s a kind of rotted out reef ... town ... thing that could probably use a little bit of exploration. Here’s a fancy-ass polearm I looted from someplace; try not to decapitate yourself with it.

(Later)

Maia: Please say this is some kind of costume party...**

Watcher!Mych: What, you think they came up with the smell to sell the bit?

Copperhat: Hey! Over here!

Rekke: ...We are trusting the dead man now?

Watcher!Mych: We’re kind of lacking other options right now!

Rekke: This is as normal?

Eder: Well, that one ain’t attacking us like the rest, so I figure we’re ahead on points if we talk to him.

Watcher!Mych: What he said.

(Later)

Watcher!Mych: *peeling herself off a plank ‘sidewalk’* ...okaywhathappened?

Eder: We got jumped by dead people again and your jackass of a shipwreck survivor can’t swing that polearm worth shit, that’s what happened.

Rekke: Is not my fault! You should not be in my way when I swing!

Eder: Seriously? You’re going to put that on us now? There’s noplace to stand to get out of your way when your swings are as wide as a barn!

Watcher!Mych: ...Why is Tekehu on the floor?

Rekke: He did not get out of my way either.

Watcher!Mych: ...Give me the polearm.

Rekke: But I like the polearm.

Watcher!Mych: You used that thing so badly you made Eder actually be mean to someone. That ... never happens. GIVE ME THE POLEARM.

Rekke: ...fine.

(Later)

Menzzago: Oh, you barged into my idyllic little zombie-town and now you must die.

Rekke: You are ass of Jack!

Watcher!Mych: ...You’ve been on a pirate ship for months and you haven’t learned how to swear?

Rekke: I had an entire language to learn! You would tell me to start with swear words?

Watcher!Mych: That’s the first thing you learn in any language - ‘where’s the privy?’ and all of the swear words!

Menzzago: Excuse me ... killing you here...

Watcher!Mych: Give me a minute! I have some crew issues to work out!

Menzzago: *starts spellcasting*

Watcher!Mych: Oh, fine. *Escape; backstab*

(Later)

Rekke: Is nice armour. Is nicer sword.

Watcher!Mych: I’m way more proud of the dragon-wing sails, myself, but yeah, okay, you’re welcome.

Rekke: So when is next adventure?

Watcher!Mych: How about never? Does ‘never’ work for you?

Rekke: Aww.

** - actual dialogue. I love Maia.

((Seriously, polearms are a fucking liability and everyone was yelling about “Watch where you’re swinging that thing!” and “I thought you were my friend!” every time Rekke tried to hit anything. I gave him a greatsword instead. That helped.))

[skullgruntdana]

Dana’s Headcanons

Trigger Warnings Apply

Headcanon #1

          Dana really doesn’t like fire. The child has been scared of fire for a long time because she once saw a house burned to the ground by an accidental fire. Because of this Dana only has a few Fire Types. While they smell nice, Dana refuses to allow her mother to bring candles into the house. Dana fears the house will burn down so she cries and throws a tantrum when her mother attempts to bring a candle into the house. The only fire Dana seems okay with is the little fire coming out of a lighter. Other than that she can’t go near campfires without either fainting or crying. 

Headcanon #2

          Dana almost drowned when she was three years old. When Dana was three she wandered away from her parents when they were shopping at the supermarket. She was only gone for a second but in that second she fell into a river which had a strong tide. Dana sunk to the bottom of the river and swallowed a bunch of water. When she was under water she panicked and fainted because of lack of oxygen. Thankfully Dana was pulled out by her mother who had jumped into the river. Upon waking up, Dana threw up water. This traumatized her so much that Dana refused to go near any body of water. Dana still will not go near rivers, but she does like walking around the ocean or the lake. She just doesn’t swim. 

Headcanon #3

          Dana is on the spectrum. Dana is on the spectrum and has been diagnosed since the age of three. Her mother wanted to make sure Dana got the benefits she needed so Dana was tested for numerous disabilities including ADHD, ADD, and OCD all of which Dana has. Dana’s mother took Dana out of the local school in Akala because it did not have the programs Dana would need to be successful. Dana gets one on one tutoring with a curriculum that benefits her and is easy to follow. 

Headcanon #4 

          Dana is very picky about what she wears. Dana does not like wearing scratchy clothes are anything that would distract her. Elise, Dana’s mother, makes most of Dana’s clothes. Dana used to wear hand-made clothes because at the time her parents were too poor to afford buying their daughter clothes. Dana prefers handmade clothes but will wear factory made clothes if the material isn’t scratchy and if she likes the clothes/designs on the clothes. As for her headband, Dana never takes it off. Not even when she’s asleep. Her Drifloon headband is her favorite, but Dana will wear other headbands as long as she likes them. Her headband is handmade. 

Headcanon #5

         Dana does not like Spearow or Murkrow. The hearts on Dana’s headband are shiny and it attracts the attention of the two bird Pokemon. These Pokemon attack her frequently in an attempt to take her headband. When Dana is attacked, she attacks back with her Hydreigon. 

Headcanon #6

          Dana was experimented on by her father. Rick Sanchez, Dana’s father, stole a vial of liquid which would give a human the power of Pokemon. He was kicked out of the scientific community when he left Rocket, but he wanted to be admitted back in so her experimented on his daughter when she was three. The liquid gave her electrokinesis, but she lost her pupils as a result. But the experiment was a failure because Dana was not as powerful as she should have been. Dana can only drain small electronics of their energy and charge batteries. 

Headcanon #7

Dana is right handed. Dana can’t write whatsoever with her left hand and she favors the right one for basic tasks. Elise is trying to get her to use her left hand more because it’s getting to the point where Dana is having a hard time carrying things back and forth. 

Headcanon #8

Dana doesn't want to go to school. Dana doesn’t have pupils and her mother Elise was afraid the child would get made fun of. Because of this, Elise doesn’t want to put her daughter through school until Dana is comfortable to make that choice by herself. Dana is tutored by a man that comes every other day to teach Dana. Dana is very hard to teach because she can’t sit still for five minutes. Luckily, Dana is an average student and does well in her studies. 

Headcanon #9

Dana has an easy time falling asleep. Though she is very hyper, Dana gets tired out easily from strenuous tasks or just running around in general. All Dana’s mom has to do is to let her daughter run around outside before going back inside to collapse on the couch. It’s so easy that Dana often falls asleep at the dinner table or on the couch while she is watching t.v. This is good for Elise who has to deal with Dana’s twin Diana. Diana does not like to fall asleep and often throws tantrums. 

Headcanon #10

Both Dana and the writer love the band Sleigh Bells. The guitar in that band is the best sound in the world, according to Dana. The Voidz are a close second, but Dana and the writer share similar music tastes. Songs like Rill Rill, Infinity Guitars,and Demons are Dana’s favorite songs from the Sleigh Bells. Dana seems to like metal and rock music with a bit of hip hop and rap. She has no set genre. 

Headcanon #11

Dana loves Kantonian candy. Plum milk flower kiss candy is really good and she loves that kind of candy. Other candies include milk candies, bubblegum, candy corn, honey candy, strawberry candy, and watermelon candy. Dana also enjoys taffy and other chewy candies. Dana’s mother tries not to buy Dana too much candy, but Dana often buys (or steals) her own candy. Dana also really likes caramel. 

Headcanon #12 

Dana has a twin sister. Dana’s twin sister’s nickname is Diana. Diana for a time was living at Dana’s aunt’s house. But she has since moved back in with Elise and Dana now that Elise has a stable home life for her. Unlike Dana, Diana does go to school and is an average student. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

Headcanon #13

Dana loves taking vacations. Dana goes on frequent vacations because she has the means to. By using her Drifloon, she can drift off to faraway places and chill there till she flies back on one of her Pokemon. Though it’s usually to other regions. Being suspended in midair over the ocean is really stressful. That is what makes vacations dangerous. Other than that, it’s just really fun. 

Headcanon #14

Dana tries her best to be brave. There are instances where Dana has to run away. But it’s really hard to knock her down without a fight. Dana can and will fight you even if she is smaller than you. This child runs off pure sugary rage. Dana is brave because she believes in herself and she tries her best in those kinds of situations. 

Headcanon #15

Dana doesn’t own that many dolls. Dana’s sister, Diana, is more or less into dolls. Dana doesn’t have a lot of dolls because she lacks that want to baby and coddle something that isn’t a Pokemon. Dana is more into video games and Pokemon figurines. She also likes RC cars and marbles. Legos are also fun. Dana actually doesn’t really play with toys unless she’s playing inside. Outside, she uses toy cars and basic sandbox toys. Not to mention kites or skipping stones. 

Headcanon #16

Dana doesn’t have any pupils. While she was born with them, an experiment made them disappear so she only has an iris. The iris is blue and Dana can still see. But her eyes have a hard time when it comes to bright lights. Because of this, Dana has to wear special contacts to help her filter light in her eyes. The contacts act as a sort of pupil or like sunglasses that keep the sun from hurting her eyes. Without those contacts, Dana’s eyes will hurt when she’s outside. Sometimes Dana forgets to wear those contacts. If she forgets, she always has sunglasses on her at all times. If she forgets those sunglasses, her eyes could be damaged. 

Headcanon #17

Dana can whistle pretty loudly. Dana is able to whistle pretty loudly when she calls her Pokemon. The Pokemon know she is calling them when she whistles. The child has scared numerous people with her ability to whistle. She, of course, finds this really funny and whistles when she feels like messing with a crowd of people in public places. Dana’s mother does not find this funny. 

Headcanon #18

Dana doesn’t really use the internet. Dana has a Twitter and Instagram and that’s about it. She uses Spotify and YouTube for music. Dana doesn’t spend more than an hour a day on the internet. She prefers to play video games, watch t.v., and play outside. Dana likes going to parks and the beach even though she can’t swim. Dana’s mom is relieved that Dana isn’t one of those kids that are glued to their phones. 

Headcanon #19

Dana likes drawing. Dana has her own sketchbook and often likes to doodle in it. The child keeps every drawing she has and gives some to her mother. Dana doesn’t understand in- depth yet or proportion. Sometimes her drawings are made fun of by mean hearted people. When this happens, Dana takes it to heart and sulks for days, refusing to draw anything. It takes a while for her spirits to bounce back if somebody makes fun of or hates her art. 

Headcanon #20

Dana loves Ghost and Fairy Types. Dana loves Drifloon. And though she doesn’t have a lot, she really likes Ghost types. Dana’s teams are of mixed types. She has no set type of Pokemon that she collects. Fairy types are her close second. Because most Fairy types are really cute. But Dana dislikes Fire types.

Headcanon #21

Dana has frequent nightmares, but she can’t remember her dreams. Dana sometimes remembers her dreams, but mostly they are basic things like being trapped someplace or big scary creatures going after her. Dana has a lot of dreams where it feels like she is falling. 

Headcanon #22

Dana has a lot of hope in people. She is not cynical yet, though I can see her becoming cynical as she grows older. Dana believes in the world and thinks everybody (including her father) is a good person, but there are times where she thinks badly of somebody. Overall, Dana has hope in people and in the world. Nothing but age and experience on this Earth can change that. 

Headcanon #23 Dana doesn’t really understand promises. Because sometimes they are broken by adults. Why make a promise if you’re going to break them? Dana is becoming wary of people who tell her to trust them. But, of course, she’s a child and in the end she will always trust somebody even if she just met them. This isn’t so good because it means Dana can be taken advantage of. Hopefully she grows out of this. 

Headcanon #24

Dana’s texting style isn’t like the way she talks. Dana doesn’t use slang, nor does she use emojis. Dana uses emoticons and full sentences when she texts, so her texts look like this: There is a party going on. You should come over. (＾▽＾). Dana rarely calls anybody and mostly texts people, but she doesn’t IM anybody, nor does she use the internet to text anybody. Only rarely will Dana call anybody and when she does, the calls aren’t really ones that last for a long time. Dana only calls when she is in danger or when giving directions. 

Headcanon #25

Dana wears her portal ring on her left ring finger.  When Dana was seven, she was given her own portal ring by her first best friend Yuki. Dana now has the ability to go to other dimensions. 

Headcanon #26

If Dana were in the Pokemon game, these would be her quotes:

Challenging the player: "With Drifloon, I can defeat'cha!" "Battle me? Ya gotta say yes!" "Peekaboo! I see you!" (while doing Team Skull gang signs) "for Skull!"

Greeting the player: "Hey! I can't let you in. Boss won't like that!" "Guzma is a super strong bug trainer. I'll be strong like him!" 

Winning a battle: "We did great, Drifloon!" "Hah! I knew I was strong!" "Boss'll be proud'a me!" 

Losing a battle: "NO!" "Boss won't be happy wit' me-" "No-" (said while stomping her feet) "It's not fair!"

Extra after a battle: "Aren't Drifloon great?" "Do you wanna meet my Drifloon?" "Sometimes my Drifloon drags me away." "You're strong!" “Can I pet your Pokemon?!” “Do you want to be my friend?” 

Headcanon #27 

If Dana were in the game, her battle theme would be the 8-bit version of the Team Skull battle theme with the vocals over it. She still has the Team Skull emblem and spray paint opening sequence at the beginning of the battle to show she is in Team Skull. 

Headcanon #28 

Extra: If Dana were in the game and you interact with her 20 times, she will give you her phone number. Dana will text you whenever there are Drifloon around. She will text you the Route you can find them in too. Dana’s messages are all very energetic and in all capital letters. 

Headcanon #29 

Dana is often dragged away by Drifloon. Because she is so tiny, Drifloon have an easier time dragging Dana away. This stresses her mother out, so Elise keeps a close watch on the Drifloon as best as she can. 

Headcanon #30 

Dana is challenging the Galar gyms, and her challenger number is 425, which is Drifloon’s number in the PokeDex. So far, Dana has defeated four gyms, but lost against Bede. 

Headcanon #31

Dana has a very complex opinion of her late father. Some part of Dana really loves him and wants him to love her, but the other part of her is very mad at him for hurting her. Dana feels like she was robbed of something because of her dad’s death, and she wishes she could go back and tell him how much she hates him, or make another attempt to win his love and affection. At some point, Dana has deluded herself into thinking he’s alive. However, one day she will learn that he is not coming back. 

Headcanon #32

Dana has anger management issues. Dana has been known to lash out when she gets upset or frustrated. Sometimes she gets violent when she sees people with blue hair like her father. Lately, Dana has been using calming techniques to calm herself down when she gets too upset or frustrated. So far, it seems to be working. 

Headcanon #33

Trigger Warning! 

Dana’s Injury History: A scar on her arm from being attacked by Dee’s Hydreigon. Her pupil-less from her father’s experiments. Temporary nerve damage from being frozen by Lusamine. 

Headcanon #34

TRIGGER WARNING 

Dana joined Team Skull to get away from her dad. Dana’s dad liked to experiment on her, and the experiments sometimes scared or hurt her. Dana ran away the first time because her parents were fighting, but since then she had gone back to Po Town to get away from her father. Dana likes to tell people she joined because she was a badass, but the real reason she joined is very sad. 

[queenangst]

advice for high school??

advice for high school:

put yourself out there. i know high school is big and scary, but it's new. you're going to know people who you've seen all your life and people who you have never met before, probably. don't be afraid. sit next to someone new in chemistry and... bond. ask to squeeze in a lunch spot. smile at your teachers, say hello. join clubs. it's 2-4 years of your life, so find your people.

stop thinking about the numbers. this is one of the hardest things when you're surrounded by a pressured environment from all sides - teachers, students, parents. but let me tell you that you have to learn when to care and when to not. which times to fight and which times to let go. you might get your first 35 on a test. you might be ranked far behind your other classmates. not every homework has to be done well, just done at all. not every grade has to be an A, because in the end higher academic institutions care less than you think and not every "bad" grade is the end of the world. and if you don't do so hot on something, feel a little bad and then keep going. no use in dwelling, just do better next time. (sometimes just give up. don't do an assignment. take the 0. sometimes you need the time, or the break, and it's not worth doing.)

freedom. high school is the first taste of bigger opportunities in learning. choose classes you might have an interest in over what will boost your gpa or whatever. take art, take music, something creative, even if you are a stem student through and through, you don't have to do well but this will enrich your life and give your brain something different that isn't numbers or grammar or whatever. and creativity fosters community.

communicate with your teachers. some teachers accept nothing late ever period. some teachers procrastinate. actually a lot of teachers procrastinate they're really just like you. whatever the case talk to them. if you're having trouble understanding high school teachers often have some form of out of class tutoring/tutorials before, after, and even during school (such as at lunch). if you are sick, if you want them to look over a paper, if you need an extra day to finish your project and make it good, talk to your teachers. they want you to succeed. they cannot always be lenient for personal or academic reasons, but they will understand. and them knowing is better than them not.

get sleep. i mean it. 6 hours at least. 7 is good. 8+ is best. if you can't, at least sleep for some amount of time even if it's 30 minutes. if you can't sleep, still lie down for a bit in the dark and let your body rest even if your mind won't shut off. you will thank yourself in the morning.

do your damn homework. just do it. there's a lot, some of it is useless, but a lot of it is not. homework is meant to help you retain the info that you learned in class, or even learn more info that you will not cover in class.

on top of #6, read the textbook and listen in class. sometimes it's boring. just do it. you don't have to take notes but they definitely help, and notes never have to be pretty they just have to be legible to you. it can be bullet points. it can be diagrams. it can be a treasure map of weird associations. draw angry faces next to notes about dead historical figures. whatever works for you.

teachers are resources. ask if you can record lectures. see if they have a google classroom or someplace online where they post notes and powerpoints. ask for websites and further reading. ask for HELP.

study a lot, have fun a lot. i know every day is limited and you're going to be tired all the time. i know. i was there. ib was working us to the bone from the moment we went in to the very last exam. but on the weekends and after school, every now and then do something with your friends that isn't going through your math homework together. see a movie. get coffee, or boba, or tea, or whatever the hell y'all drink these days. go to a museum. find free activities. swim. talk to your friends outside of an academic environment and you will be closer and dearer. and you will not regret it.

you're allowed to disagree with your authority figures. so parents/guardians/teachers. don't overstep your boundaries but as you learn and grow there will be times that they are wrong and you are right. in many different situations... but most especially about you yourself, a person.

reach out. talk to someone when you're hurt. theres going to be a lot of new experiences in high school and some of them will be bad. please talk to your friends. your parents if you can. talk to a teacher you trust. sometimes school counselors suck but part of the job, regardless of if they are doing well or not, is listening to you, and it's meant to be confidential. and if you're worried about someone else for gods sake talk to an adult.

you are still a kid. please don't stress too much about matters that are bigger than you and things that are too much for you to control. you are almost an adult but you are not, you are grown up but you are not. do kid things. you don't need to be super strong, or super mature, or act ten years older than you are. you don't need to prove anything.

pursue your interests, and good things will follow. i mean this in every sense. your health. your mind. your attitude. your college applications. (seriously, everyone has done the volunteer hours and everyone has the grades and everyone has what you have. show that you're human.)

be awkward. be weird. there are so many different kinds of people but someone will be like you, and someone will like you. be happy, and others will see it.

don't put your burdens unnecessarily on other people. or yourself. here's the truth: if all you talk about is how bad you are, how you aren't getting anywhere in life, how the numbers aren't good enough, then no one will stick around for long. you will surround yourself in something bad that people don't want to be around. like mentioned, talk to someone. friends are the most comfortable but not always the most appropriate. im not saying to keep your thoughts to yourself, but adults > other emotional, struggling, hormonal teenagers in terms of being equipped to handle tough situations. people want to help! but when all you talk about is yourself and your trouble, and not listen to other people, talk about things that make you happy... you're going to lose something.

college is a big deal but also not. please don't worry about it until junior and senior year.

failure is inevitable. take it.

surround yourself with people who are better than you, and who you like, and who like you. surround yourself with people who you aspire to be similar to. you will do better and you will want to do better.

keep organized. good god. please do not be like that one guy in my math class. one day my classmate and i got so fed up we cleaned out his backpack for him and shoved things into folders and begged him to stay organized. folders. binders. accordian folders. just use something im pleading you. it's going to be 2 minutes before class and you realize you can't find your homework or turn in a wrinkled, stained paper. also keep some sort of schedule and task list or else you will be that guy that goes "wait we have a TEST today?"

halo effect. first impressions are important, even if you can overcome bad ones. show up on time. sit in the front even though it's scary, because midyear you'll realize you have been doing badly because you sat in the back and can't see or hear over the two girls who gossip in front of you. smile. say hello. ask questions. raise your hand. you can be wrong. you can be wrong. you can ask stupid questions.

ask your teachers if you can eat in class. my 4th period teacher (after lunch) was fine with us eating, so id take lunch to study sometimes and eat then. i always ate breakfast during 1st period bc when i got up it was too early for my body to take more than a little. most teachers are okay as long as the smell isn't strong and lasting, and you clean up. have a snack so you don't crash. don't forget to eat either. please eat lunch, and some teachers will give you snacks if you ask, and if you don't have money please just... ask someone for a share or to borrow some cash. it's okay. you need to eat.

there is so much more. school might be all you know. but stop and enjoy life. if you worry about college you're going to spend 4 years looking forward and not enough at the present, and you're going to lose your precious time. there is so much more.

you're going to change. a lot. you will be a completely different person. that's normal. you're gonna be a little embarrassed. like the person you become, and become a person you like. make good choices. be kind. have heart.

enjoy high school, kid. good luck!!! it was honestly a rewarding and wonderful time, and that was in part bc i made it so.

[jude-grimes]

Walkers and Wolves - Henry Peletier Pt.1

Summary: Y/N’s Werecoyote genes date back all the way to her grandmother and since the start of the apocalypse the only person she’s had is her dad. That was until she met Henry. Now Y/N and Henry are forced to survive on their own.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: none

A/N: Hey everyone! This is part of a series I’m working it. This type of AU is really new to me so please excuse any inaccuracies that I may make. Please let me know what you think and tell me if you want to be tagged in future chapters.

My stomach grumbles in hunger. Dad and I hadn’t eaten anything in days and it was starting to get to us. I make a mental note to go out hunting later, remembering some animal tracks I had seen in the area earlier.

Right now my main focus was finding someplace to lay low for a few days. Dad wasn’t looking so good. Our camp had been overrun a week before and we barely made it out with our lives. He injured himself escaping, leaving his leg with a deep gash and a limp. For some reason he isn’t healing like he should be. I tried to treat the wound normally but he refused, telling me to save what little supplies we have left.

We shuffled our tired bodies along the road, determined to find shelter before nightfall. There were a few dead ones lurking near us. I pull out my knife and quickly take care of them. The walkers fell as I kicked them in the knees and finished them off with a knife to the skull. I was used to the sick crunching noise that was made when the metal connected with bone and pulled my weapon out unfazed.

I turned back to Dad only to see him struggle to keep up with me. I noticed a few buildings ahead where we could crash.

“Dad, look!” I pointed. He attempted to smile but it turned out more like a grimace. I frowned, worried. His wound must be infected badly.

“Good eye, Kiddo. Why don’t you run on ahead and check out one of the buildings. I’ll wait right here.”

“But-” I started but was cut off.

“I will be fine, Y/N. Now go.”

I nodded reluctantly, shifting into my werecoyote form and running as fast as I could.

As I neared the buildings I could see just how worn down they were. Unkempt vines covered the old brick stores and shattered glass once part of big windows littered the ground around my feet. I yelped as a stepped on a shard of glass. The lingering smell of walkers filled my senses and I scanned the area for any danger. I saw none and shifted back.

I bang my hand on one unbroken window of the building, hoping if there were any walkers inside they would come out and make my life a whole lot easier. After a minute of silence the coast seemed clear and I enter what appeared to be an old drug store, knife by my side. The inside was a mess. The shelves were knocked over and there was trash and empty boxes everywhere. Someone had clearly already raided this place sometime ago. Just my luck.

I search for anything that might still be useful as I move towards the back of the store. A loud pop sounded as I took a step deeper inside the rundown establishment and I pull my knife out in front of me. I look around, searching for the culprit of the noise but there was no sign of anyone, dead or alive.

Beneath my shoes, a shiny glint of foil caught my attention.  I stepped back and picked up what was now a crushed bag of chips, half of which was spilled on the grimy tiled floor. I had stepped on them while walking. My stomach howled painfully in reminder of how hungry I was. Without thinking twice I sweep up the crumbs off the floor and back into their bag. I couldn’t care less that it was gross, so close to starving I would eat anything at this point.

I shoved the bag in my backpack with crinkle and moved on to finish scavenging supplies. This time I mind my step, not wanting to risk ruining any other food or items that I might come across. After searching the whole store I find nothing but useless junk. I sigh, feeling defeated. I really hoped that I would find something to get us by for a few more days at least.

I make my way back outside and check on of the other store next to the one I was just in. Again, I come up empty handed. Today was not my lucky day.

Down the road I hear a shout. I turn to see walkers coming out of the woods, all of them headed towards my dad. He was defenseless with his injury, opting to run for his life instead of fighting back. He managed to get a good ten yards away from the dead when he fell, grasping his leg in pain. I run to him as fast as I can, lungs burning and gasping for air. I crouch down next to him, throwing his arm around my shoulder and help him up to his feet.

I start moving forward, trying to leave the dead behind and get to safety. Dad leans against me, shuffling along. We don’t get far before a bony hand grabs my arm and rips me away and causes my dad to fall to the pavement ones again. I pull out of the walkers grip and quickly stab it in the head with knife, watching as it crumples to the ground next to Dad.

“Dad, get away! I’ll be fine!” I scream above the groans of the dead. I doubt my own words as the walkers surround me. From the corner of my eye I see my dad jump to his feet and begin to limp away as the walkers hungry gazes focus on me.

I get into a fighting stance. I will not go down without a fight. One by one I take the walkers down, stabbing them in the heads. They keep coming and it seems like they will never stop. I bring my knife down into the skull of one and it gets stucks. The walkers start to close in and for a minute I think this is the end. I close my eyes and wait for the pain to come but it never does.

I hear a grunt next to me and my eyes open in shock. There’s a boy next me, killing the remaining walkers with a stick. He knocks them down in a swift fluid motions that tells me he’s had years of practice. He distracts the walkers and gives me enough time to free my knife from the corpses head and plunge it into another right before it almost sinks its teeth into the flesh of my arm. I pull the knife out, panting and confused as I look at the boy. All the walkers are dead and I exhale in relief. He saved my life.

The boy and I have a staring contest for a moment, both of us panting like a couple of deranged lunatics. It’s only now that the threat of danger is no longer looming over us that I realize my dad is nowhere to be seen. He must have got away.

I’m about to ask the mystery boy who he is before a group of people come running out of the woods yelling.

“Henry! Stop running away from the group!” One of them yells. She eyes me suspiciously, glancing at the dead corpses piled in the road.

“I’m sorry,” The boy, Henry, says. “I heard screaming and I wanted to help.”

“Well next time don’t. You’ll get yourself killed.”

The rest of the group is huddled together, mumbling something that I can’t make out. Henry and the woman gather around them, leaving me by myself. My heart is racing dangerously, I feel overwhelmed by what happened only moments ago.

I pace back and forth, not caring if Henry and his group think I’m insane. I take deep breaths, trying to clear my head and focus on what I should do next. I need to find my dad. He’s hurt and all alone. He’s close though, I can feel it.

I stop pacing and try to approach the group but stop short as the same woman from before pulls a gun on me and points it straight at my head. I back up right away, hands up in surrender.

“Woah, woah, calm down.” My voice quivers and I look at Henry, noticing his eyes are already on me. “I just wanted to say thanks for saving me but I got to go now.”

With that I turn and walk the other way. As I reach the forest edge I felt a hand on my arm, stopping me. It reminds me of how the walker grabbed me earlier and I swing around, knife in hand, ready to stab whoever or whatever it was.

It was Henry. For the first time I finally noticed his features. Freckles dotted his his face and he had soft, sandy looking looks. We lock eyes and for a moment I forget how to breath.

I shook my head, tugging my arm free from his surprisingly strong grip. I didn’t have time for this. I needed to go.

“Just wait.”

The way he spoke makes me suspect he was related to that woman. They spoke the same and carried themselves the same way. I know that if I ever crossed either of them that I would be in big trouble, no matter how nice Henry seems.

“You can join us,” Henry offers. I can tell he means it but I don’t know if I should accept his offer. “You’ll be safe. We can protect you.”

“Is your group ok with that?” I ask.

He nods. “Yes. So what do you say…?”

“Y/N. My name’s Y/N,” I introduce myself. “And yes, I’ll join your group. But first I need to find my dad, we got separated by the dead.”

Henry smiles, “Welcome to the group! I’ll get the others and we’ll help you find your dad.”

“Thank you.”

Henry waves a hand and beckons over his group. All 7 of them make their way over without question. I walk into the woods, followed by Henry and his people.

I had a feeling this was the beginning of something that would change me forever. Good or bad, that I didn’t know but it didn’t make me feel any better.

Tags// @del-rcys