#but it's just got me wondering cos how can you throw away over a decade worth of friendship just like that??

[halohamilton]

.

[saintheartwing]

May the Force Be With You, Ch.16: So You Wanna Be A Sith?

“If you want to play the part of Sith, you’re going to have to start acting like one.”

Zack sat across from his partner as Omarosa nonchalantly twirled her saber around, pacing back and forth in front of the fire they sat at. “…I’m pretty sure I’ve got an idea of how to be all imposing and scary and all that-”

“No, no, no, it’s one thing to just send a scary video to people. Anybody with a stupid camera could do that. We need to work on changing your attitude. You have to learn to confront the darkness by really understanding what it is. Mara gave you that whole spiel on how the Dark Side’s all seductive and dangerous and blabbity blabbity blah. The Dark Side’s like a chainsaw, it’s a tool. If you use it right, like a normal chainsaw, it can cut down a tree. If you use it wrong, like in “Chainsaw Slut Massacre IV”, then you’ll be sawing through sexy co-eds on a college campus.”

“…Chainsaw Slut Massacre?”

“Yes.”

“There’s fucking FOUR of them?!?” 

“People reeeeaaally like seeing sexy coeds being splattered in blood from giant chainsaws. There’s actually this really amazing scene in the film where the villain gets taken out by this THERMAL DETONATOR that the heroine sticks in the big lug’s mouth, the practical effects are astounding!” Omarosa bragged. 

“Wait, wait, I read about that, didn’t they have to go to court to prove to the New Republic court that they didn’t actually kill off the cast because the blood splatter looked so real?” Zack realized as he snapped his fingers. “Yeah, yeah, I read about that in the news! Everyone kept talking about the director being super sleazy and suspicious!”

“He weaseled out of any jail time because evidently he used clones for the performances he REALLY wanted to make good.” Omarosa admitted with a nod. “The law still hasn’t caught up to science on that level, they couldn’t really make a ruling because there’s no laws on the books about clones ever since the Old Republic texts got swept away and all those cloning factories went bye-bye. People just assumed nobody would ever have to put up with clones again until the director dragged it into the public eye. Nobody’s seen clones for decades, so nobody wanted to deal with it. Certainly not in the courts.”

“Yeah, that’s a big can of worms…the director got off easy.”

“Course, now he can’t make any more of those films now that everyone knows how he did those amazing practical effects…” Omarosa sighed. “He went missing, too. The rumor is that his own clone did him in! That’s what everyone’s thinking. But him being so sleazy and devilishly ingenious is one of those things you could  learn from! What he did was underhanded and down right dirty and it DEFINITELY bent the law so hard it almost snapped in two. But that’s the sort of stuff you’ve got to learn to do if you want to be a good Sith!” Omarosa proclaimed. 

“So I need to be…petty and lowdown and resort to scummy tricks.  I mean, I did throw that sand in Darth Sed’yshun’s face…” Zack confessed.

“Yeah, you’re off to a good start! Next time…use glass. Grind up glass, keep it in your belt. Some powdered glass will work wonders. Your enemies won’t be nearly as strong when they’re BLIND.” Omarosa insisted as she showed off a small bag herself, jiggling it around. “But what we really need to work on above all else is that you need to be more than just using cheap, nasty tricks. It’s a MINDSET that has to carry over.” Omarosa put the bag away, got out a big, fat stick, and drew up a line as the two stood at the edges of the jungle at what had been the Jedi Temple only a short few weeks ago. 

“Now…here, we get into the middle of this big ring.”  She drew a line through the center, then stood on one end as Zack stood on the other. “Now. I’m your adversary. I am evil. EEEEEVIIIIL. Got it?” Omarosa inquired as she spun the big stick around. “See this line in the dirt? Now, you must dare…to cross that line! To challenge me!”

“…okay, sure.” Zack immediately moved to cross the line, and THA-THWAK! She bonked him over the head. “Ow! What the heck?! You told me not to cross the line! What’s that for?”

“Cuz I’m evil. Can’t help it.” Omarosa remarked. “Get it? If you’re evil, you need to care less about basic civility. Like…totally.” She added with a big, toothy grin. “I want you to have an attitude of low-grade…well, pissyness. Towards the whole world.  Like, I want you thinking “Geez, I can’t stand everything around me right now”. Think like that.”

“…that sounds really exhausting.” Zack admitted. “Like, having to have that attitude all the time, where you’re constantly in a bad mood sounds like it would wear you down and make you really bitter and meanspirited.”

“Yes…but it’s empowering, too. Because if you’re at your lowest point…there’s NOWHERE TO GO BUT UP.” Omarosa added. “And it feels good when you bring other people to that level. Now let’s move on to the next issue. Trust.”

“Oh, are we gonna do, like, trust fall exercises?” Zack asked. “We did a bunch of those in Jedi training.”

“Sure. Turn around, and I’ll catch you with nothing but my Force powers.” Omarosa said as Zack turned around, held out his arms, then fell back and-THWUMPH.

Hit the ground as Omarosa stood over him, then whacked him in the middle of the forehead with the butt of the stick. “See, the message there is trust nobody.” 

“Yeah. I GOT THAT. I’m beginning to see why this “Sith” thing is so alluring…” He grumbled. “Because now I’m beginning to feel like I wanna zap you with some force lightning!” 

“THAT’S the ticket!” Omarosa laughed. “Now, let’s get into the most basic training of all…instinct. You need a killer instinct. It’s not enough to just block my blows like a Jedi would. You’re gonna need to learn to go on the offensive without use of your eyes for this next-”

This time, it was OMAROSA who ended up learning a lesson. The lesson being “Zack had gotten amazingly good at fighting blind after months on end of practice and using it in the field”. After being given his own stick to fight with and putting a blindfold over his eyes, Omarosa thought she’d be able to whack him over the head AGAIN…only for him to twirl around and do a sweep, knocking her off her feet before SHUDDA-KA-THWAM! A powerful blow slammed her down into the ground. 

It didn’t take long before he was practically raining blows on her every time she tried to strike at him. She would sweep at him from the left, he’d duck and jab her in the ribs, then another sweeping strike would knock her back. She tried to go for HIS legs, and he’d jump up, kick her in the chin, knocking her on the ground so he could just HAMMER her into the dirt below. Try as Omarosa might, she just couldn’t land a single blow on him once the “instinct” lesson began, and in the end, she was covered in bruises and welts and had a bloody nose as she groaned, rubbing her swollen cheek, talking like she had a gigantic wad of towels forcibly stuffed in her mouth.

“Id uhks ike u dun need no tuhnin reguhhding dat kinda sduff. I dink u god a gud idyuh of huh tuh fuhd, u god a eel kuhuh indink.” (It looks like you don’t need no training regarding THAT kind of stuff. I think you’ve got a good idea of how to fight, you got a real killer instinct!)

“Thanks.” Zack cheerily intoned as he took the blindfold off. “…now how about I patch you up?”

“STUHPH SMYLIN!” (Stop smiling!!!)

“Nope. You were right, bringing other people down to your level really DOES feel surprisingly good!” He confessed with a big grin. “I can’t stop smiling!”

“Muddafudda Imma godda stik dis stik up yur ass-”

Needless to say, Zack had taken these lessons to heart. He was determined to prove he was a real Sith…and he was going to make sure that the Dyad and their forces knew it. And he knew just how to get started…

THE NEXT WEEK…

“NO! No, please, no! AAHHH! Anything but this!”

“I’ll let you off once you start talking. It really is just that simple.”

Zack had evidently decided to start things off with a bang. He’d been stalking the captain of the guards at the Dyad’s tower, finding out where they went home at the end of the day, who they hung around with, a different captain every single day. There were three of them, meaning he had at least two days to devote to stalking them, staying hidden among the common folk of Nar Shadaa, wearing inconspicuous clothing, basic shirt, a large hat to hide most of his hair, a slump in his walk, and a seemingly empty eye socket to indicate how much of a degraded, low-down-on-his-luck rando he really was. A common, begging bum on the street who was just trudging along miserably, ignored, either willfully or otherwise, by the common man. 

People didn’t really ever pay much attention to the beggars and the poor on the streets. They would shell out big bucks to see a dead Mandalorian on display at a museum. But they wouldn’t give a single credit to a bling beggar down the block. This meant that Zack could go unnoticed as a beleaguered, half-blind bum.

And this meant he’d been able to follow each captain of the guard to their homes. He’d waited until the time was ripe, and then snatched the first one up when they slept. It was tricky! After all, he had to get them out the nearby window. The first one though, slept with their window open because summer had arrived and it was miserably hot in Nar Shaddaa and SOMEHOW the air conditioning in the entire apartment complex had been knocked out and would take a few hours to fix…

Gee, whoever could have done that?

“Please! Pleeeaaase don’t!”

“Okay, then tell me when the next shipment of weapons arrives for the Dyad, Captain Neehra.” He informed the woman nonchalantly as he stood by the gigantic buzzsaw. He’d hooked the light-brown-skinned woman up to a contraption that was slowly feeding her towards this buzzsaw, miles away from Nar Shadaa in a formerly-abandoned mill, and he was humming nonchalantly, one hand on the machine that fed her ever-closer to the saw, the other holding up an apple he casually munched on. 

“I don’t know! I don’t know, Darth Mendax!”

“Well, then, I guess we’re going to find out which is your better side…” Zack trailed off. 

“Two days! It’s coming in two days! Midday!” The terrified captain of the guard squealed out. “That’s all I know!” 

“See? Was that really so difficult?” Zack commented cheerily. “…now I just need to figure out how to STOP this thing…”  He added as he turned back to the console, feeling over it.

“WHAT?!” Captain Neehra shrieked.

“I only just figured out how to turn it on. I didn’t get to the part about turning it off. Now, where’s that power cord…?” Zack commented as the BZZZZZZZZZZ of the saw got louder and louder, Neehra shrieking up a storm and at such a high pitch that only dogs would soon be able to hear her before Zack promptly decided to SCHA-THWIIISH! Cut through the whole machine, turning it off JUST before the blade reached Neehra as she breathed a deep, long sigh of relief before Zack conked her over the head to knock her out.

“You know what the best part about this was?” He asked as he and Omarosa helped load the captain of the first guard into their vehicle to bring her back to Nar Shadaa. He smirked, holding up the “buzzsaw”, and waving it about. “Papier-mâché. Totally recyclable.” 

“Oh my lord, I think she actually peed her pants a bit!” Omarosa laughed as they stuffed the poor captain into the backseat. “What a sissy!”

The next captain of the guard was a lot tricker to get hold of until you figured out how much he loved to hang out at the same bar.  He was currently in the back room with a few of his lackeys, who he was forcing to play cards with.

…no. No, it wasn’t Poker.

“Ha HA.  Go Fish!”

“Yeah, boss. Go Fish. You sure are the best at this…” One of the guards groaned as the smug-looking Nemodian took hold of their winnings they’d been forced to bet and “made it rain” as he tossed them up into the air, spinning around on his rotating chair. 

“Hahahahaha! Ohhh, I never get tired of doing this!”

And then the lights immediately went out. All of them blinked in surprise before rising up, pulling out their weapons, quickly bunching up to try and look for whomever had turned the lights on…before a faint hum filled the air, and they glanced up,  seeing the light of a red lightsaber illuminating a foully-grinning Darth Mendax.

“Hello.” Zack said before he jumped down on all of them! They screamed and yelled hollered but were quickly shut up, Zack beating the stuffing out of all of them whilst Darth Omarosa kept the bouncer right outside the door very busy.

“Wait, seriously, you actually think that HORRIBLE Barbie Girl song’s good? No. No way. I mean, I know the Dyad like to do silly songs sometimes-” Omarosa was insisted as she poured the bouncer another bit of fine wine from her flask.

“It’s called ironic enjoyment.” The bouncer insisted as the rather thick-armed, thick-haired Wookie scratched at himself, speaking in a surprisingly good Basic galactic dialect. “Don’t they teach you youngsters anything in schools?”  

“Hmmm…okay, okay, I guess I can see that. Does that include that Wave Your Hands Side to Side song they did?”

“Oh GOD, that’s just pure garbage.”

“I KNOW, right? But my friend, he just loves everything about it. I think he enjoys dumb party music way too much…”

Ten minutes later, the men that Zack had “collected” woke to find themselves currently blindfolded…but not for long. 

“This is a little thing called  “trust exercise” that I think is going to really help you all understand where I’m coming from. You can remove your blindfolds.” They heard him say, all of them shuddering, wondering why it was so chilly out when it was the middle of summer! Shakily, their hands reached up to their blindfolds…and then, as they took them off, they saw why.  

“Oh my stars and fucking garters.” The Nemodian captain of the guard said aloud. They’d been dragged to the top of the building. A good three stories up. They all turned around, fearfully gazing at the Sith as he nonchalantly tapped his foot.

“Now, we’re gonna play MY game. It’s called “Tell me the codes for that moon facility.” I want to know how to get in. And if you don’t tell me, we’re gonna play a game I like to call “Splatter Painting 101”. Now, granted, I’m blind, I can’t appreciate the post modern mastery of splatter art but I know plenty of people do like analyzing the patterns that your blood will no doubt form once I push you off the edge.”

“…y-you don’t scare us. It may be three stories but a fall like this still wouldn’t kill somebody like me!” Said the Gammorean guard who was there.

“…you’re right. You’ve got QUITE the bone structure. If I just pushed you off, it wouldn’t kill you. Now, If I did THIS…”

Zack clenched his fist tight, and bit his lip as he looked in the direction of that gammorean, and the unfortunate levitated right off his feet, and twirled upside down, hovering RIGHT off the edge of the building. 

“See, now, a fall like THIS would kill you. Don’t you think? And don’t bother looking at those nice, soft, thick bushes down below…even landing in those wouldn’t cushion your fall. Now, is the captain of the guard going to kindly tell me what I want, or do I have to start tossing all his card buddies off the building first before-”

“He’ll talk!...RIGHT, boss?!” The other assembled guards there gave the captain very furious, dark, “don’t you screw us over on this” looks as he sheepishly gulped and tugged at the collar of his longsleeve shirt he wore.

“…um…I…er…y-yes, of-of course.” He murmured. “Uh…the-the code is 19465.” The Nemodian squeaked out. “That will get you into the moon base. I don’t know any of the other codes. I promise you that. It’s designed to be that way. Nobody gets told more than they have to just in case we got captured by forces from the New Republic.”

“Oh, believe you me. You’ve given me everything I wanted. Now…see your death.” Zack nonchalantly flicked his wrist, and the Gammorean flew off the edge. “See your death!” 

FLICK!

“AAAAH!”

“See your death!”

FLICK!

“EEEEE!”

“See your death!”

FLICK!

“NOOOOO!”

“See your deeaaaath!”

FLICK!

“WAAAAAAAUGH!”

“As for you, Captain Sibista, don’t worry, we’re cool.” Zack said as he approached the captain of the guard, the Nemodian breathing a sigh of relief.

“Really?”

“Nah! See your death!” He flat out shoved the man right off the edge, and the guy fell down, down, down…

THWUD. Passing out the second he hit the ground.

Or so he thought. In actually, Omarosa had been hiding IN those thick bushes down below and she’d used HER force powers along with Zack to hover them right down…yes…into the other bushes. One after the other, each one landed, passing out either due to sheer fear or getting conked the head as they hit the bushes. It’d be enough to hurt them…but not enough to kill them. They would make sure of that. The guards would think a freak accident saved them. Quickly bolting off down the street, Omarosa waited in their arranged hiding spot as Zack made his way over to her about five minutes later, holding up a few things.

“I got their pass keys to their vehicles…and their wallets.” He added.

“Spoken like a true Sith!” She laughed. “We’ve got about two hours or so before they wake up. Let’s break into all their stuff and take what we can, then get it back to them. They’re gonna be so confused when they realize all the good s—t is missing from their rides!...along with half their money!”

“Oh, the Captain’s such a GENEROUS man. I’m thinking…all he’s got. Going right back to the others…” Zack reasoned nonchalantly with a small little Mona Lisa smile on his face. 

…

…

…

…the third captain of the guard, however…didn’t need the approach of a Sith. He needed somebody who would show compassion and kindness. 

Zack had found out the captain of the guard was asking about his father, who was, as it turned out, somebody who’d supposedly died on duty at the very moon base that he wanted to infiltrate. The cause of death had, supposedly, been a Mandalorian attack. There were all sorts of horrible rumors that the Dyad were happy to let their soldiers perpetuate ABOUT Mandalorians, but above all that those people were violent, ruthless, wretched warmongering psychopaths that absolutely loved killing. 

But the odd thing was…no body. Nothing sent back for the captain of the guard. It was strange, to be sure. The young captain had been a dedicated man, as had his father, who’d gotten him that position. But the kid had certainly earned it, he’d gotten three commendations in this year ALONE for valor and merit. Darth Raize had personally pinned a medal to him at a ceremony. Why not get the body to him? They’d said it had been a horrible accident, sure. Blown up by a mine planted by the Mandalorians, sure. But surely there’d be something left. 

The real thing that made Zack suspicious was that barely any footage from the moon base ever got sent back to Nar Shadaa. If the news ever did reports on the base, there was something faintly odd, something…fishy…about the footage. But Zack couldn’t quite put his finger on what.

Omarosa, however, could.

“Look.” 

She and Zack had been going over the footage as they played on loops, one floating vid screen at a time and she pointed right at a spot on one of the vehicles. “Look. LOOK, right there. That speeder!” She said, focusing on the hover speeder that slowly whizzed by past several other vehicles. “Look, that speeder has a very faint marking. Looks like a yellow stain on the side? You look close and you can see it.”

“…yeah, yeah, I see it.” Zack peered close. “I’ve seen that same speeder pass by the window at least four times now. They’re…they’re looping footage! They’ve said this stuff is live, but they’re looping footage, CLEARLY.” He said. “But…no, it isn’t just that. Look at where that speeder is. The window. There’s…something wrong with the window…” He gazed even more closely, peering. You could just barely, BARELY tell but there was, indeed, a faint little haze you could scarcely make out on the edges of the window. “…is that a…yeah, they’re…they’re looping footage IN this footage! This is all like on some movie set! They’ve got a green screen thing going on!” He realized. “That window isn’t actually showing the outside! There’s a clear fake background there if you just look super closely!”

“I’m surprised none of the news reporters noticed this…” Omarosa murmured. “…then again, maybe they did…and got ‘taken care of’ when they brought it up. Wouldn’t put it past the Dyad.”

“We need to get hold of what’s ACTUALLY going on up there. If it was just boring moon rocks falling around the place or if things were actually good, they wouldn’t need to lie this badly about what it looks like up there.” Zack reasoned. “They must be hiding something awful if they have to take these steps.” 

Luckily, those codes they’d gotten for the base did, in fact, get them in. And it got better. Over 70 percent of people reused passwords for personal accounts. They’d tested the passcode to the moonbase and, sure enough, that code of “19465” was used for more than just the front door to the base. It was the code to get into the security rooms, the locker rooms, even the bathrooms. Which helped a lot! All they had to do was sneak in after grabbing a couple guards out for a walk around the base, taking their uniforms and their identification after doing a quick bit of work to fiddle with their ID badges.

“I cannot believe they haven’t fixed this yet!” One of the guards was angrily kicking at a vending machine, his friend standing next to him as Zack and Omarosa walked down the hall, approaching them. “It’s been two days and we can’t get a droid repair team up to fix the vending machines?”

“They’re still trying to get all the blood stains from out of the trash compactor after that incident yesterday…” 

“Hey, we can help.” Zack offered as he approached the vending machine and then began to kick it, secretly manifesting his Force powers. The powerful pull of the Force worked, and PA-POP! A candy bar was freed, sliding down a tube for the guard to collect his treat in the dispenser. “How’s that?”

“Thanks! I’ve been really wanting a Choco-Blast Bar.” He said.

“How bad was the incident in the trash compactor?” Zack asked, trying to sound as confused as possible. “I mean, it couldn’t have been THAT bad, right? I know the guys like to exaggerate about-”

“No, it was that bad. You can ask Sal in the security office to show you. Say Thomasin sent you.” The avian-esque guard who had been chatting with the human guard said, looking very pale, blue eyes widening. “It was horrible. Some callous jerk pushed Mr. Wuhd’fall down the trash compactor! It was disgusting. Evidently they got into an argument over the Mandalorians.”  

“Oh, wow. You don’t say?” Omarosa inquired, waggling her eyebrows up and down. 

Needless TO say, when they got shown the footage…it was just as bad as they’d been told. Omarosa and Zack had brought hidden cameras to hide on their persons to record all they saw on the base, and they had not only seen there weren’t ANY Mandalorians kept prisoner, there hadn’t been a Mandalorian attack there in…well…as long as anybody could remember! And quite a few of the workers at the moon base were getting really tired of continuing to lie to the public of Nar Shadaa about what was actually going on up at the Moon Base. They were sick of the theater.

But only Mr. Wuhd’fall had been the one to openly complain about it, as they told his son, Junior, and showed him the footage they’d recorded. “See, this is him complaining to the head of the base’s outer perimeter defense. The guy got a little nasty, he was like that, a nasty sort…” Sal, the security office worker, told Zack and Omarosa on the footage. “And he shoves Sal right into the trash compactor and then just took off! Now, the problem is, he did it JUST as the compactor was turning on! We couldn’t stop it in time, I’d gone off to take a leak, by the time I saw the footage here, the thing was already squeezing-”

“PLEASE shut it off.” 

Zack and Junior had said the exact same thing at the exact same time. They didn’t need to see any more. It was horrible and foul enough. Omarosa shut the little recorder off and Zack gently turned to Junior, who was looking down at the beer on the table in front of him, the three of them sitting in a back room in that familiar bar, both Zack and Omarosa in their “bum” disguises. 

“…I’m so sorry.” Zack quietly said. “The truth can hurt. But lies are much worse.”

“…why would they lie about this? I don’t get it. I…I just don’t get it…” Junior murmured as he gripped the table, fingernails digging in.

“It would make them look bad if they admitted that some lout on their defense force did it. Better to blame it on the Mandalorians. They always blame everything on them up there.” Zack insisted. “The Dyad have been blaming them for years and years without ever taking responsibility for their own people’s failures and screw-ups…or their outright cruelty.” 

“We’re not saying WE’RE great either. But at least we’re gonna be honest with you about what we want. We want the Dyad taken down. Are you going to help us?” Omarosa asked.

Junior took hold of the Medal of Valor he’d been personally given by Darth Raize, torn it off and then tossed it with a THWUNK into the nearby recycling bin. The Dyad wouldn’t know until it was too late, but a REBEL…had been born. 

[floralseokjin]

⤑ made-up love song drabbles

First date: Seokjin’s POV

kim seokjin x reader warnings; none! words; 2,196 words

↪︎ read the series here / and drabbles here

Seokjin felt like a drink. It was nine o’clock in the morning, so absolutely out of the question, but it didn’t stop him from craving it. Whiskey. Definitely whiskey. Nana’s PA had just been to pick up Arin for the weekend – Thank God. Finally she would be able to spend time with her mom after a month, which he was over the moon about, and selfishly, that meant his date with you could go ahead. Even if he was so nervous he could throw up. 

Work had been a great distraction for the past two days but once he’d woken up this morning the realisation had dawned on him. He was going on a date tonight. His first in a decade. He still couldn’t believe he’d actually gone through with it and asked you to dinner. He’d faced his fears, possibly made a fool of himself and shared too much about his personal life in the process, but you hadn’t seemed to mind at all. You were so easy to talk to, it was refreshing. He’d felt brave for the first time in months – years.   But it still didn’t stop him from being on pins as soon as he’d opened his eyes this morning. 

He’d showered early, just after Arin had woken up and then he’d helped her get ready for the day too, allowing her to eat her breakfast in front of the television as he tried to swallow down his bowl of porridge too. It tasted like cardboard – but then again, it might have been his cooking. Misook usually made the food around her, when he wasn’t dining out or ordering take out of course. 

Arin had noticed his strange mood straight away. Obviously. 

“Daddy, what’s wrong with you this morning?” She’d asked, looking over at him warily before hesitating. “I am spending the weekend with mom, right?”

“Of course you are, sweetie” he’d rushed, shaking away the  surge of anger he’d felt. It pained him to know she was always expecting the worst lately. “Your mom just text me to say Jia is on her way.” 

She’d smiled then, her face lighting up and he couldn’t help but match it, his nerves disappearing for a while. That was until he was left all alone, the house now empty and silent. He eyed the bottle of whiskey on the kitchen counter (where he’d left it after his small nightcap last night) and shook his head. He should drop you a text, just to check in and see if you were still on for tonight. He needed to find out what time to pick you up anyway. He probably should have messaged you the day before, he panicked suddenly, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he pulled his phone from his sweatpants pocket. Oh well, there was no time for regrets, that’s what his father always said. 

It took him at least ten minutes to figure out what to say. His first draft sounded too cheerful, too false, he was trying way too hard and had added an examination point. His second was too formal, fifteen years of sending business emails back and forth obvious. He settled on something in the middle – he hoped.  

Unknown (9:32am)  Hi Y/N,  It’s Kim Seokjin, Arin’s father. Just wondering if you still want to have dinner tonight? If so, please let me know and I will send through the restaurant details. We can decide on a time for me to pick you up.  Regards, Seokjin 

Only, reading it back after he hit send he began to second guess himself. Of course you knew who he was, his confidence might be lacking a little right now but he knew he wasn’t totally forgettable. What an idiot. Not that he could do much, there was no turning back. He’d committed. 

He busied himself with a bit of Saturday morning cleaning while he waited for your reply, and by that he meant straightening up the pillows he and Arin had been sitting against earlier. When he returned to the kitchen, your message was waiting for him. 

You (9:43am)  Of course, send the details. I trust your taste! 

See, exclamation points suited you. It was cute. He could just imagine you saying it in person, your dazzling smile, maybe that little giggle you’d made a few times on Wednesday. He felt something warm in his chest as he got lost in his thoughts, nerves easing once again. You were excited for tonight, he told himself.   Maybe you were even just as nervous as him possibly… 

He spent yet another few minutes composing his reply. A lot more casual this time, signing off with just his name. He didn’t always text like this, Namjoon could vouch for him, but he didn’t think you were both quite there yet. He wanted to show his best self after all. He wanted to impress you. He wanted to make you like him as much as he liked you. 

Seokjin (9:50am)  The sudden pressure… The restaurant’s name is KIM. I hope you like it. Is 7 alright to pick you up? I made reservations for 7:30.  Seokjin 

In truth, this restaurant was one he co-owned with his brother. Seokchul was the executive chef and they were both very proud of how successful their business venture had become. He knew taking you to such a place might seem like a cop-out – or worse, a brag – but that wasn’t the case at all. He wanted to treat you in a place that meant a lot to him. He could have chosen multiple restaurants, he was a regular at quite a few and could easily get a great table, but see, that did seem like he was showing off and he did not want to give you that impression at all. It was the complete opposite of his personality. KIM was a good choice, he was sure of it, and it helped that his brother didn’t work weekends, so there was no risk of bumping into him. Although, he had let him know about the date (and had begged him not to spill to their mother). 

You (9:52am)  I will. 7 sounds perfect. I’ll send through my address. See you later! 

You followed up with a Google Maps link to your home, and he sent a quick thank you – sans his name this time. With a quick sigh he pocketed his phone again, it was time to get on with his day. He had some paperwork from yesterday to complete by Monday morning so he should probably make a start. He stopped to order a light lunch at midday, ate it as he scrolled through his very limited social media before getting back to it. 

He called it a day around 3pm, a call from his mom interrupting his flow. He spent an hour talking, their weekend phone calls were habitual by now and he enjoyed them immensely.  He loved his father of course, but their conversations mostly revolved around work. Despite stepping down as CEO three years ago, he was still a vital member of the company, and Seokjin continued to consult him at every opportunity and lean on him for support when things got stressful. With his mom, she was the woman he could still be a kid around. They could talk about anything and everything, but for her own benefit he left out his plans for tonight. He knew what she was like, she’d get way too excited and overwhelmed and before long she’d be sobbing down the line while simultaneously asking to meet you. She’d been wanting him to meet someone new for so long, much like Mrs. Shin. It was a surprise the two women weren’t conspiring behind his back. 

No, he’d keep it a secret for now. If things went well tonight, then possibly his mother would get to find out. He wasn’t getting his hopes up though – or at least he was trying not to. 

It was just after four when he got off the phone, too early to start getting ready just yet, so he sat in front of the television and tried to concentrate on a series he’d recently started. (It wasn’t going well. He was on about one episode a week out of a nine season TV show.) It was no use though, the nerves were rearing their ugly head again. 

He decided to choose his outfit. Seokjin wasn’t much of a thinker when it came to fashion, he just grabbed whatever he saw first that morning, but tonight he wanted to at least put some effort in. After much deliberation he decided on a navy two piece paired with a white dress shirt. It wasn’t over the top, he thought, but nice enough to make that impression that was so very important to him. He kept his hair simple. He’d managed to squeeze in a haircut yesterday so it made things easier, but upon closer inspection in the mirror he noticed those pesky grey hairs of his glittering in the sunlight. He grimaced, worried now. He didn’t know your exact age yet, but it was obvious he was a few years older than you. He was no spring chicken, especially with those wrinkles around his eyes. He had been called handsome all his life, no stranger to it, but right now he was dubious. 

He pushed his trivial concerns away and concentrated on the next decision. What car he would take. He didn’t want to go too flash – again with the showing off thing – so the Aston Martin was definitely off the cards. He hadn’t actually driven that one much, going through some sort of so-called midlife crisis when he’d bought it straight after his divorce, so he made a mental note to take it out next weekend. He decided on the Mercedes convertible (roof on, of course). It seemed like a suitable choice, not too flashy at all really. He didn’t want to run the risk of putting you off him or overwhelming you with showy displays. He was well aware of the differences between your lifestyles, not that he cared at all, but it didn’t stop him from understanding. The things that seemed slight to him could very well be enormous for you. He didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable in any way, shape or form. 

Shit, on second thoughts maybe his restaurant was a bad idea… 

.

.

Seokjin was always punctual, he prided himself on it, but tonight it made him nervous. He’d said 7 but it had only just gone quarter to. He couldn’t very well stay in the car for fifteen minutes, you’d spot him out the window, so ever so slowly he opened his car door and stepped out, his heart thudding against his ribcage. He was sure he noticed his hand shaking as he closed it behind him. He was such a mess it was embarrassing. 

You lived in a nice little neighbourhood, it seemed quiet, and he admired your pots of flowers in the patch of garden you had as he made his way up the path that led to your front door. He took a deep breath before ringing the doorbell, adjusting his suit jacket as he waited for you to open up. It’s fine, Seokjin, he told himself. It’s just dinner. You’ve done much scarier things in your life. Pull yourself together, man. 

A few seconds later the door opened in front of him and you came into view, looking as beautiful as ever. I’m fucked, he thought immediately. 

“Hi,“ he forced himself to say as he smiled. He was probably staring but he couldn’t help himself. You looked stunning, your dress deep red in colour and incredibly flattering. His throat felt dry and he swallowed quickly. 

“Hey,” you greeted back. 

“You look beautiful,“ he couldn’t help but awe, hoping he wasn’t stepping out of line with his compliment. 

"Thank you,” you smiled almost shyly. It was adorable. “You look…really good.“ 

He couldn’t help but burst out laughing at that, aware the sound was probably highly unfaltering, but he couldn’t help it. "I’ll take it. Thanks.” He tilted his head to the right then, composing himself. “Are you ready to go? I’m a bit early, I know. Sorry about that." 

He really couldn’t tear himself away from your beauty, but luckily you didn’t seem to notice, busy nodding as you clutched your purse to your side. "I, uh… I would invite you in to kill time but my best friend’s embarrassing.” Your voice raised as you continued, your head turning slightly down the hallway. 

He raised an eyebrow, a little confused, but he guessed said best friend was in the house somewhere? He smiled and shook his head. “It’s fine.” 

As you stepped forward, a breath of a chuckle slipping from your throat, he moved to the side, outstretching his arm to let you lead the way. You accepted with a brief nod of your head, your gazes catching for a split second. God, you were gorgeous. 

His nerves might have eased a tad, but his heart was still beating just as fast – if not more.  

Written 2020 - 2021. Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2021

[wevegottogetaway]

El Patrón

I’m so excited to finally be posting this piece. I’ve been working on it for the past few days and it’s been consuming my mind. If you like angst, smut, art student Harry, and great plot twists, this story is for you, so buckle up, cause you’ve got 13700 and then some waiting for you! And on that note, I don’t thing I have many words left in my brain... so, hope you enjoy xx

TW: smut, fool language

After her first day back to classes, Y/n is not surprised to see Harry Styles’ lanky frame standing behind the bar of Bottom’s Up. She hoped that he would bugger off to work some place else but alas, all her summer prayers were unanswered. For yet another semester, she would have to endure bartending by his sides, trying with all her might not to jab a corkscrew at his throat every time he opened his gob. Granted, she could have switched jobs herself, but the pay is too good to turn down and the bar sits literally right around the corner from her place; a match made in heaven if you ask her. Besides, she’s been mastering the art of tuning out the insufferable green-eyed prick for two years now, so what’s one more? Of course, knowing it is likely to be the last - having just kicked off the final year of her psychology major - makes the news easier to stomach. And with any luck, the fool did some sort of soul-searching over the break and came back a changed man.

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to grace us with her delightful presence again. Knew you couldn’t stand to live without me, y/l/n." Harry greets her with a smirk as he looks up from his phone. 

Well, some much for change, but luck has never been on y/n’s side anyway; she knew it was wishful thinking to entertain the idea of a pleasant or even tolerable Harry. "Shut it, Styles. I’m not in the mood for your bullshit," she quips back and goes straight to the employee’s locker room to dispose of her stuff and swap her top for one bearing the bar’s logo. Once done, she takes a brief look in the tattered mirror still hanging by the door to readjust her ponytail, before joining her co-worker behind the counter. The bar is rather quiet for now, clock having not chimes 6pm yet, but y/n expects the place to be soon crawling with students drinking the classes’ return off their mind. 

The next few minutes are spent in unexpected peaceful silence, y/n prepping for the upcoming rush while Harry idly sits by, not lifting a single finger to help her out. Admittedly, he’s completed all his pre-shift duties during the last hour, but y/n doesn’t think it warrants the smug look painted on his face as he watches her battle a jar of olives with an old opener and  a concentrated frown. So peaceful silence was a bit of a stretch, maybe.

Then to make matters worse he decides to taunt her, "I see you’ve grown zero muscle strength over the break. Too busy vegetating on the beach?" 

The surge of anger triggered by the provocation is enough impetus for her to crack the can open, but it doesn’t stop her from turning to face him, "I see you’ve grown zero neuron in that thick head of yours. Too busy making people miserable instead?" she counters with flaring nostrils and a look of disdain hardening her features.

"Ah, still got a feisty mouth on you. ‘Was worried you might turn soft on us." Harry sasses back, but y/n doesn’t bother telling him off this time. No matter how strong her comeback, he’ll just brush it off with that smile of his that irritates her to no end. That’s the thing with Harry, the bastard has the thickest skin of all, he’s downright unattainable. And believe it or not, bad-mouthing doesn’t come naturally to y/n, he just seems to draw it out of her, perhaps as the trigger of some kind of survival instinct. Time and time again she’s tried to come up with a quip that would leave him speechless, tail between his legs, but he always has a wittier reply to throw back at her. For so long they’ve been playing this debilitating game of ping pong and she has yet to claim a point to his countless wins. 

It’d been the case since their first meeting on that dreadful Friday two years ago. Y/n was about to embark on her second year at uni and decided to get a job so she could afford her own place instead of the dreary dorms she’d gotten used to. Bottom’s Up had seemed to be the perfect choice, a 2 minutes walk from the sweet little apartment she’d just visited a few days prior. She’d been excited for her first shift that night, air still warm from the Indian summer sun drawing a plethora of eager students to come enjoy their last day of freedom. Her happy jitters had quickly dissolved once she’d made her way in the staff-only area located behind the bar though. There, she’d walked in on a very frustrated Harry vociferating at a lost-looking colleague, "how many times do you have to fuck up before doing your bloody job, Steve? Stop sitting on your lazy ass, or I swear I’ll-" 

She’d come to this Steve guy’s defense then, furious at the tall curly hair jerk for bullying his way around, "stop it, you asshole. You can’t talk to people like trash, who do you think you are?" Granted, she didn’t know it at the time, but the lost look on Steve's face was in fact pretty standard for the amount of weed in his system; nor did she know that the lad could actually win the Olympics of lazy asses hands down, should such a discipline be appended. It was too late to call off the hostilities though. War had been declared, and aside maybe from that one time he had graciously accepted to cover for her when she’d had a trip to Brighton planned for one of her classes, no truce had ever been reached. Besides, she’s sure it was more so because he was low on cash rather than to fulfill the hidden desire to help her out for once in his life.

Now, as she finishes wiping her work surface with a wet cloth, y/n wishes more than ever to be teleported in a parallel universe where she doesn’t have to work with the bane of her existence, much less see his annoyingly handsome face four times a week. (Also, exams would only be optional in this alternate reality of hers, but that’s another fantasy for another day.) Mainly, she’s just glad she doesn’t see him around campus ever, the art building standing all the way across from the psychology department. At least she’s Harry-free the moment she steps out of the bar; she’d probably have a nervous breakdown if she had to put up with his antics outside of work.

                                                       ***

A month in the new semester, the novelty of it all has finally worn off to make way for routines to settle in. Y/n’s weeks now consist in a well-practiced cycle of sleep, study, eat, work and occasionally go out with her best friend Mia. Her shifts at Bottom’s Up still prove to be challenging because of the company she’s forced to keep but things seem to have calmed down at the bar too. Students are now less inclined to party the week away, mainly indulging during the second half of the week, but more importantly, Harry appears to be less of a smug bastard and more of a sulky sod. For some reason, the lad has been stuck in a sullen mood, constant frown wrinkling his forehead. He has reverted to distant one-word answers as though he is saving a dictionary worth of words for whatever conundrum is going on in his brain. Y/n doesn’t mind though, and almost welcomes the transition if it means less digs taken at her expense.

Now y/n finds herself on her way to the campus library for a much needed paper-writing cramming session (the assignment is due the following day and she barely has two thirds of the work completed). After a quick stop by the coffee shop down the block, she finally strides in the lobby of the library, ready to dive nose first into the riveting matters of cognitive psychology. She’s already so focused mulling over concepts’ definition in her mind, that it takes her a minute to realize something is going on.

It’s nothing major really, no big fire rushing around the premises or fist-fight breaking the crowd into a frenzy. No, just everyone seemingly hushing and gasping, bewildered expressions etched upon their faces as they keep pointing towards the nearby study room. Truthfully, y/n might have been completely oblivious to it, it she weren’t a psychology major; but reading people’s feelings and interactions is kind of her thing, so she does notice the bubbly energy infiltrating the usually quiet space. What could possibly have them so intrigued, she wonders as more students come out of the room with the same looks of wonder.

Her confusion is finally quelled when she steps into the study room in question and her eyes fall on what has everyone so engaged. On the wall to her right, between two sets of shelves brimming with decades-old books, hangs a life size canvas of audacious shapes and bold colors. Not one seems to have been left out, the painting seemingly transporting the viewer in a psychedelic albeit appealing trance. It’s full of contrasts, an embodiment of serenity and boldness at the same time, and y/n can’t stop ogling the masterpiece for the life of her. The amount of passion is so obviously overwhelming, yet she can feel all of the artist’s emotions underneath each of the brushstrokes.  

After another minute of wondrous observation, her thoughts are interrupted by a foreign voice. "El Patrón? I wonder who that could be," the stranger wonders aloud, and her eyes immediately drift off to the bottom right of the painting to catch the small but unmistakable signature: black cursive letter spelling the two words withholding the real artist’s identity. The mystery only adds up to the appeal of the work and y/n already feels a bubbling feeling in the pit of her stomach at the idea of ever finding out what beautiful soul is responsible for such mind-bending work. She hopes this won’t be last she sees of it. 

                                                       ***

It’s Friday night and unfortunately for y/n, she’s stuck at work with her least favorite person in the world. It’s all the more unfortunate that Harry seems to be back to his usual annoying self, his thoughts finally free from whatever trouble had plagued them, and eager to fall back into nuisance mode. Less unfortunate for y/n and much to Harry’s discontent, Mia decided to stop by and keep her company. Though she feels slightly sorry for her having the act as her buffer for the night, y/n figures she’s more than making up for it with every free cocktail she keeps sliding towards her friend. Their conversation is scattered at best since patrons keep interrupting them for a fresh pint of ale, but as the night slowly dies down they manage to talk longer than 20 seconds.

The manager of the bar has long clocked off and gone home, as per usual on Friday nights, leaving both her and Harry the pleasure to indulge in a few drinks of their own. They don’t do it every week and always keep it low-key of course; Mia’s tonight presence mostly accounting for y/n’s partaking while Harry just likes a nice glass of tequila when the week-end comes around and there’s nobody to tell him off about it. One thing they never do though, is drink together, like two friends celebrating yet another week they survived at uni. Come to think of it, the only thing they do share is a job position and their never-ending bickering. Cheers to that, y/n takes another sip of her gin martini in sarcasm. 

She’s brought back to reality by Mia as the tipsy brunette lets out a loud gasp before she inquires in a slightly high-pitched voice, "y/n! totally forgot to tell you, went by the library today and you’ll never guess what was there!" 

"Oh my god, you saw the painting too, didn’t you" y/n answers, excited at the idea of discussing the whole thing with her best friend. Truth be told, the majestic work of art hasn’t left her mind since she’d first seen it a few days before. 

"Yes" Mia squeals in confirmation, "I mean, it’s kinda impossible to miss. I wonder how they got it there without anyone seeing."

Y/n has wondered the same thing and she came to one conclusion, "they probably sneaked in last Sunday after the library closed, it’s the only time the building is empty," Mia humming in agreement. The campus library is opened 24/7 all days except on Sundays, so realistically speaking it is the only window of time that would allow for such an experiment. Whether said experiment required an actual break-in or was conducted in full legality remains a mystery but that is just bygones in y/n’s eyes. She’s much to mesmerized by the work to give a damn about how it got there in the first place. 

"Oi y/l/n! What are you two fawning over this time" Harry chirps in the conversation, uninvited as always, and y/n hates how condescending he just sounded.

"Not that you could ever understand something with substance, if your lack thereof is any indication, but it’s none of your damn business," y/n spats out dismissively but Mia’s Margarita-induced brain seems to have forgotten all about their concerted hatred for piss-taking bartenders.

"Harry, you’re an art major aren’t you? D’you know who’s behind that beautiful painting at the library?" 

Y/n tilts her head back in a sigh at her friend’s behavior before turning to watch the puzzled look on Harry’s face. He seems to silently gauge the both of them; for what, y/n doesn’t know, and then his whole expression switched to a blasé look. He shrugs in disinterest, "who cares? ’s just one more Banksy wannabe who’s trying at it too hard ‘f you ask me." 

Y/n takes it as a personal offense, her admiration for the painting outweighing any instinct she has of avoiding the brazen man taking a sip of his tequila on rocks across from her, "of course you’d say something like that. You’re just jealous you’ll never compete with his talent."

Harry raises a brow at her accusation, "and how would you know since you’ve never seen any of my work?" 

It’s a valid point, but not enough to rebut her. "Doesn’t take a genius to know a shallow mind like yours could never create something as deep and transcending. That would require actual emotions from you Harry and we both know the only emotion you’re capable of spreading is irritation." 

For once she’s confident she’s gonna have the last word, but in true Harry fashion he just gives her a bored look as if to say ‘is that all?’ towel thrown over his shoulder, "right, and here I thought talking to people like trash was a bad thing. You should really take a page out of your own book, y/n, wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re as big of a jerk as I am." Then he turns back to face the room full of customers, and tends to one disheveled looking guy slurring out an order. 

Y/n barely registers the friendly "alright Joe, but ’s the last one," Harry rasps out to the guy, her ears are still ringing from the last words he’d said to her. More specifically, the little truth they held despite how much he deserved the backlash, and y/n absolutely loathes the way her throat seems to be closing in on itself. She’s afraid she’s turning like him, bitter words at the ready and always trying to outdo his own taunting spiels. Before anxiety can settle in her bones though, she swallows back the knot tightening in her airways and goes back to serving customers and conversing with her friend.

                                                        ***

The next time it happens, she expects it even less. A couple weeks have passed since her gruesome interaction with Harry at the bar, and along with her doubts, all thoughts about art have seemed to vanish from her busy mind. She’s had a few tests occupying all her free time and now that they’ve been done and over with, all she can think about is calling Mia up to plan their next night out; she needs a few drinks that she didn’t make for once. 

She’s about to take her phone out of her pocket to send her best friend a text, when she enters the lecture hall of her Monday experimental method and research design class. The déjà-vu feeling that creeps up her spine stops her from completing the action, and y/n frowns at how her fellow students seem to be all entranced in deep conversation, exchanging baffled looks with one another. Even the sleeping kid that sits at the back seems to be more alert than during their last fire evacuation procedure test. 

It’s then y/n turns around to see what is hanging at the front of the room, covering the large board. This time, the colors were carefully handpicked by the artists, flashes of pink and yellow dancing along to a frenzied rhythm of salsa as their union creates powerful jets of oranges across the canvas. It vaguely reminds her of the pendant she wears on a daily basis, rose gold laurels wrapped around a delicate sunflower, an orange topaz incrusted in its center. The painting is of abstract nature much like the last one, but the movements of the brush still bring her mind back to the jewel presently nestled between her collarbones. How odd.

The piece is slightly smaller than the last but no less impressive, catching the attention of even the least artistic eye. The sensibility of the artist is so distinct, intentions clearer and more in touch than most people with their own. For a second, y/n thinks she’s glad the pieces have only been ones of unadulterated happiness and colorful bliss so far, because god knows how heart-wrenching the outcome would be if all this uncorrupted honesty was used to fill canvas with pain.

As the professor enters the room, everybody settles back on their seat, and wait for the chap’s reaction. "Well, that sure is something. It seems we have a bit of a mystery painter on our hands, don’t we; and a talented one at that," y/n’s professor smiles at the class as he pulls a computer out of his satchel and places it at top of the front desk. His words make her look back at the artwork, this time settling on the small signature reading El Patrón on its corner. And it’s all it takes for Y/n’s obsession with the anonymous artist to be back in full force.

                                                       ***

That night she can’t stop raving about the painting as she starts closing the bar after a long and tiresome shift. She’s got a shoulder pressing her phone to her ear, Mia on the line, while she absentmindedly sweeps the floor. Normally the exertion of the job would have her stifling yawns and her bones aching but tonight her voice is perky as ever as she recollects the pinnacle of her day, "you shoulda been there Mia, it was gorgeous. And same as last time, like you’d be minding your business, doing your thing and then boom, it’s there. Damn, this guy is a genius."

As she comes back around the counter, Harry makes sure she notices the roll of his eyes. He’s been wiping and tidying the bar space after making sure everything is stocked up for the next day, all the while listening to her drone about El Patrón and his stroke of genius, praise after praise falling from her lips. She completely brushes off the patronizing gesture and that’s perhaps what irritates him the most. She’s barely acknowledging him or his stunts with all her attention placed on the mystery painter and well, Harry quite likes riling her up. Doesn’t do it out of spite, but merely because he likes the way it ignites a fire in her that he’s seldom seen in people. But now, all her fire is directed elsewhere and he doesn’t know what to think of it.

                                                         ***

Over the next month, the rumors around El Patrón spread like wildfire as more and more of his works are found scattered around campus. Much to y/n’s delight, she always seems to fall upon them as though they’ve been placed specifically on her path. It didn’t start as obvious though; the first following pieces hung in common areas around campus such as the lunch hall or the student center but as time went by they tended to follow her whereabouts somehow. Y/n knows she’s probably fabulating but when she’d stumble across two absolutely stunning pieces in the lobby of her gym and at the entrance of the psychology building, she couldn’t help but feel deeply attached to them. And the possibility that this mystery artist might have the same attachment to her, only fuels her obsession further, sending her reeling with all but one nerve-wracking question: who is this guy?

And it’s not like she’s the only one pondering over their identity either. Hell, the genius has literally everyone on campus under their spell, trying to uncover the enigma of the year. Everyone seems to be determined to find clues, easter eggs hidden within the paintings that could lead them closer to the truth. El Patrón has effectively turned the whole uni into a large-scale game of Cluedo, people speculating left and right and swapping theories about who it can or cannot be, what year they are probably in, or whether they have an accomplice. Nobody has ever executed such a tour de force in the history of campus, and it has everyone one edge, y/n included, desperate to be in the loop.

The fact that each painting is more beautiful than the last and always seems to connect with her in personal ways doesn’t help her daydreaming either. Take the one she found at the gym for example, for a few second she’d sworn she was looking at a familiar piece of the English South Coast, dark hues of blue fighting dots of white, reminiscent of the way foam always seems to top even the most raging waves as they crash along shores. She’d only had to close her eyes to feel the wind blowing her hair in a thousand directions and the sand engulfing her feet, making its way between her toes and every crevice of her skin. She was still in the middle of her gym when she reopened them though, her sport bag straddling her shoulder as she kept gaping at the painting in adoration.

Her suspicious keeps nagging at her head, the desire to unveil the identity of her beloved artist getting stronger by the day. The feeling is almost unbearable when she spots yet another work of his across from Bottom’s Up. The coincidences keep piling up and the more she mulls it over, the more she’s convinced this mystery guy is talking to her. Damn, is it possible to have a crush on someone because of their work? After months of this cryptic scavenger hunt, she’d dying to know if all her theories are right and the fact that she has no way to find out, is positively killer her.

That’s why when she stumbles across a flyer for a midterm exhibition gala hosted by the art department as she waits in line at her favorite coffee shop, she doesn’t think twice before jotting down all the info. In a week time, most of the uni’s art students would be gathered up in one place to present their term’s work. The chances are too high for y/n to pass up the opportunity, her guts telling her he’ll be there. It makes sense doesn’t it? Surely, this El Patrón ought to be an art student if not a teacher. How else would they have access to all the campus amenities most of the paintings were found in? 

As she goes to pick up her coffee from the counter, y/n walks with a newfound spring in her steps; she really can’t wait for this gala to happen.

                                                       ***

Y/n stands at the entrance of the art building, a black floor-length long-sleeves open-back dress hugging her curves in all the right places. Her heart speeds up at the nervous jitters crawling underneath her skin, and the million question swarming her frantic mind. What if he actually doesn’t know her and doesn’t give a damn about her thoughts on his work? What if it’s actually a woman and she’s been hiding a man’s pen-name to consolidate her deceit? Is she about to make the biggest fool out of herself by coming to this exhibition? She doesn’t know anyone here, nor has she ever been to this kind of event before but she’s decided this guessing game has run its course. Maybe this all thing has nothing to do with her and that’s okay. All she really wants is to have a chance to tell this exquisite mind how remarkable their work is; the rest be damned.

Y/n slowly makes her way inside, and after a quick stop at the coat room to dispose of the unnecessary garment, she is finally greeted by a room full of dressed-up people roaming  and chatting around, champagne flutes in hands. How cliche, she thinks with humor, before picking up a glass of the bubbly beverage. It’ll help sooth the nerves, she reasons as she starts walking around the place to observe each of the displays. Despite not having had a glimpse of her number-one painter yet, she finds herself having a good time. Most of the work offered to her is engaging in one way or another; some pieces quite provocative is their depiction, others straight out pushing the limits of 2D, with structures coming out of the canvas as though they were about to grip at the viewer. 

Turning at a corner, she comes across his art before she sees him, having almost forgotten art was supposedly his thing too, and she realizes she actually knew someone here apart from the mysterious painter. She takes a brief look at his tall frame, the baby blue suit over his crisp white shirt fitting him perfectly. A black tie is completing the look, and it makes y/n waver for a second. She’s never seen him dressed in anything other than jeans and the bar’s t-shirt every employee is supposed to wear on call. Granted, even that he can make work better than anyone else she can think of, but that suit is something else altogether. 

Her eyes shifts back to his work, not wanting to waste too much time on his appearance; she is here on a mission after all. She can’t deny his painting is good as much as she wants too. It’s made of a perfectly executed optic illusion that has her pause for longer than she intended to. The colors are picked wisely only adding to the entrancing design, tempting the viewer to reach out to the painting to convince themselves that this is fact a pretty subterfuge and no reality; the frontier between both worlds much too hard to distinguish. Just like for the rest of the exhibition, a single plaque hangs underneath the canvas, introducing the title of the piece above the name of its artist: Fine Line by Harry Styles. Damn, the bastard had to be talented…

"Is it as depthless as you thought it would be?" A hoarse voice interrupts her inner thoughts. She knows it’s his at the first word and already she regrets ever thinking positive things about him.

"Funny, I would have shared a compliment but you just had to go and open your stupid mouth," she bites back as she fully turns around to face him. She can feel is eyes shamelessly scanning her body, sending her nerves on overdrive. She wants this exchange to be as curt as possible, she’s got important matters to tend to.

"Here for you mysterious bloke, I presume?" he inquires in a taunting voice.

"What’s it to you, anyway?" y/n dodges the question with another, hoping it’ll steer the conversation toward its end.

She’s answered by rosy pouting lips, a hand on his heart in faux vexation, "ouch, was just hopin’ you’d come to see me, and now you’ve just crushed my dreams, love."

The pet-name is not lost on her and Y/n has had enough. In own gulp she downs the rest of her champagne and forces the glass to his chest for him to hold as she makes her way past him, "just leave me alone and go be a pain in someone else’s ass, Harry." She doesn’t wait to see if he’s following her as she marches across the room in long and purposeful strides. 

Something in the corner of her eyes catches her attention right then. Halting abruptly, almost making someone walk right into her, she turns her head to the side and that’s when she finally sees it. A whole part of the wall has been dedicated to his work, a shrine of his most outstanding pieces randomly hung against the white surface. Y/n recognizes each and every one of them, but then her eyes take in the extra work added for the exhibition: next to each of the pieces are displayed a bunch of photos capturing the students’ expressions as they first discovered the paintings. Dozens of faces lighting up in amazement, widening eyes and finger pointing at the unexpected intrusions; some show confusion and puzzlement while others simply behold laughter and animated conversation.

In the center of the wall, a video is projected. It’s a compilation of those same moments but this time captured on tape. The sound was removed, but as y/n takes in the faces of her fellow students she can almost hear the sound of their laughters; she’d been there for most of it after all. She thinks the idea is amazing, El Patrón has managed to make the viewer a permanent part of the art. The paintings are marvelous of course, full of emotions and passion, but the mysterious artist has gone one step further by also displaying how those emotions had reflected back on the audience. It is an ode to art, to the power of sharing, and proves art is limitless; not owned by museums, not bound between walls and certainly not restricted for trained-eyes only. Because art isn’t all about beauty, it speaks for the need for sharing that human have but often forget, and this is a perfect reminder of it.

The next tape playing has her eyes doubling over the video, a small gasp escaping her lips as she takes in her own figure. It was taken the day she found the painting at the gym and unlike all the other videos she’s alone. No group of students by her side elbowing her in disbelief, or sharing a puzzle look with her. Just her doe eyes gleaming at the painting, lips slightly parted in pure wonder, as she studies every inch of the canvas. And the feeling that this might mean just as much to him as it does to her comes back crashing on her. She’s not paranoid; this artist his using her as some kind of inspiration, she’s sure of it. Random cannot be this accurate, it would defy any laws of statistics. 

After the slideshow finally moves on to the next video, y/n looks around in the hopes of finding the man that has wormed his way into her heart. She’s imagined it a thousand times over during the past week. A young man would be discretely standing on the side, watching the evening pan out and waiting for her to find his work. Then they would make eye contact and he’d make his way over to greet her and share more of his beautiful mind with her. That’s the happily ever after she’s hoped for since that first painting in the library, but alas everyone around her seems to be engrossed in conversation about this and that. 

"I thought he would be there too," the unexpected voice makes her jump. She recognizes the student from that first day, she’d also be intrigued by the mysterious man.

"I know, all of his work is here, he has to somewhere around," y/n tries to convince herself. She hasn’t given up yet, she won’t let herself unless she goes home tonight empty-handed. Only after that will she stop searching, she promises herself. If he doesn’t show up tonight, then that’s because he doesn’t want to be found.

The girl next to her has the same disappointed tone when she explains, "you’d think so, but I’ve been asking everyone around and nobody has a clue still."

Before y/n can come up with her own rationalizations, someone starts speaking in a microphone, asking for everyone’s attention. It’s a man in his early fifties making a speech about the whole reason behind the exhibition so y/n pegs him as the head of the art department. "Thank you all for coming tonight, it is always a pleasure to see so many of you supporting our young talents. As you may know, tonight’s exhibition signs off our students’ final work for the semester, and will also see one of them receive a one-time collaboration with a renown art gallery in the city. Now, before the judges finish deliberating, let me tell you a bit about the topic of this exhibition which, by the way, serves as the main criteria for this contest. Our artists were asked to work around audience engagement and crowd reaction. The task was to produce art that would prompt an active response from the viewer and go beyond a passive experience. I hope this info helps this event take all its sense, I’ll let you all meander for a couple more minutes before we announce the winner. Thank you for your presence." 

Since she has a couple more of minutes, y/n decides to take advantage of the fresh insight she was just given about the artwork and goes around the exhibition one more time. The whole thing does take on a new meaning, now that she knows what was going one in the students’ mind as they first got their assignment. But what has her in awe really, is El Patrón’s coup de maître in all of this, because unlike any other applicant here tonight, he’s had the strongest reactions from the public for months now and had even documented it. So really, in a way he’s already won, no bias to blame. The amount of work and planning behind such a tour de force surely has exceeded everyone’s expectations and secured the number-one position for the still-to-be-revealed artist. In the pocket, as they say.

"Alright everyone, without further ado we are going to announce the lucky talent selected by the judges tonight," the head of department speaks up again. "On behalf of the whole department, I would like to salute each and every one of the students that presented their work tonight. Skills are certainly not scarce among you all, and as always it gives me great pleasure to see you all grow into yourselves alongside your craft. As you know, there can only be one of you coming up to this stage tonight and I must say, this semester has proved to be full of surprises. Never in my 26 years working here have I ever seen something of the sort, so ladies, gentleman, I have no idea who is about to join me now, but please give a warm round of applause for El Patrón!" 

The room explodes in loud cheers as people clap their hands in honor of the mysterious artist. Y/n probably the loudest amongst them all, is still craning her neck in every possible directions trying to catch sight of anyone moving towards the stage. The standing ovation quickly fades into silence as everyone realizes nobody is coming to claim their prize. The usual hushing following any of El Patrón’s stunts is once again spreading across the room to match people’s incredulity at the situation. It was one thing to keep their identity a secret, as it was clearly a crucial condition for the plan to work, but now that it is all over and done, prize ready for the taking, it doesn’t make much sense.

"Mister El Patrón? I think you more than deserve to drop your mask and receive your prize," the host reiterates in hopes that the much awaited artist comes out of his lair, but he’s met with the same result. Perhaps he’s not here after all, or perhaps y/n was right to think he might not want to be found, but regardless a strong feeling of disappointment takes over a body. He won’t be coming, she knows. No matter how many times the host calls for him, he won’t be coming. 

She lets out a long sign in frustration then, she really thought tonight was the tonight. But now that the evening is coming to its end, tears pearl at the corner of her eyes and she just wants to go home and forget all about El Patrón. Aren’t artists supposed to be dark and twisted anyway? Maybe she just dodges a bullet, she tries to make herself feel better, but no amount of sarcasm can save her from the painful pinch at her heart. As she comes to term with the fact she won’t get any more answers by staying (and possible ever), she decides it’s her cue to go. 

On her way to the exit, her eyes fall upon Harry’s slightly hunched figure. He seems deep in his thoughts, eyes fixed towards the floor though he’s not looking at anything in particular. For some unknown reason, y/n is not irked by his presence like she usually is. He’s just lost a great career opportunity so his preoccupied disposition is understandable. Feeling as though she needs to end the night on a different note - whether positive is yet to be determined - she approaches him slowly as not to startle him. "Your painting is really good. I’m sorry you didn’t win, but you should still be proud," she softly tells him to cheer him up. At least, one of them might get to go home in higher spirits. 

He looks up at her then, curls bouncing on top of his head, as he aligns his two glistening emeralds to her own gems. He seems quite surprised to hear her voice, probably rightfully so since he can count on one hand (scratch that, one finger) the number of times she’s actively sought him out for conversation. She can tell he’s debating whether to say something or not, as they keep their eyes locked. It’s probably the longest and only civil exchange they’ve ever had, and somehow it manages to soothe some of her sorrows. 

Y/n likes this reflective side of him, she realizes. Not that she wishes him any torments (at least not tonight) but his quietness makes him look vulnerable in that beautifully human way for once. That’s twice he’s proven her wrong about the assumptions she had on him, tonight: first his talent, now his character; she doesn’t know what to make of it. Silently, she accepts the timid smile and light nod he offers her in gratitude, before making her way to out at last.

                                                       ***

Two days after the night of the exhibition, y/n still has a hard time to let her grievance go. Her mood has yet to upgrade from crappy at best, and the fact that all the artwork has been removed from their previous spots is not helping much. Of course she knew they had been put down for the big night, but her heart still missed a beat when she went to the gym only to find the walls of the lobby bare of any craft that would liven up their otherwise dull and colorless structure. Just like her state of mind, she’d joked. And y/n is not one to throw pity parties, especially to herself; but then again, she’d never fallen under the charms of a faceless virtuoso because his art brought to life parts of her that she’d believed otherwise dormant, only to be metaphorically stood up at the end of the process. So really, what does she know anymore?

Now that she’s back at work, she revels in the constant effort she has to provide. The ever-growing list of task to complete gives her mind reprieve and focus, but she still hasn’t budged from her unusually distant and withdrawn self. Even harry’s own standoffishness hasn’t caught her attention; a week ago, his awkward demeanor would have flashed red flags all over her radar. An unfiltered narcissistic prick he could be, but y/n has never known him to be anything even resembling reserve; apart maybe from that one fate-less night not even 72 hours ago when she found him on the outskirts of the attention even though she knew full well that he is more of center kind of guy.

As they’re about to start closing, the awkwardness becomes more palpable by the second. They’ve skirted around it during the whole shift, the steady solicitation of customers enough to ignore the growing tension; but as the last of the patrons finally make their way out of the bar, an eery silence settles in their wake, making them both want to crawl out of their skin. Even the heavy-served drinks they’ve indulged in, despite the absence of their respective motives, hasn’t help assuage the strain between them. Instead, they start their usual routine in overrated silence, y/n in charge of the floor while he tends to the bar. Then before long, Harry bursts the uncomfortable bubble they’ve locked themselves in, voice void of its usual teasing tone, "so, what’s got you so grumpy?" he inquires.

"Please don’t start, Harry. I really can’t be bothered tonight," y/n sighs in response, failing to recognize the note of concern in his question and thinking she wouldn’t survive another bickering session. It hasn’t been the lad’s intention though, so her false accusation has his thick skin itching against his will. To be honest, Harry’s never taken much offense from any of their past squabbles no matter how hard she’d come at him, but this one he can’t brush off. Not when for once, he’s trying to be decent, dropping the attitude he knows rubs her the wrong way and she responds by telling him to get lost.

"Fuck sake, I wasn’t tryin’ to start anythin’" he berates her for lashing out unjustifiably, "you need to take a chill pill." The hostile reaction as her pausing mid-swipe in the middle of the room. He was always so unbothered by everything she said, she hasn’t expected him to be so hard on the defensive (or even know what a defensive is in the first place). 

Still, she doesn’t appreciate the same chastising tactic he’s used on her countless times, especially because given his serious temper, she knows he means it for real now. "Oh I’m sorry Harry, I didn’t know what sympathy actually sounds like coming from your mouth," she quips back in sarcasm. 

The response makes him livid, "you tell me I’m a jerk every chance you got, but you sure know how to be a bitch, y/n" he spats before finishing wiping the counter. As his hand reaches the end of the surface, he finds his half-empty glass of tequila, most of the ice completely melted through the amber liquor by now. He takes one long sip in a vain attempt to calm his nerves but the alcohol merely tingles the back of his palate and warms its way down his stomach. His mind is still burden with frustrations he doesn’t know how to alleviate; the end of term, the exhibition, his career’s future, and y/n’s stubborn nature all wreaking havoc in his tired brain.

"Shut the fuck up, Harry. I didn’t ask for your attention," y/n retorts, trying not to expose how bruised her heart is. While he’d mocked her plenty during the past two years, he’d never resorted to calling her names, unlike her; so the insult does more damage than she’s willing to admit, even coming from Harry. And to think she’d thought of him as a half decent being not three days ago…

"Right, I forgot only anonymous bastards are worthy enough of your attention," he replies before checking the shelves behind the bar to make sure they’re stocked enough for the next shift. "And even when they turn out to be cowards, you still choose them over the people that are actually around you. You need to open your eyes and wake up, it’s pathetic."

Y/n has almost finished cleaning her area but at this point, she’s ready to call it quits and run as fast as she can, away from him. "Go fuck yourself, you don’t know anything you’re talking about," she manages to croak past her swelling throat and quivering lips. The man in front of her is breaking her heart even though he’s never had it in his calloused hands, and y/n doesn’t know why. 

"Fuck this, ’m done," he quite literally throws in the towel, leaving it in a bowl on the counter before making his way back to his drink. In a swift movement, he grabs the bottle of tequila to pour himself a new one. "You keep blindly mopin’ about your precious painter, I don’t care, you’re probably right anyway," he says before chugging the bitter spirit in one go and slamming the bottle of tequila down on the counter in a loud bang that has y/n jump in fear. "I don’t anything about bloody anything," is all Harry says as he locks eyes with hers, before making his out of the bar, not bothering to put the bottle back to its rightful place.

Y/n is still trembling from the exchange, and it takes her a hot minute before she can finish what she was doing. As she resumes wiping the floor with shaky hands, she tries to even her breath out. Why had he been so hurtful? What could have possibly impelled him to utter such malicious words? The questions are still reeling in her mind as she twists water out of the mop  for the last time. Once the floor is spotless and all the tables are no longer sticky with spilled alcohol, chairs stacked up onto them upside-down, she makes her way back behind the bar, checking that Harry didn’t leave any of his duties unattended before his theatrical exit. She spots the bottle of tequila sitting lonely on the counter but just as she goes to reach for it, she freezes. 

It’s a cold shower pouring over her body all at once then, dots finally connected as her eyes read over the label of the fat bottle she’s seen him take out of the stack countless times before. Everything that happened for the last few months falls into place and suddenly there is no mystery left to be solved. ‘You’re probably right, I don’t know anything about bloody anything’ Harry’s final words keep playing on a maddening loop in her head. 

Y/n takes in the small bee design printed under what is unmistakably the last piece of the puzzle she’s been craving to complete: one word that has her stomach churning in a myriad of emotions she can’t possibly untangle. Anger, relief, surprise, fear, curiosity, warmth and more, are all rushing through her in one colossal wave, because printed on that bottle in black capital letters is the brand of Harry’s favorite drink: Patrón.

                                                       ***

The next day, y/n navigates through her classes purely on autopilot mode. She doesn’t quite remember picking the floral blouse nor the light-shade pair of jeans she’s wearing, and barely recalls the brief conversation she had with an old lady during her bus commute to campus. One thing she sure as hell hasn’t paid one iota of attention to, is the behavioral psychology class she’s just got out of. Two hours she spent pacing up and down every twist and turn of her mind only to come out more lost than she’d started. Add to that the fact she’s running on 4 hours of sleep, she’s quite simply a recipe for disaster. Fortunately for y/n, she isn’t due at work tonight, having called sick this morning, because sleep-deprivation aside, she still has no idea how she’s supposed to face Harry.

The revelation of the night prior is still something she has trouble wrapping her mind around, as it goes against every constructed opinion she’s made about her life. Harry is Patrón, she’s pretty sure. Harry, the allegedly conceited asshole she’s been bickering with since their first minute spent together, is the mind-blowing painter that had taken residence in y/n’s heart since the first time she set eyes on his art. The two characters have yet to fully merge into one in her mind, despite the fact it makes perfect sense to her. 

The Brighton painting, the one inspiring her necklace, it was all true. And with that revelation comes two intimidating truths y/n is kind of scared to delve into: one, all this time she’s been right to think she is the muse behind this all scheme; two, if Harry is the mystery painter, that makes her Harry’s muse more specifically. And that’s the part of the equation she struggles the most with, because up until last night she was pretty positive that the twat despised her (the night in itself being prime evidence of that) but now she doesn’t know what to think.

It’s like there are two versions of Harry battling in her brain, splitting her heart in halves; the one that made her miserable at work for years and made her cry last night, and the one she’d gotten a glimpse of at the night of the exhibition. The one that hid a fully blossomed bouquet of emotions behind teasing banter to protect a diamond-rough talent that had the power to touch just about anyone’s sensibility. The one that had her wrapped around his finger in awe with that beautiful mind of his. The question is, can she or will she see this Harry the next time she’s facing him or will all their bad-blood history come crashing down on her instead? Y/n doesn’t think she’s ever fit more the definition of having mixed feelings about something.

On her way home, she makes sure she doesn’t fall asleep against the bus window, despite yawning every thirty-seconds. It feels like the trip is taking forever, she almost lets out a cry of relief when the automated voice finally announces her upcoming stop. Once she’s thanked the driver and stepped out of the bus, she’s met with a gust of brisk air, instantly blowing her hair all over her face. She draws the lapels of her coat tighter around her shivering body and starts making her way towards her apartment building. 

It doesn’t take her long to complete the walking distance to her place and tread her way up the stairs, but the sight greeting her in the hallway of her floor almost sends her down on her ass. Because right across from her door, is Harry hanging yet another one of his chefs-d’oeuvre. He’s dressed casually in his usual jeans and t-shirt ensemble, with a thick grey hoodie covering his broad upper-half in a feeble attempt to combat to cold weather raging outside. As he reaches in the back pocket of his jeans to retrieve a sharpie - no doubt to apply his trademark signature - the movements of her feet on the laminated floor catch his attention. Spinning around in a jolt of surprise, he realizes too late that he’s been caught red-handed. There was no going back this time, but he doesn’t necessarily see it as a bad thing.

There is a short moment where they are both just standing in front of each other a few feet apart, as their eyes bounce back in silent conversation, before y/n softly breaths out, "so it is you." The weight of her words has him swallow in nervousness, "of course it’s me," he replies in a gentle tone. A smile pulls at his lips when he realizes she’s not running for the hills or bursting out in a furious rant. 

"I just…how? why? I mean, you gotta help me understand Harry, cause I’m pretty fucking lost over here," she blurts out with wide doe-eyes begging him for answers. Her obvious jitters earn her a soft chuckle., and for a hot minute all he can bring himself to do is study her snuggled figure and the way she keeps fiddling with her keys. It’s so endearing to him, if they were at his place, he would have offered to make some tea. The thought has him hesitantly looking at the door across from them, "can we maybe talk inside?" he inquires, beckoning his head towards her place. "I know I haven’t given you much reasons to let me in, but I promise I’ll explain everythin’," he feels the need to convince her, " after that, you can kick me out if you still want."

The last bit has her smile timidly, "yeah, let’s go inside. I wanna hear what you have to say," y/n admits as she steps to the door and unlocks it. She’s intrigued by how gentle and well-mannered the man following her to the living room seems to be, light years away from the rowdy lad she’s come to know. 

For a second, y/n is worries about the state she’s left the apartment before she rushed to classes this morning, but her apprehensions quickly go away once she takes in the sight of her rather tidied living space. A velvety throw blanket is covering the couch in a makeshift comforter from the way she spent the night on the couch, and apart from a few class notes scattered across the coffee table, everything seems to be where it’s supposed to be. 

They both discard their top layers on the armchair adjacent to the couch, Harry slipping his hoodie off above his head in one swift gesture, while y/n simply lets the sleeves of her coat slide down her arms. He brushes his hair back into submission with one swoop of his hand, before sitting down on the couch and directing his attention back at her. She decides to leave some distance between them, taking the other end of the sofa and the move desperately makes him wonder what thoughts are running through her head. The only way to uncover them  however, is if he starts talking first; and so he does.

"So uhm," he starts clumsily, clearing his throat, "remember the first day we met, you walked in on me telling some stoner guy off," he watches closely as y/n nods. "It was our first ever conversation and we fought through the whole thing. I was pretty pissed when it happened, not gonna lie, but once I got home and slept it off, I thought it was really cool how you’d stand up for that random guy." The admission has her eyebrows raising but he keeps going, "and okay maybe, just maybe, I found it a lil hot, the way you tried to put me back in my place." 

He stops to make sure he hasn’t offended her, "tried to?" she challenges instead, Harry laughing at her objection. 

"Right, maybe you did. My poin’ is, no-one really calls me out on my bullshit, so it was kinda refreshing that you did. But then the next day, you were still mad at me, an’ we bickered that time too. It felt like you’d already made up your mind about me. So in a way, all I had left was doin’ this thing where I push your buttons and rile you up. Know it doesn’t make sense, but it was the only way you’d interact with me so I kept doin’ it, because being jerk-Harry was better than having nothin’." 

He pauses for a minute and waits as y/n swallows all the information. All this time he’s been teasing her just to have some sort of connection, no matter how perverse, while she thought he just hated her guts. When she shares this thought with him, he shakes his head with a smile, "never hated you. If I ‘ad, I wouldn’t have bothered talking t’you."

Suddenly, her chest feels lighter, as though all this months of anguish had evaporated from her mind, now that she knew their rocky relationship was the result of miscommunication, "sound logic, Styles," she replies in good humor. Then she remembers the El Patrón’s fiasco so she urges him to go on.

"My final. Right. Well as you know, we were given the assignment at the beginning of the semester, and I came up with the idea of creating this alter ego that would plant his work around campus. I thought by taking people’s by surprise I was guaranteed strong genuine reactions. People are always more opened when they don’t expect it. Like if I had just brought my paintings on the night of the exhibition, the same people wouldn’t have reacted that way, probably because they’d know they’d be observed so they would have adjusted their behavior accordingly." They both know he’s getting slightly off trail, but watching y/n so enthralled with his words makes it hard for him to stop. Fact is, for month she’s dreamed of meeting and picking at the brain of this mysterious painter, and now that he’s sitting on her couch, walking her through his thought process, she finally feels like she is. 

"Anyway," he resumes the storytelling, "I started with that painting in the library and it worked so perfectly, I knew if I followed the plan I would have somethin’ really good. But then you just had to go on an’ rave about the paintings without knowing they were mine, and it was killin’ me inside. Because I knew if there was a real chance I could change your mind about me, I’d do anythin’. But no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t tell you. Couldn’t jeopardize my final… so I tried to tell you through the art. I started painting stuff that made me think of you and placed the pieces in locations I knew you’d pass through. It was the only way I could tell you."

Harry’s confession had Y/n’s heart beating so hard in her chest, she can almost feel it thumping through her ears. Her next question is on the edge of her lips, but she takes her time tracing each of Harry’s graceful features until his eyes catch hers, "tell me what, Harry?" she asks barely above a whisper. 

His response comes in three bashful steps: first his lips curve into a shy grin that has him look down with rosy cheeks; then his hand inches its way along the soft fabric of the couch to gently hold her fingers, thumb grazing over her knuckles; and as he looks up from their joined hands to connect their gaze once more, he finally spells it, loud and clear, "tell you that I like you, y/n." 

The sentiment sends her own emotions reeling in a tornado of passion. This is it, this is what she’s been half-knowingly wishing for, and now that she knows the truth in full, she’s ready to embrace it. Her eyes twinkle in bliss, a growing smile illuminating her face as she squeezes his hand in a silent invitation to slide closer to her. Harry is much happy to oblige, and once he’s sitting directly next to her, knees grazing her own, he cups her face with one of his bear-paw hands. A few strands of hair are caught in the cuddling gesture, but none of them care. Harry just keeps smiling at her, waiting for her next move, and his beam grows two sizes wide when she mirrors his affection. "I like this side of you," she whispers fondly, as her thumb draws slow circles across the skin of his cheeks.

Harry closes his eyes at her words, "this is the real me, I promise," he reassures in an almost pleading tone, vulnerability seeping through. And y/n feels like she’s lying down on cloud nine really, because dropping his fortress of pretentiousness is all she’s ever want from him. With a hushed ‘okay’, she finally brings her mouth to taste the rose-tinted flesh of his. It starts off chaste and slow, lips dovetailed in perfect symbioses like they are made to cohabit, but quickly the kiss heats up to a full on make out session. "Show me, then", y/n mutters out when they part for a breather.

Harry slowly nods his head, before helping her straddle his lap and y/n immediately brings both her hands to his neck once she settles her hips against his. The friction already had them deeply inhale, trying not to work themselves up too fast, but Harry doesn’t think he’ll have much self-control when it comes to y/n. Already he can feel his cock fattening up inside his brief, the tingling sensation making him roll his hips up into hers. Their lips are back in a sensual duel, tongues tentatively taking their turn to lick their way inside the other’s mouth. Every now and then, he teases her bottom lip with a graze of his teeth, and the move as her tugging the root of his hair at the back of his head every single time without a fail.

He loves discovering all the quirks and tells of her body, thinks he could spend hours on hand learning every single one of her curves and memorizing each of her special spots. The smell of her fragrance infiltrates his nostrils as he dips his head to her neck to plant open-month kisses along her skin. Head angled towards the ceiling to make room for his ministrations, y/n can’t do much but let her hands scout any expanse of skin accessible to her. She starts at his shoulder, squeezing the flesh to feel out the strong muscle laying underneath, before making her way down his tone arms, then to his hands currently holding onto to her waist. She gives them an affectionate pinch at the same time she presses down onto him with a deep moan, and Harry retaliates with a buck of his own. 

As he starts kissing down the exposed skin of her cleavage, y/n finally drops her head to place a tender kiss to his hairline. One of her hand is back at his neck, holding him firmly to her chest as he licks at the valley of her breasts down her sternum. The other worms its way underneath his shirt from the neckline, nails grazing down his back in soft enough pressure not to leave any marks.

Harry’s descent is obstructed by the soft material of her blouse, so he takes the garment off of her in one swoop, and places his hands back on her newly exposed body, rubbing up and own the skin. As his mouth goes back to the supple flesh of her breasts, y/n increases the pace of her hips grinding on his cock. The sensations seem to be not enough and too much at the same time for her; the heavy material still covering their most sensitive parts in the way of her pleasure, while Harry’s work has her going into overdrive under his velveteen mouth and calloused fingers. She starts kissing her way up from his shoulder to the edge of his jaw, and Harry revels in the sound of her moans tickling his ear. 

Done with the excess of fabric between them two, y/n grips at the top of his shirt and pulls it upwards, leaving him shirtless. "Fuck, I didn’t know you have so many tattoos," she babbles against his lips, while her hands smooth over the ink. 

"Plenty you don’t know about me, love," Harry chirps as he bask in the praise and the feeling of her skin of his. 

He then circles one arm around her waist to bring them chest to chest, and the contact has y/n once again intensify the friction between their crotches. "Wanna find out," she murmurs against his neck while she grinds on his clothed member, "Harry, please take me to bed."

He jolts at the quick bite she delivers to his neck, the impish gesture her way of saying ‘now’ but before she can make her way out of his lap to bring him to her room, he presses her back down with both hands on her waist. "Nuh uh, y’not goin’ anywhere. Want you to come once, b’fore I take you to bed, pet," he says, smoothing his hands over her ass to guide her rocking motions. The term of endearment sounds so innocent yet dirty all at once, it sends a chill down her spine. Nobody had called her that before.

"Can’t," she shakes her head, "can’t feel you through the jeans."  

"Alright then, stand up," he calmly asserts and she doesn’t hesitate to comply, standing in between his spread legs, in her flimsy bra and jeans. "Take ‘em off then, ’s what you want no?" he sends her a tantalizing look and bites at his lips as he watches her peel the pants off her legs. He can’t help the light squeeze he gives himself through his own jeans, as y/n stands in front of him awaiting his next instructions. "Come sit on my thigh now, think should be enough to make this pretty pussy tingle in all the right places, no?" 

Y/n’s insides are already twisting in a knot as she settles back on his lap and lets the rough material of his jeans against the softness of her cotton panties spread a prickling sensation through her pelvis area. Quickly, she resumes undulating her hips, gripping back at Harry’s neck to pull him in a languid kiss, pleasure vibrating against their lips. It is not long before her pace picks up, and her eyes shut at the intensity of her bliss. "That’s it, pet. Already makin’ a mess of me. You’re doin’ so well," he coaxes her with his words. 

As promised, y/n feels the lips of her sensitivity start to throb at her impending release, the sensation making her clamp her thighs tighter around his meaty limb. As her knee now presses against his bulge, Harry cries his sudden pleasure out in her mouth, and that’s all it takes for her to let her orgasm consume her. She unravels on top of him, one of her hands shooting to cup at her pussy in an attempt to quell the overwhelming throb. Harry draws soothing caresses down her back as he look at the sticky mess she’s left in her panties, damp patch matching the one tainting the material of his jeans. "All ruined, just as they should be," he smirks at the sight before giving her a sweet kiss. 

Flushed skin and blown pupils, she slowly regains her breath, "take off your pants and take me to bed now?" she requests.

"You’re quite demanding for someone who’s just gotten off," he keeps taunting her. After all, winding her up has always been one of his favorite thing to do, and dare he say in the past two years, he’s gotten quite good at pushing her buttons. Now he’s got new ones to figure out and play with, the thoughts has him pulsing in his jeans. 

Y/n doesn’t relent in her advances, she’s never been one to bow at his mockery, "thought you like how bossy I could be. Something about the way I put you in your place, if my memory serves right." 

"Anytime, anywhere, you’re the boss of me, love. But this," he cups at her cunt, adding pressure on her clit, "this is mine to have. Understood?" 

Y/n’s about to combust from all the desire firing up every one of her nerve-endings. His words might be the strongest aphrodisiac she’s ever experienced, she can’t wait to see what more tricks in has up his sleeves. "Now get up and show me the way to your room, pet," he softly commands before leaving a peck on her cheek. 

They both get up from the couch, and y/n guides them both down the hallway to her room, her hand wrapped in his tightly. Once they’re standing by the bed, Harry is surprised to face a patient y/n, biting her lips and awaiting his next directive. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more turned on in his life, "undress me, love" he murmurs against her skin after kissing her forehead. 

His jeans are quickly discarded but before his boxer briefs follow suit, y/n can’t help but tease him in reprisal, "looks like I’m not the only one who made a mess in their panties." 

He lets out a boisterous laugh while she smears open mouth kisses along his stretching jaw, "mmm, I’d rather make a mess somewhere else," his innuendo causing her to gasp while he works the strap of her bra.  Once she’s gotten rid of his last piece of clothing, his cock springs up, free of it’s confines, dollop of pre-come already pearling at his tip, and sticking to the skin of his stomach. 

With a gentle grip at her hair, he has y/n’s head tilted backward, to let his mouth make its way towards her already pebbled nipples. Since she can’t look down, y/n blindly reaches out to wrap her hand around Harry’s thick shaft and starts massaging him in languid strokes. "Your hand feels so fuckin’ good around me, pet, I wanna fuck you so badly," he hisses around her nipple, before kissing his way back up to her lips. 

He starts backing her towards the bed in small steps, but she brings a hand to his chest at the feeling of the edge of the mattress brushing against the back of her knee, "wait, wait, wanna taste you first," she insists and Harry doesn’t think he could ever say no to that face, no matter how much he wants to just sink home inside of her in this moment. 

"Fuck, you’re killin’ me, love," he pinches at her waist and lays his forehead against hers, "you want my cock in your pretty mouth, before I drive it home in your cunt, is that it?" She nods, eyes turning into two lustful fireballs. "Okay, love, but y’ can’t keep it on your tongue fo’ too long, cause I really need to fuck you, alright?"

Y/n hastens to lower herself when he bids her "right then, on your knees and open wide fo’ me," and her brows furrow in confusion as she watches him stray from her spot. Picking up a plush cushion from her bed, he places it on the ground for her to knee upon, "there love, want you to be comfortable," he runs his fingers through her hair, and her heart grows three sizes bigger at how tender he can be in amidst his filthy ways. 

Sensually, y/n brings her lips around the crown of his cock, her tongue teasing its way across the salty skin. Once she’s licked up all the previous mess, she starts working her way down his cock, hand stroking at the base. After bopping up and down a few time, she removes her month from his swelling cock, and lets a string of spit fall down onto its head and make its way to his balls. "S’right, pet. Get me wet," Harry rasps in appreciation. Now that she’s got him properly slicked, she goes back to pumping his hardening cock and takes him into her warm inviting mouth, determined to have him all the way inside. She feels her throat expands to accommodate his thickness, and the pressure makes Harry tighten his hold in her hair, "fuck, that’s it, love. Take me good." 

Muscles already tensing up in preparation for his climax, when y/n’s hand finds his full and swollen balls to roll them together like dice, he is quick to calm her zeal, "Christ pet, you gotta stop before I can’t help myself," but his tone hardens when she defies his demand, "come on now, s’enough." 

Once she pulls off, the sight of her flushed face and puffy lips induces an animalistic groan to come out from his chest, as he thumbs through the wetness coating her chin. Taking the hand resting on his hip to guide her up, he captures her lips in a searing kiss, the taste of his arousal blending in their mouths. 

His hands come down to knead at the flash of her ass, before he scoops her up and on the bed with a quick flex of his biceps. "Harry, please," she whines in impatience, hands gripping at his sides to pull him down against her. His rock hard cock slides against her clothed pussy, pins and needles cruising along their skin and only fueling their eagerness. 

"Need me in your belly, pet?" Harry keeps working her up, as he slides her soiled panties down her legs, "need me to fuck you so good, you forget I was ever a jerk?" 

She’s putty in his hold, legs wrapping around his waist to feel the pressure of his member on her bare lips , "yes, yes, I wan’ it," she pleads.

Harry would love to tease her further, have her writhing and proper begging underneath him, but at this point it would be self-torture to even consider. Instead he pumps at his shaft to give himself some relief, their sex so close his knuckles graze at her clit every time his fist comes at the top. "You ready?" Harry utters softly while spreading and skimming her cleft with the head of his cock. It has y/n gripping at his hair, a series of delirious ‘yes’ tumbling form her mouth, so he doesn’t wait a second more to push his tip past her threshold and begins his descent in her warmth. "Fuck, t’feels so good. So wet, and tight, and warm," he thinks out loud once he’s stuffer her full, balls pressing against her ass.

Y/n whimpers against his lips, urging him to start moving to quell the building pressure coiling in her belly. A slow roll of his hips finally gives her reprieve causing her to moan in gratitude. She’s already so close, it baffles her how this man could have her coming apart at the seams without doing much. His thrusts starts gaining zeal then, betraying his own yearning to take the final leap. "So tight, love. Can feel you squeezin’ me, are you close already? Is my girl gonna cum fo’ me again?" he grunts in her ear while he pounds into her dripping cunt. Y/n doesn’t offer a response, too caught up in a daze of bliss, but her clenching muscles is all the answer he needs to start nudging his thumb at her clit. A several flicks across the sensitive bud later, her orgasm is pulsing through every bone and fiber of her body, walls hugging Harry’s cock so tight, it has to pause his hammering. 

Waiting for her to catch her breath, he peppers delicate kisses along her cheek, "was that good, love? Think you can give me another, uhm?" he asks when she’s regained some of her senses. The pressure at his groin is growing more and more the longer his cock remains unmoving entombed within her vice, and the luscious agony must be written all over his face, "yes, Harry, wanna be good for you" y/n cups his jaw tenderly. 

He nods at her approval, "good girl," delivers a sweet earnest kiss to her pouty lips as he pulls out and spins her around to lay on her stomach. His hand brushes the hair off her skin so he can sew a string of kisses at her shoulder blades and neck. Painfully red, his cock is propped between her buttcheeks, "can I take you like that?" he punctuates his inquiry by rolling his hips backward, tip lingering at her soaked entrance. Y/n clutches the sheets firmly, as she murmurs a faint ‘please’, back arching at the thrills consuming her mind. 

Harry plunges in her wet core in one smooth swing, hand digging at her hip to keep her steady as the other one interlaces with hers to lay on the mattress above her head. Unforgiving lunges have y/n cinch around him, face buried in the sheets and muffling salacious wails of pleasure, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to steer from his end for much longer. He slows his cadence to steady and firm strokes, slipping a hand around her waist to polish her swell. 

A million tremors spark off the onset of Y/n’s climax as she shudders in a firework of ecstasy. Harry  doesn’t relent until he’s worked her through completion and can no longer stop the coil in his loins from snapping. His release fills her in several spurts of wet warmth before he flops down next to her, positively fucked out.

They both lay unmoving in comfortable bliss for a few minutes, before y/n plops her head on his chest and an arm around his torso, her leg sneaking in between his. "Well, here goes two years of sexual tension," Harry says jokingly, fingers drawing abstracts design on the skin of her back. It might just be his favorite canvas to paint on from now, he muses before chastising himself at the onslaught of filthy thoughts tagging along. A playful slap on his abdomen takes his mind out of the gutter, "don’t ruin the moment," y/n says in fake admonition before placing a tender kiss on the spot she just abused. 

"M’sorry, love. M’just really chuffed to be in your bed finally," the last word reminding her that while she’s struggled to come to term with her feelings for him, ransacking her mind for a possible change of heart, he’d only seen her in but one light. The revelation still has her floored and giddy, "can I ask you something?" she asks as there was still one question pacing back and forth the pathways of her mind. Harry hums in acquiescence, "anythin’ love, by brain is yours."  

She feels his hand cradling her skull followed by a small peck to her forehead, and she smiles at the gesture, "why did you stay away that night at the exhibition when you got the prize? Why not coming forward?" It’s been bugging her brain since it happened. Although she didn’t have much insight on anything at the time, most of the pieces of the puzzle fell in place after the big reveal; but this, she still can’t make sense of.

Harry lets out a long breath, organizing his thoughts, "two reasons," he starts off tiredly. "One, I kinda like having this secret business going on, and like, as long as nobody knows, I am in control of how and when it happens, you know? And the moment I let go of that, I can’t go back." He searches her face for any hint of confusion but she’s just patiently listening. "Two, when we bumped into each other at the gala, I got convinced you’d never see me differently regardless of how good a painter I was; and that had become a big part of who El Patrón was." 

It’s the first time she hears his alter ego’s name from his mouth and with how flowingly natural it sounded coming out of his lips, y/n suspects that it’d been a conscious decision on his part. She recalls their interaction that night, the way they fell in their usual ways of ping-ponging vindictive words until one of them has enough and leaves the premises (usually y/n). A lump starts forming in her throat at the recollection of all the other fights they’ve had and how they’d all been pointless wastes of time and energy, now that she knows she is meant to be in his arms. She wishes things could have been different but the warmth of his body around her overweighs her regrets. They’re here now, looking bright toward the future, and it’s all that matters.

"I’ll keep your secret if you want, be the Lilly to your Hannah Montana," she tells him lightly before they both laugh at the silly reference. 

Happiness and glee has Harry tightening his hold around her shoulder, "nah, I don’t wanna play double-agents anymore. I wanna be the guy who gets the girl." He dips his head to catch her lips between his own, reveling in their newfound intimacy. Turning her face against his chest, Y/n impresses her bashful smile on his swallow-tattooed skin, before she lays a trail of pecks tickling the area underneath his armpits, "well, you got me now."

➪ Masterlist

[spaceorphan18]

Head Over Feet (2/14)

After Kurt and Blaine broke up the second time, they went their separate ways, living their separate lives in New York City. Fifteen years later, a retirement party brings them back together into each other’s orbit, with surprising, for both of them, consequences. Are they able to fit each other into their already complicated and messy lives? And are these newfound feelings real? Or just echoes of a past relationship?

Canon Divergent after Season 5.

Ao3 Link

A/N: Since the first chapter seemed to be such a huge hit - I'm dropping this today. This was all originally supposed to be the first chapter anyway! Going forward, I'm going to try to update once a month. Thanks for reading - and I hope you enjoy! :)

Thanks to @snarkyhag for the beta. :)

***

Chapter 2: Loser Like Me (Part Two) 

Kurt Hummel loves sex.  He loves the feeling of strong hands holding his body, rough lips against his skin, and a hard cock buried deep within him.  And that morning he had woken up feeling particularly horny.  He isn’t sure what exactly he had been dreaming about but his dick aches to be touched.  And luckily he shares his bed with a very hot guy who doesn’t mind taking care of it for him.  

He and Ian have been together a little over a year now, though this moving in together thing is new and still taking time to get used to.  Sex, however, is not an adjustment they need to make.  Ian doesn’t seem to mind Kurt waking him up with a hand on his cock, desperate to be fucked.  Ian might be a little slow to wake, but not long after they start, Ian’s already pulling Kurt to a quick orgasm; Kurt spilling all over Ian’s fist as Ian pumps his hips into Kurt from behind.  

The thing is, as much as Kurt loves sex, he’s not one to draw it out.  Kurt finds himself holding steady onto the bed frame, staring at the wallpaper, as Ian takes his time fucking him.  And the wallpaper is incredibly ugly.  Seriously.  He knows that Ian isn’t the one to have picked it out, but it’s a striped puke-green, burnt-orange, and tacky-gold, left over, most likely, from a renovation to the old building from the sixties.  It’s a travesty that it’s remained on the wall so long, and if Ian would just fucking come already, he wouldn’t be forced to stare at it for so long.  

Kurt fucks his hips back a little, hoping that Ian will pick up the pace.  He leans back for a kiss (that wallpaper is seared forever in his head, god) and gives out a little moan.  It’s a tiny bit performative, but it seems to do the trick, and Ian’s hips finally begin to snap, pushing him to his own orgasm.  

“Fuck, Kurt, I could wake up this way every day for forever,” Ian says, sucking a kiss to his shoulder.  

The word ‘forever’ echoes in Kurt’s brain uncomfortably.  Kurt turns in Ian’s arms, quieting him with a kiss.  “Happy to oblige.”

Ian goes in to deepen the kiss, but Kurt pulls away.  Now that he’s feeling a bit satisfied, he wants nothing more than to take a shower and get ready for the day.  He’s got about a thousand things to do, and he’s eager to get started.  Ian tries to keep him close -- he’s always wanting to make out after sex -- but Kurt manages to slip out of Ian’s light grasp.  

“Shower time,” Kurt says, wiggling his eyebrows.  

“Mmm, let me join you.”

The thought suddenly makes Kurt twitch but he tries not to show it.  What is wrong with him? His incredibly handsome boyfriend, with his disheveled dark hair and playfully pleading light eyes wants to join him in the shower for a possible part two of morning sexy times.  But having Ian shoved in next to him in their tiny shower stall makes him feel claustrophobic.  

He pushes past his discomfort to allow Ian to join him.  He even gives in to a little light making-out.  But there’s no way sex is happening in that bathroom.  

They do their morning routine together, bumping into each other in the tiny bathroom.  The sink is covered in bottles and sprays, creams and soaps, razors and combs, and they have to reach over each other to grab what they need.  Kurt is normally a very organized person, and when he moved in, he took the time to organize a side for each of them. But since then, Ian’s stuff has slowly migrated over to his side, and Ian’s slowly been using the products on Kurt’s side.  And mostly, he’d be fine with the sharing if things would just keep their place.  However, he doesn’t say anything, enjoying Ian’s good mood.  

Ian suggests breakfast, wanting to go to the little bagel shop a few blocks down.  He asks Kurt to walk with him but, just wanting a few minutes to check his emails alone, he declines.  Ian throws a look of disappointment but heads out, stating he’ll bring Kurt something back.  Kurt tries not to feel guilty about it, and reminds himself that there’s nothing wrong with wanting a few minutes to yourself.  Besides, Ian’s still excited that they’re living together.  He’ll calm down.  Surely.   Right?  

Ian being gone gives Kurt a few minutes to pick up the apartment.  There are clothes discarded in the living room, where they had been left after starting sex on the couch the night before.  There’s an old pizza box sitting on the coffee table, a few mugs with half-drunk tea, and a scattering of papers.  And underneath a pile of Ian’s sheet music is the mail from the previous week, most of which is Kurt’s.  He clenches his jaw as he goes through it, annoyed that he’s just now seeing it.  

There are a couple of old bills in here that need to be paid, as well as a bright red envelope that looks like an invitation sent from McKinley High.  He looks over the invitation with curiosity, though something else quickly catches his eye.  It’s a jewelry catalogue sent to Ian.  Specifically, a men’s jewelry catalogue.  And Ian doesn’t wear jewelry.  Highly suspect of it, he looks it over, and a growing anxiety starts to spread.  This could not possibly mean…

The door slams shut and Kurt jumps from his spot on the couch.  It’s just Ian home from the bagel shop.  

“I got your favorite, multigrain with that fancy whipped cream cheese that you like,” Ian says.  He hands him the bag and gives him a kiss on the cheek before sitting down next to him.  

“You didn’t give me my mail,” Kurt grumbles, taking the bag.  Then adds a quiet, “thank you.”  

Ian shrugs it off.  “I figured you’d see it eventually.  I’ve been wondering when you’d open that red envelope.  I wanna know what it is.”

“Oh,” Kurt places the bag with his breakfast on the coffee table and picks up the envelope from his lap, opening it.  He gives it a fond smile.  “I guess my old choir director is retiring.  There’s a party for him back in Lima.”  

“Well, that’s cool,” Ian says, grabbing the invitation out of his hand.  “Quaint.  I’m guessing you aren’t going?  I mean, other than mentioning your dad, I’ve never heard you talk about your time in Ohio.  Hell, I’ve never even heard early New York stories.  All I know is one day you walked into my piano bar, a full grown man, mysterious and sexy.”  Ian wiggles his eyebrows.  “Hard to imagine you in high school.”  

“Well, I can assure you I was anything but sexy,” Kurt says.  A flash of a memory crosses his brain - one of a performance in a warehouse, lots of boys in blazers, and a really uncomfortable situation for young Kurt.  He shakes his head, ridding his mind of it.  

“So, are you going to go?” Ian asks, far more interested in the idea than Kurt is.  

Kurt scrunches his nose at the thought.  He hasn’t stepped foot in Ohio for a better part of a decade.  There aren’t even people from high school he still talks to, not on a regular basis anyway.  It’s sweet of Will Schuester’s family to think of him, but maybe he’s better off sending a card or something.  

“I don’t know,” Kurt says, he stares at the invitation, unsure of how he feels about it.  “I don’t know.”

***

Wednesdays mean that Ian is home all day.  He is a classical pianist by trade and his day job is playing with one of New York’s symphony orchestras.  In the evenings, he usually plays gigs at local bars.  But on Wednesday, he has time off from both jobs to be home all day.  Wednesday used to be the day where Kurt spent all his time with Ian.  Now that they live together, Kurt usually spends his Wednesday anywhere but home.  

It usually lands him at his own job, running a small theater that he co-owns with his old friend, Elliott Gilbert.  Technically, Elliott’s rich grandmother’s money bought the theater, and Kurt had been brought on to manage the projects and productions that happened there.  It’s still quite a work in progress, as the building had been nearly condemned when they originally bought it a few years earlier.  But with all their hard work, they’re beginning to draw in better productions, and this might be the first year they actually draw a profit.  

When he gets in that afternoon, he finds Elliott up in the rafters, working on some of the lights.  Kurt watches for a moment as Elliott finishes whatever he’s working on.  It’s hard to say, but he has the toolbox with him, so Kurt can only guess it has to do with the lights nearly coming down the other night.  They really need to get an electrician in, but Elliott’s pretty handy about these things, and will at least try to do what he can before they have to ask for help.  

Kurt watches a good few minutes as Elliott finishes up and comes down the ladder.  

“You’re being quiet,” Elliott says, carefully bringing down the toolbox as he reaches the bottom of the ladder.  Kurt, hands in pockets, just gives a gentle shrug.  “You’re not usually quiet, which means it can only be one of a few things.  Something’s up with your dad.  You want a favor.  Or it’s boyfriend problems.”

“Well, my dad is fine, and I don’t need anything,” Kurt says.  “So….”

Elliott lets out a heavy sigh, and places the toolbox on the ground.  “It wouldn’t kill you to go to therapy, you know.”

“You’re not my therapist?”

“Alright, so this session is going to cost you three-hundred dollars,” Elliott looks at his watch.  “You have twenty minutes.  Go.”

Kurt lets out a laugh as he follows Elliott to the edge of the stage.  Elliott jumps off but Kurt lowers himself to sit on the edge, his legs hanging off.  Elliott makes a shrug for Kurt to get on with it.  

“So, I was going through some mail, and I found this jewelry catalogue.  It had a lot of men’s engagement rings,” Kurt says.  Elliott makes a face as if to say ‘and…?’  Kurt purses his lips.  “I think Ian might ask me to marry him.”  

“Have you guys even talked about marriage?”

“Definitely not.”  

Elliott doesn’t seem at all convinced.  “Maybe it was just an ad then.  I get shit like that all the time.  I somehow managed to be subscribed to a women’s lingerie catalogue for years.”  

Kurt still can’t rid himself of the low-level anxiety he’s been feeling about it all day.  “Even so, I just… don’t like the idea.”  

“I thought you and Ian were doing great?”

“We are, we are,” Kurt says.  Elliott, again, doesn’t seem convinced.  “Ian’s in the honeymoon stage of wanting to do everything together, and I don’t know.  We’ve been together for a year.  We know how we are.  Do we really need to do everything together now that we live together?”  

Elliott folds his arms across his chest.  “Kurt, if this is becoming an issue, why did you agree to move in with him in the first place?”

Kurt stares up at the ceilings.  The old, red curtains have a few fringes and tears, and Kurt wonders vaguely, if they should get new ones or if anyone would really notice.  He kicks the stage lightly as he avoids Elliott’s question.  “I mean, my apartment lease was up, and they were going to double my rent.”  

“Oh, god,” Elliott chokes out.  “Please tell me that wasn’t the only reason.”  

“It’s not,” his voice squeaks a little too much on the words.  “I also, you know, love him.”  

Elliott shakes his head.  Kurt knows judgment when he sees it.  “This is just classic Kurt,” he says.  

“You know, there’s nothing wrong with having an adjustment period with having to live with someone after I’ve had my own place for so long,” Kurt says, defending himself.  

“Uh-huh.”

“I just like my independence.”

Elliott’s eyebrow is arched high.  “Or you like sabotaging your relationships.”

Kurt scoffs, looking off to the side of the stage.  They’re going to need to scrub this whole place down before allowing anyone to do a production here again.  Elliott, however, is not letting him off the hook, and eyes him hard.  “I do not do that.”

“Then why have I seen you more in the past couple of weeks than you’ve probably seen him?”

It’s a fair question, Kurt admits to himself.  “Well, I do find you tolerable.”  

“Kurt, you don’t find any of your boyfriends tolerable,” Elliott says.  He almost sounds annoyed, but he knows Elliott’s limits and he knows he hasn’t reached them.  But truth be told, he’s as sick of himself as Elliott probably is.  “Who was that guy before Ian? That Matt guy? Why did you break up with him?”

He picked the scab, of course Elliott is going to rip open the old wounds.  “Because he wanted me to be ‘a part of the family’,” Kurt replies, using air quotes to highlight his point.  Matt had been a sweet guy, but his family had been his life.  He hadn’t been ready to be a part of any family, let alone one that had been as close as Matt’s had been.  He felt as if he had been suffocating every time they went to visit.  “His family was crazy.  I didn’t need to be a part of that.”  

Elliott nods, continuing on.  “Okay, and Joey was the one before that.  I remember him because he helped clean up this place when we bought it.”  

Kurt bites his lip.  He did feel bad about that.  Joey had been so quick to offer his time.  But Joey also had been there.  All the time.  It had been too much.  “He was super clingy,” Kurt says quietly, though he hates that he’s seeing the trend.

“Sure he was,” Elliott says.  A grin slips onto his lips.  “And then there was Steven.”  

“He wanted to marry me six months into the relationship,” Kurt says.  He snaps a little too loud, his voice echoing in the empty theater.  Elliott remains amused, even if Kurt is not.  “Who knows they want to get married six months into a relationship?  Why are you getting on my case about this?  It’s not like you don’t go through, like, three guys a week.”  

Elliott throws his head back in a laugh.  “Well, I am at peace with my slutty ways.  Look, Kurt, it’s not about the number of guys you go through.   It’s just that, well, honestly, I’ve known you forever.  And I know you’re this old school romantic and the slutty ways will never be satisfying for you.  Did it ever occur to you that the reason it doesn’t work out with these guys is not because you’re this progressive independent, but because deep down you want to be an old school married, and haven’t found the right person to be with yet?”

The gnawing pit in his stomach starts to fade as he thinks about the old fantasy -- the one he had as a kid, where you met your prince, and you lived happily ever after.  Only, real life doesn’t happen like that.  Most guys are not princes, and the ones who are don’t always lead to happily ever after.  He knows better than to be unrealistic, but maybe he’s pushing people too far away.  

“Do you think I’ve made a mistake?” Kurt asks, he begins bouncing his foot against the stage again.  

Elliott goes soft in deposition.  “You know I can’t answer that for you.”

“You’re probably right,” Kurt says.  He thinks of Ian - of his kind smile and good heart.   He shouldn’t be running, even if every ounce of him feels like it’s too much.  “Ian is a good guy, and I’ve been…”

“Difficult?”

“I was going to say myself, but thank you.”

“I do my best.” Elliott playfully taps his knee.  “If you want, though, you can crash at my place for a few days.  I’m gonna be out of town.  Some third cousin is getting married, and Mom insists that everyone be there.”

“No, I’m good,” Kurt insists.  And then an idea hits him.  “You know, I got an invitation to go back to Lima.  Old high school choir thing.  Maybe I’ll take a long vacation and do that.  It could give me some time to clear my head -- reflect on my questionable life choices.”  

Elliott gives a hearty laugh.  “You haven’t talked about Lima in years.  Besides, going back to Lima might force you to dig into your past, and we all know how much you enjoy doing that.”

Kurt swats at Elliott.  “It’ll be fine.  What’s the worst that can happen?”

***

After work, Kurt doesn’t go home right away.  Instead, he opts to walk around the city for a while.  There’s a slight chill, causing him to bundle his jacket a little tighter, and the sky is overcast, threatening a storm rolling in.  He won’t be out too late, but he knows Ian is back home waiting for him and he’s just not ready for it yet.  

His conversation with Elliott plays over in his head.  He does like his independence.  He always has.  Even when he had been a little boy, his parents had let him play on his own.  And after years of rejection from kids his own age, he learned that sometimes being on your own is your best bet.  It’s not that he doesn’t like the company his boyfriends have brought him over the years.  He just likes his space. And his peace and quiet. And his room to move about as he pleases.  And sometimes boyfriends make him feel too tied down.  

But he can’t help but think about what Elliott had said.  The thing that seems to stick in his brain, wiggling to the forefront of his thoughts.  Maybe he wants to be an old married? Maybe he does want that connection, that one person who seems to know him, who understands him enough that there will be days when they’re inseparable, and days when they’re apart.  He likes the idea of coming home to the same face every day to see someone who can read him like a book, who will enjoy the same things as him, who will love him for the insufferable human being he always seems to be.  

But are there really people out there like that?  

Maybe he’s not giving Ian enough credit.  When they had decided to move in together, Kurt thought it had been the most optimal choice.  Living costs would come down.  He’d have a partner to spend his time with.  And the sex.  God, Ian knows how to have sex.  

But permanently?  The buzz of anxiety begins to grow at the thought.  There are too many little things about Ian, too many things about himself that just don’t feel right.  It’s not perfect.  Well -- it’s never going to be perfect, he argues with himself.  But still…  

The storm breaks sooner than Kurt expects, a sudden heavy rain coming down.  Kurt stands on the street corner, looking up at the sky as he gets drenched.  Maybe the universe is trying to tell him something, and he can’t help but laugh as the rain splashes his face.  

Just as he’s about to head home, however, he catches a sign on the corner of a building.  A sign advertising an open leasing on a loft, with a number attached.  For a moment, he’s transferred back in time to all those years ago, when he lived in a loft in Bushwick with four other people all of whom had been trying to make it in the city.  He hasn’t thought about that loft in ages.  Hasn’t thought about those people in ages.  God, what even happened to…  

He tries hard not to think of the name that first pops in his head.  But he can’t help but see the face.  He shakes his head, as if attempting to get rid of the image.  

Nostalgia hits him just then.  

Nostalgia for a place he left long ago, for people whom he never thought he’d miss.  He is going to take that trip to Lima.  He does need a break from Ian.  He does need to get his life sorted out.  But mostly, he feels a soft ache for returning home -- even if he’s not sure where that is anymore.  

***

A week later, Kurt finds himself rolling up to one of Lima’s three motels in a car he rented at the airport.  It’s strange coming back to the city he grew up in and, yet, not returning back to his childhood home.  He had thought about driving past, but he hadn’t necessarily wanted to see through the window to see whatever happy suburban family had bought the place.  Instead, he had driven straight to the motel that he had booked himself the moment he knew he would be coming back.  

There is something surreal about returning to the place you grew up after so much time has passed.  It’s like time has frozen, remaining exactly the same as the moment you left, even if there are new storefronts in the old buildings, expansions where wooded areas used to be, and a real attempt, it seems, to clean the place up.  It feels unchanged, and Kurt can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing.  It’s just a thing.  

It’s evening by the time he gets in.  The motel room is bland and tiny, and the four channels on the TV don’t offer much entertainment.  He lays down on the bed to stare at the ceiling, thinking if there’s anything he could do.  Most places in Lima shut down before eight, even on a Friday night.  And it’s not like he has anyone to call. He had been texting Mercedes Jones earlier in the week, shocked that her number had still been the same, but she had explained that she wouldn’t be getting in until very late and implied that whatever plans she had wouldn’t be with him.  He had understood, and it’s not like he won’t be seeing her the next day anyway.  Scrolling through his phone, he finds that he doesn’t have a single other contact from high school he could call.  

Maybe he should just text Ian -- but as his thumb hovers over his boyfriend’s name, he remembers that Ian is probably playing a concert that weekend. And even if he waits until later when Ian’s home, he just doesn’t want to ruin Ian’s good time by explaining that he can’t quite quash the crushing sense of loneliness that seems to be his homecoming.  

Why did he think this would be a good idea?

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices a neon flashing light, and through the window he sees a building that he hasn’t thought about in years.  Thinking anywhere is better than being stuck in that sad motel room for the next twelve hours, Kurt heads out into the night.  

***

Scandals is, if nothing else, exactly how he remembers it.  Not that his memories are anything more than fuzzy blips of moments from long ago.  He remembers the same posters being on the wall, in the same tattered state.  He remembers the huge, neon signs lining the walls.  And god, the music even feels strikingly similar.  There aren’t, he thinks with a laugh, any drag queens though.  

The atmosphere is quiet for a Friday night.  There are a few guys out on the dance floor, enjoying each other’s company, but most of the people in the bar are huddled in the darkened corners.  No one looks up from their conversations to notice him come in.  The bouncer is too busy flirting with a denim dressed, bearded guy leaning against the wall to notice him slip by.  

He’s not a few steps in when he realizes coming out to a bar seems like a silly thing to do, but makes a deal with himself to have one drink before he heads back to the motel and to do the sensible thing in calling Ian.  

But as he heads to the bar, he sees something that makes him freeze in his tracks.  

Is that…?

It can’t possibly be…?

Blaine Anderson is sitting at the bar, casually chatting with the bartender as he sips a beer.  Kurt is stunned to see him, his mind reeling at how this is even possible.  There is only one gay bar in Lima.  And he’s probably here for the reunion.  

But still… Blaine Anderson, of all people.  

There’s a tiny part of him that wants to run.  Turn on his heel and walk right back out of that bar and not even worry about the formal meeting they’ll inevitably have tomorrow at the reunion.  He doesn’t though.  

He watches Blaine for a moment, in his element, throwing his head back to laugh at something the bartender said.  It’s astounding to Kurt at how much and how little Blaine has changed.  Age, it seems, has done him well.  There’s less gel in his hair, allowing the natural curls to reveal themselves.  His face is harder, jawbone more defined. He’s wearing a dark sweater vest, but no bowtie, and the shirt underneath is unbutton, revealing a wisp of hair on his chest.  Blaine is no longer that young boy he once knew.  Sitting at the bar is a man.  

And yet… his movements are exactly the same.  The way he crinkles his eyes when he laughs, the way he lightly touches the bartender’s arm while expressing his point, the way casually plays with the napkin on the counter.  That’s still the Blaine he used to know.  

Kurt takes a deep breath, releasing the tension running through him.  He could leave… but he doesn’t really want to.  It’s been a decade since they’ve seen each other.  That’s enough time to let old wounds heal, right?

Kurt takes the plunge.

“I’m guessing this place rarely sees a man as gorgeous as you.  Mind if I buy you a drink?”

Blaine turns around, utterly shocked to see him there.  Kurt’s confidence slips as the silence lingers.  Maybe this had been a bad idea.  But then, Blaine breaks out into a grin.  

“Kurt?” He says his name slowly, as if it’s unfamiliar in a way, but easily slides off his stool, going in for a hug.  It’s awkward -- where do you put your hands and arms? How close do you stand? How do you properly greet someone you once agreed to share your life with?  Someone who is a relative stranger now.  It’s bizarre to him that somehow, Blaine still feels so familiar in his arms. “Please, join me.” Blaine offers the stool next to him as they slip apart.  “I’ll definitely take you up on that drink.”

Kurt sits down, suddenly feeling much more nervous than he had been.  Blaine waives down the bartender -- asking for beer, while Kurt shortly asks for an amaretto sour.  He definitely needs something to calm him down.  How is Blaine being so calm? Is he hiding it better? Or is it that he’s soon to be on his third beer?

“So, what are you doing here?” Blaine asks, placing his head on his hand, now looking amused.  There’s no anger there. No resentment, or negativity.  Blaine genuinely seems to be happy to see him.  Based on how they had left things all that time ago, Blaine could have harbored some ill will towards him.  But they are both adults now.  And it had been a long, long time ago.  

“I’m in town for Mr. Schue’s retirement party,” Kurt says.  He rubs his legs, not sure what to do with his hands.

Blaine nods, finishing off the beer he had been drinking when Kurt had arrived.  “Oh, yeah, I figured that.  I meant, what are you doing here ?” He uses both hands to point down.  

“Oh!” Kurt feels a little silly not understanding.  Thankfully, the bartender brings them their drinks.  Kurt wastes no time gulping half of it down as if it were a shot.  “I saw it from the motel window.  Call me crazy, but I was feeling nostalgic.”

“Huh,” Blaine takes a long sip from his bottle, narrowing his eyes as he thinks it over.  “You’re not staying with Burt?”

“Oh, god, right you wouldn’t know,” Kurt laughs as he stirs his drink.  “Dad retired a few years ago.  He and Carole moved to Arizona to be closer to her sister.”

“Ah, gotcha.”

“I guess I could have stayed with Uncle Andy,” Kurt continues, remaining fixated on his drink as he talks.  “He and his sons took over the tire shop.  But we’re not exactly close.  And he has, like, ten dogs.  I’d rather take my chances with the motel.”

Blaine nods, sympathetically.  

“What about you?” Kurt asks.  “How’s your family?”

“They’re pretty good,” Blaine says, easily.  “Cooper has three little girls.  Here, let me show you.”  Blaine wastes no time fishing out his phone, scrolling through the roll for a picture of three gorgeous young girls who all, clearly, take after Cooper.  Kurt coos accordingly but he can’t help but notice Blaine’s left hand, and the indentation of skin where a ring used to be.  It makes him wonder.

“So, what are you doing now?” Kurt asks, trying to relax on his stool.  He rests his elbow on the wooden bar, and his head on his hand.

“I teach, actually.  New York Institute of Fine Arts,” Blaine says, taking another sip of his beer with a laugh.  “I mean, I still perform every now and then.  But an adjunct professor was needed, and a friend of mine pulled some strings, and I just kind of fell into it.  I love it though.”  There’s no lie in Blaine’s voice.  Blaine had always been a passionate person, but it’s clear by his demeanor that he loves his job.  

Kurt smiles meekly, happy for him.  “A private school, of course.  How very you.  Actually, now that I think of it, that’s not far from my theater.”

“You have a theater?” Blaine’s eyes grow wide with interest.  

“Well, half a theater,” Kurt rocks his head from side to side, as if it’s a silly little thing, and not the pride and joy that he’s sunk most of his adult life into, now.  He plays with the nearby peanut bowl.  “The Gilbert Theater.”

“Oh, I know that place,” Blaine says.  There’s excitement in his voice.  Kurt isn’t sure why this makes him happy.    “I thought it had been condemned.  I mean - I’m sure you’ve fixed it up.”

“Oh we have,” Kurt says, thinking about all the work he’s put into it over the years.  “Elliott and I renovated it.  You wouldn’t even recognize it now.”

Blaine takes another slow slip of his drink.  “Elliott?  Like from college?” Kurt nods slowly. “Ah. So are you guys…”

“Oh, no,” Kurt quickly corrects.   “God, no.  Business partners only.”  It’s such a funny thought to him.  Elliott.  They’re like brothers.  No, he’s definitely not romantically linked with Elliott.  There is someone else… but he quickly pushes Ian out of his brain.  He doesn’t want to think about him. “So this is crazy, right? That we both ended up in the same sleazy place?  Maybe the universe was trying to push us together again.”

Blaine gives an uncomfortable laugh. “Well, there is only one gay bar in Lima, but I suppose…”

An awkward silence grows between them.  Blaine bops his head to the music.  Kurt munches on some peanuts.  They both avoid direct eye contact.  The uneasiness that Kurt had felt when he first walked in begins to return.  Maybe he should go.  

The bartender breaks the silence, asking Blaine if he’d like another drink.  There’s an ease there that Kurt picks up on.  Blaine knows the guy -- like really knows the guy.  Kurt shifts from side to side not sure what to say or do.  He eyes the door, he can still slip out if he needs to.  

“Man, I cannot believe how little this place has changed since I used to come here,” Blaine says, taking a look around.  

“You mean when we were in high school?” Kurt asks.  He’d hardly say coming the three times that they did a lot.  

“No, it was actually after…” he trails off but Kurt picks up on what he’s saying.  After they broke up.  After he broke Blaine’s heart.  Blaine kind of skips past the beat.  Why dredge up all that old stuff.  That’s what the reunion is for, right? Something turns in the pit of Kurt’s stomach.  “When I moved back to Lima, I used to come here a lot.  Thought maybe throwing myself into this place might make me feel better.  Not so alone, you know?”

“Did it help?” Kurt’s voice is small.  

“Maybe,” Blaine says with another laugh.  “I don’t know, it was so long ago.  You know it…” he pauses, thinking it over.  “Alright, if I tell you something - do you promise not to run screaming?”

Kurt’s intrigued.  “Of course.”

Blaine stares intently at his bottle.  “After you and I ended things -- I came back to Lima.  And I sorta, kinda dated Dave Karofsky for a while.”

Of all the things that Blaine could have said -- that is the last thing Kurt expects to hear.  It makes Kurt chuckle into his drink.  He can’t even picture it, it’s such a wild thought.  “Wait, seriously?”

“Shocking, right?”

“A little.  More so that you were into a bear.”

The tension breaks as they let go into easy laughter.  The conversation becomes lighter as they begin to discuss old things.  They talk about Dave Karofsky, and how someone who had once been Kurt’s ghost had turned into a friend whom Kurt sees every few years for lunch.  Blaine mentions he had attended Dave’s wedding.  Kurt mentions he had lunch with Dave and his husband last year.  It’s strange how things can change so much in twenty years.  

They talk about Dalton -- though not about that staircase.  The staircase that will forever be burned in his memory for better or worse.  Instead, they talk about Sebastian Smythe with fondness, though neither could say where he ended up. And about the one time Blaine sang at the Gap to impress a guy whose name neither can remember.  

And for a moment, unprovoked, Blaine mentions his husband.  It’s a startling jolt into reality, but Blaine doesn’t give him any more than a name and a passing story about having to explain to his husband why he refuses to shop at The Gap.  It’s not like Kurt hadn’t heard Blaine had gotten married.  He doesn't remember who had told him or when or even how he had felt about it.  Blaine had wanted to be married.  He got his wish.  And Kurt is happy for him.  He wants to be happy for him.  Still, that missing ring…

As they reminisce, the bartender brings them more drinks.  The room begins to feel warm and familiar.  Kurt isn’t sure if it’s alcohol or Blaine that is making him feel so comfortable so far from home.  They talk about high school and old friends, people whom they’ve lost touch with and people they’re looking forward to seeing tomorrow.  Kurt learns that Blaine developed a surprisingly deep friendship with Santana Lopez.  Blaine learns that Kurt hasn’t talked to Rachel Berry since college.

“I just couldn’t after that show,” Kurt explains.  They’re both giggly from drinking too much - Kurt having to hold his hands up when the bartender offers him a third.  “I mean - not that she even tried to keep in touch with me.  But my god did you watch that thing? It was terrible! She was fine - she was always fine.  But who decided that would be what America wanted to see for a decade?”

Blaine snickers into his drink.  “Well, personally I was offended.  ‘Slaine’,” he uses both hands to make air quotes around the character’s names, “was written out after year two.  I was like ‘fuck that’.  It’s just as well.  Had he stayed on, I might have had to sue their asses for defamation of character.”

“You are not wrong,” Kurt says, unable to stop laughing as he thinks about it.  He puts a hand on Blaine’s shoulder to balance himself so as to not fall off his stool.  

Blaine notices and smirks.  “How drunk are you right now?”

“Less drunk than you are,” Kurt smiles into his glass.  He is buzzed but not at all drunk.  In fact, he feels good and relaxed and happy.  When had he last been this happy?  “Anyway… All I know is that a terrible writer wrote ‘Cert’ as the sassy yet sexless gay best friend.  And he stayed on the show.  The. Entire. Run.  If anyone has the right to sue, it’s going to be me.”  

“Well, for what it’s worth.  I don’t think Cert was anything like you,” Blaine says.  He leans in close.  Kurt can smell the sweet scent of raspberries.   “Personally, I thought you were always sexy.”

Something in the atmosphere shifts.  Suddenly, Blaine is close.  Close enough that he can see the depths of Blaine’s golden eyes.  There’s something there that Kurt hasn’t seen in a long time, and it causes him to break.  

He’s not sure what it is that makes him say it.  He’s not sure if it’s the heaviness of guilt, or the friendliness of Blaine’s demeanor, or the fact that all of this nostalgia is causing him to reflect on his life’s choices - but he can’t help but let the words stumble out.  “Blaine, I’m so sorry.”  

Blaine looks at him, genuinely confused.  “For what?

“For a lot of things, I feel like I owe you an apology for so many things,” Kurt rambles on.  “I was not in a good place and you… I shouldn’t have ended it.  I mean I shouldn’t have ended it the way that I did.  I shouldn’t have hurt you like that.  And I’m sorry that I did.”

Blaine takes a moment to think it over, as if he’s processing everything Kurt’s saying.  “Kurt…” he lets out a sigh. “You weren’t the only one who was a mess back then.  You don’t have anything to be sorry about.  We had a good thing.  We had a great thing, even.  But it’s fine.  It’s all in the past, and I’m fine.”  

Kurt feels a bit of relief wash over him.  Maybe this is why he needed to come back.  Maybe he had just needed to bury his demons.  He feels lighter than he has in, well, a while.  He reaches out for Blaine’s hand and squeezes it.  It feels comforting in his own.  

“Look at us now, all grown up,” Kurt says, a smile sliding across his face.  “I mean, you’re married and I’m…”

“Kurt?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s an open marriage.”

Blaine places his free hand just above Kurt’s knee and squeezes, ever so lightly, he holds it there, stroking his thumb along the side of his thigh.  It’s an invitation.  His cock gets there first, as he watches Blaine’s hand, firm and strong.  His brain becomes fuzzy, but all he can fixate on is the urge to have Blaine’s hand travel up.  This is closure, right?

“Come with me,” Kurt makes the quick decision not to second guess this.  He grabs onto Blaine’s hand with purpose, sliding off the stool and taking Blaine with him.  Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Blaine smirk as he throws out a few bills on the counter to pay for the drinks.  

***

They’re in the bathroom stall, where Kurt vaguely remembers making out once back at the end of his senior year.  They never would have done anything as daring as have sex in a public place, but just kissing, even in a place that accepted it, felt naughty and fun back then.  

Now, he couldn’t care less that there are people who might know what they’re doing.  His desire is too strong, his brain clouded in a haze of need to taste Blaine again; the wonder of if it will feel so good after so long.  The room is broken up into stalls, dimly lit, and smells as if they are the next in a long line of gay men who will use this place to relieve themselves in more ways than one.  Kurt pulls Blaine back to the farthest stall, ignoring that there’s another couple occupying another stall, the panting sounds of their fucking echoing in the room.  It only turns him on more.  

Once the stall door is locked, Blaine looks at Kurt, his large, dark eyes more sure than Kurt is about this.  It almost throws him off kilter but Kurt looks to Blaine’s mouth, and suddenly he remembers all the things that can be done with it.  His resolve broken, Kurt lunges for a kiss.  

Blaine kisses back with force, pushing Kurt back into the wall.  Kurt doesn’t even care that the metal bar for handicap use is pressing against the back of his thighs.  He just wants to feel Blaine.  They kiss deeply, wantonly.  His sense memory returns and suddenly he feels like a teenager again, hungry for Blaine back when he had been first discovering what sex is.  Kurt moans into the kiss that encourages Blaine to slide his tongue against Kurt’s.  

They’re all hands and mouths, wrapping themselves around each other as they make-out.  Kurt wraps his arms around Blaine’s neck, combing his fingers through Blaine’s curls as he pulls Blaine closer to him, enough so that their bodies are sliding against each other.  Blaine brings his hands down to Kurt’s ass and squeezes with both hands.  Fuck.  He doesn’t remember the last time he’s gotten so hard so fast.  

They begin to rock against each other as they kiss.  Kurt can feel Blaine’s hard cock pushing up against his own.  If they keep going at this speed, he is not going to last long, and dammit, he refuses to come in his pants.  

Kurt breaks the kiss, only for Blaine to start kissing along his jaw and down his neck, Blaine’s touch is electric, and Kurt can’t help but feel dizzy with pleasure.  He loses himself in Blaine’s embrace, soaking up the feeling as much as he can.  It’s been fifteen years since they’ve fucked - how can this possibly feel so good?  

Blaine works his way back up to Kurt’s mouth, though this time, Kurt is able to slow it down.  Kurt busies his hands with the buttons on Blaine’s pants.  Blaine takes a slight step back, allowing for Kurt to pull him out.  Kurt takes a quick second to look down at Blaine’s cock; his thick and delicious cock.  If only they weren’t in a bathroom stall right now, Kurt would take his time devouring that cock.  Instead, he takes to stroking it, becoming satisfied with the low moans and grunts that are eliciting Blaine’s mouth.  

Blaine steadies himself against the wall, as he begins to pump his hips in time with Kurt’s strokes, fucking himself into Kurt’s hand.  “Let me,” Kurt says, in a low whisper, biting gently at Blaine’s lips before they fall into a sloppy kiss.  Blaine is close - he knows Blaine is close, he can feel it as Blaine arches further into his hand.  Kurt speeds up his hand, deliberate in his strokes.  It’s a little rough, but Blaine becomes more and more undone, uttering little obscenities as he closes eyes and allows himself the pleasure.  Blaine comes, jolting into Kurt’s hand, and lets out a moan that Kurt covers with a kiss.  

“Give me a second,” Blaine says, breathlessly, holding firmly against the wall as he comes down.  

Kurt smirks, licking the come off his fingers.  His own cock is throbbing with need but there’s something incredibly satisfying seeing Blaine loose and fucked out.  

Blaine takes a second to put himself back in his pants and then goes down on his knees.  This isn’t at all what Kurt had been expecting, and his eyes go wide as Blaine sucks a kiss over Kurt’s clothed cock.  

“You really don’t have to do that,” Kurt says, feeling a little guilty.  Blaine’s legs are sticking out of the stall door and anyone could interrupt them.  

“Shut up and let me blow you, Kurt,” Blaine says, a wicked grin on his face as he unzips Kurt’s zipper.  Kurt’s cock bobs free, and like a man allowed to drink water after years in the desert, Blaine sucks Kurt all the way down in one go.  

“Jesus, fuck Blaine.”  He really doesn’t care if there’s anyone else in there who can hear them.  Blaine had always been good at blow jobs; always so eager to give them, and Kurt’s glad to know that Blaine’s enthusiasm hasn’t changed.  Blaine sucks him down, greedily, and he loses himself in the sensation of Blaine’s velvety mouth on him.  

“I’m curious about something,” Blaine says, pulling off.  Kurt can’t imagine what, but he doesn’t have to wait long to find out.  Blaine begins to stroke him, slowly, drawing it out.  Then sucks a kiss to the tip of Kurt’s cock, using his tongue to swirl and tease it, before he sucks him down once more.  Kurt lets out a heavy groan as his knees nearly buckle.  “Huh. So that really still does things for you?”

Kurt can’t help but give a little laugh.  “Shut up and finish me off, Blaine,” Kurt manages the tease despite him now being desperate to come.  

Amused, Blaine obliges, sucking Kurt into his mouth again. Kurt closes his eyes, taking it all in as he lets Blaine take him over the edge.   He spills into Blaine’s mouth, Blaine being able to swallow with ease -- something, he notes, Blaine hadn’t been able to do before.  As Blaine pulls off, he licks his lips, and remains on his knees for a long moment.  

The atmosphere then shifts suddenly.  Blaine looks down for a long while, and Kurt can’t tell what Blaine’s feeling -- Guilt? Sadness? Regret?

“Thank you for that,” Blaine says, his sincerity layered with something that feels like finality.  Blaine gives Kurt’s hip a kiss before helping put Kurt back into his jeans.  There’s something strangely intimate about it, and despite the fact that Kurt is feeling blissed out from his orgasm it’s now tinged with a heavier, unknown feeling.  Blaine gets to his feet.  There’s a lot going on behind his eyes that Kurt can’t read, but Blaine says nothing, only gives Kurt a soft kiss on the lips.  “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”  

Blaine leaves the stall but Kurt stays, unsure what to make of everything that happened.  A lot just happened.  A lot.  And as the buzz of sex begins to wear off, a sickening gnawing grows in his stomach.  He just had sex with his ex-fiancé whom he hasn’t seen in years.  He just cheated on his boyfriend.  But what makes Kurt feel the worst, as he slides down the wall to sit on the sticky floor because his legs can no longer hold him, is the realization that for Blaine - that might have been his way of saying goodbye.  

[rason-rodd]

The Boy Who Didn’t Like Christmas - Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: You decide to surprise Jason with a Christmas tree but things don’t go as planed. Did he really just call you a friend? 

Warning : Fluff, Humor, Slight Angst  

Author’s note: A new Bat-Christmas one shot, this time with Jason (the last one will be with Dick). I tried to make Reader as general neutral as possible. Hope you’ll like it

“You’re clearly not from the Hill … or the Narrows.” You were pretty certain the rebuke would have hurt ten times more if Dana Harlowe had said everything she was keeping well hidden in her badass heart. But there was no need to say more. It was clear she didn’t hold you close to her heart.       To her, you were the pain in the ass from Uptown Gotham, the one who certainly knew nothing about striving to get out of the dirt and who had certainly always get what she wanted by simply twitching her nose. In a nutshell, everything she was happy not to be. But you had one thing in common. Or at least, one person. Jason Todd.         Dana had known him for over a decade. You had known him for a couple of months. But you as well as she had learned to deeply care about him, except that one of you had let things go way beyond friendship quite a couple of times. That one being you.     “I was just suggesting bringing Jason a Christmas tree to decorate his apartment, Dana. That’s it.” You tried to defend yourself as you buried you hands in your pocket.           “And how many times should I tell you that Jason hates Christmas?” You sighed as you both could barely keep your annoyance to yourself anymore. “No one really hates Christmas.” “So what you’re going to show up to his place with a goddamn tree, all dolled up, flutter your eyelashes and hope he won’t be mad at you?”     You shrugged. “That’s an idea”

***

And Dana hadn’t been able to stop you. So, one Sunday afternoon you showed up to Jason’s place with a bag filled with brand new Christmas decorations and a heavy tree that had made you sweat streams to carry in the old staircases and, with a tired sigh, you rang at Jason’s door. He opened it without waiting or looking through the spyhole, apparently not thinking (or caring) about the possibility of a lunatic waiting on his doorstep with a deadly weapon. “You know I could have been a very angry elf with a gun. You should use that little peephole”     “ Y/N” He looked astonished to see you here, especially with all that Christmas stuff “I…” “By the way, you should also write your co-ownership trustee and ask for an elevator. Yours stairs are a living hell.” You declared to make sure he wouldn’t have time to realise or protest against what you were planning to do. “Give me a hand, would you?” You asked as you tried to drag the tree by the crown inside the apartment, sprinkling the ancient wooden floor with pine needles.     “Explain.” Jason demanded as he helped you carry the Christmas tree to the corner of his living room and erect it. “There! Perfect.” You clapped your hands, proud that the tree was still looking good despite the mistreatment you have given it and also because it was standing in Jason’s apartment, contradicting all of Dana’s sayings that “a Christmas tree will never cross Jason Todd’s doorstep”. “Suck it, Dana!”         “Alright. You’re weird today. What’s with the tree?” Jason’s face seemed a bit twisted, as he didn’t know if he should smile or be worried. “Next week, it’s Christmas. You can’t celebrate Christmas without a Christmas tree.”       He frowned, definitely looking for the right words in his beautiful yet tortured head of his to be sure he would not kill your excitement or hurt your feelings. “Y/N. I wasn’t planning on celebrating Christmas this year.” “I know. Dana told me about you being Scrooge Jr.” You joked, not caring at all, as you opened the plastic bag full of decorations to empty it on the couch. “That’s a bit overstating things.” Jason scratched his head. He had never heard anyone compare him to Dicken’s famous character. “I mean. Not liking Christmas doesn’t make me a miserly bitter old man.”       “Were you planning on spending Christmas alone sitting on your couch with cold noodles, watching Netflix and calling Christmas humbug?” He waited before answering, trying to see how he could debunk you little argument. But there was no way. “Not Netflix. Cutthroat Kitchen.”           “Oh my god. You’re Scrooge.” You sighed, exasperated before showing a beautiful transparent Christmas ball with little snowflakes inside. “Look how cute!” Your enthusiasm made him smile discreetly but not discreetly enough to go unnoticed. “I guess there’s no way I’m gonna stop you, right?” You shook your head. “You can still try but no. I’m going to give you some Christmas spirit, choke you with it if I must and I won’t leave this place until you love it. And mark my word, I will use string lights if needed” You threatened as you showed him the lights. “You would really tie me up to the tree? You know BDSM is not my thing.”           “ No I would tie myself to the tree. Because as much as I know you can throw that tree away once I’m gone, I’m sure you won’t be able do so if I’m tied to it.”             “And why so?” He smirked, curious to know your reason. “Cause you like me too much.” Was he really an open book? He never thought so but there was something with you, something weird and unusual that could make him act in strange ways. Perhaps was he getting soft. “And also, because you wouldn’t get my very special gift if you kick me out.” Jason squinted and you played with your eyebrows as you bit your lower lip so that he would get the naughty message. That eventually made him laugh and he tried to remember when was the last time he thought sexy could be funny.         “Ah. The things I would do for you.” He kissed the top of your head softly, making your shiver and close your eyes and for a second you tried to resist the sudden urge to catch him by the neck and kiss him on the lips. Not that he would have minded, you thought. But there was a difference between occasional sex and displays of affection. “Let’s do this. Before you decide to make me sing Mariah Carey.”       “Oh …” You pretended to think about the idea with a finger over your lips. “Don’t push it.”

And so you ended up decorating the Christmas together, laughing and chatting about some random stuff until you dared ask. “Why don’t you like Christmas?” Jason froze for a moment and you saw him close his eyes to take a deep breath. “Well it’s difficult to like Christmas when you’ve got a family like mine.” He finally declared as he hung a Christmas ball on a branch.         “You mean Bruce …” You supposed though you were not sure of you should continue this conversation. “If only there was just Bruce.” You decided to be quiet when you noticed his sudden bitterness but he chose to keep talking. “I never had a proper Christmas as a kid. When mum wasn’t completely stoned on the bathroom floor, dad was in jail. And when we were finally together, well … Let’s say Christmas spirit wasn’t something the Todd family knew about.”             “I’m sorry.” You said, wondering if you should hug him or at least caress his arm as a sign of comfort. “Don’t be. Plus, it’s not like I cared that much about Christmas as a kid anyway.” You could tell it was a lie, a huge bad lie only made to mask some deep-rooted wound, a lie Jason had learned by heart as if it was a mere line and had probably served to anyone around him for as long as he could remember. It wasn’t hard to guess. You just had to see how hurt he looked deep down in his beautiful tortured eyes. “I mean, there are other days to offer gifts.”       “Sure.” You had a light smile and you focused again on the decoration of your tree. “But I appreciate what you’re doing, Y/N”       “By what I’m doing, you mean … making you celebrate the event you hate the most without complaining?” You tried to joke. “That.” He chuckled. “And being a good friend.” A friend? Was friend really the right word? Well, maybe … in a way … or not. After all, what friends occasionally end up fucking when the sexual tension becomes too hard to handle?     “I know you’re doing this because of your permanent worry about me. But you don’t need to worry. I’m fine.”           “I’m sure you are.” You sighed and Jason caught your hands in his. “Hey. I’m a tough guy. I’ve got thunder thighs and sharp abs. You said it yourself”. You chuckled briefly, remembering the time when you told him this. Pretty sure you were naked and drunk by the way.           “I know you’re tough Jason. Actually, you’re certainly the toughest person I know. But I’m not stupid. And I know there are things that you’re hiding from me.” He suddenly frowned and you felt his grip around your hands loosening, as if he was ready to run away from you. “And I’m not asking you to tell me what it is. I understand that you have your secrets. I do to. I just … I just want you to be honest with me, to tell me when you feel low, when you need me.” You added as you grabbed his arms to keep him close. “We’re … friends after all, aren’t we?” You hated that argument but you decided to use anyway, just to see his reaction.     “Yeah. Yeah, sure.” Jason whispered after a second of heavy silence. “We’re friends.” Not the reaction you wanted.   “Good.” You let go of him and went back to hanging Christmas balls but you both could feel the weird tension, the awkwardness and you couldn’t help but blame yourself for ruining that moment which had begun so well. You should have listened to Dana. “Maybe I should go.” You declared as you resigned yourself to get the hell out of here before making things worse between you two.     “No!” Jason almost shouted. “No. We … Let’s finish the tree first okay? Please” You sighed. “Plus you mentioned a gift, right?” Normally that comment would have made you smirk but not today, not now. “That’s not a gift you give friends, Jason”

***

“You played the friends card? Not cool.” Jason suddenly remembered the little mental note he had left for himself the last time he had talked to Dick about his love life. ‘Never again.’ But Roy was gone and so were Artemis and Bizarro or any other friends he could have confessed to. “But we are friends.” He tried to justify himself. “I think.”     Dick shook his head, slightly exasperated yet amused by his little brother. “You saying ‘I think’ makes me believe you don’t see Y/N as a friend.”             “Why does it have to be so complicated?” Jason sighed as he tried to remember when was the last time he had seen you as merely a friend.       “Because it’s love and nothing is ever simple when it comes to love. No need to be a relationship expert to know this.” Jason glanced at Dick who was smiling at him. “I hope you don’t consider yourself an expert considering the failure that is your love life and your on and off relationship with Babs.” Dick shrugged. Yes, apparently he was. Cocky boy wonder. “I’m expert enough to know you don’t call someone you have sex with a friend.” “Oh come on! Ever heard of friends with benefits?” Jason harrumphed, slightly annoyed by his predecessor’s judgemental attitude right now.   “Jason please. You guys are not friends with benefits and you know why? Cause your relationship is not platonic at all. You like Y/N and Y/N likes you. But you are too unconfident or too scared to admit it so you end up having sex when you don’t know how to handle your feelings anymore. Now can we take care of that bunch of lousy criminals before they escape with the money?”             As much as it hurt Jason to admit it, Dick was right. He liked you. He liked you a lot. Maybe he was in love with you even, he didn’t know. But what he really knew right now was that he had screwed up, bad, and that he wanted to fix things between you two.

***

You turned your key in the keyhole, exhausted by your long day at work and blaming the snow that had literally frozen your toes and fingers on your way back home. “Maybe I should ask for a ugly pair of Uggs for Christ…mas”           You couldn’t move, your limbs as frozen as your fingers and toes or maybe worse. Eyes widened you looked around you and at the thousands colourful lights illuminating your entire apartment and the Christmas decorations scattered all over the furniture. “What the hell happened here?”             “Do you like it?” You yelled and jumped and, out of pure reflex and fear, punched hard the person standing right behind you before you could realise it was actually Jason. “Oh my god, Jay.” He groaned and put a hand over his nose to calm the pain. “Damn. I think you broke it.”   “Let me see.” You tried to remove his hand from his face to see how badly injured he was. “No! Don’t touch it. Don’t touch it.” He cried out as a sign of protest but eventually let you take him inside right to your couch where you left him an instant to go fetch some ice in the freezer. “What are you doing here that late?” You asked as you came back to sit by his side. “I wanted to surprise you. I guess it worked.” He hissed as you finally put the small bag of ice against his nose.             “You did this?” You asked as you looked again around you. There were probably at least dozens of flickering string lights hanging from the ceiling above your head as well as fake snow all over the floor of the living room and miniature Christmas trees and other lovely decorations carefully placed on the furniture. “Yeah.”           “How? When?” You couldn’t believe he had done this.             “This afternoon while you were gone. I entered by the window. You know you should check if they’re close before leaving.” You smile when you understood the nod to what you had told him last you saw each other. “Why?”     “ Well. Because it’s dangerous of course. I mean a lunatic could enter and turn your place into a Christmas shop. Oops too late.”     “ No, I mean. Why did you do this?” You asked again, not really in the mood to laugh at his joke right now. “It’s Christmas, isn’t it? … And I like you” He said while looking at you right in the eye. “And not as a friend. Cause clearly we’re not friends and we’re not …” You dropped the bag of ice to catch Jason by the neck and kiss him passionately. How long have you waited for him to finally say it. “Ow. Ow. Easy.” Jason complained right against your lips when your nose pressed too hard against his. “Sorry.” You whispered with a smile. “Don’t smile at my pain. I’m really hurt.”   “Aren’t you a tough guy?” You teased, using his own arguments against him.         “Not when I’m with you.” He confessed and approached your face again, slowly and carefully, to kiss your soft lips with a delicacy that made you shiver. “There are so many things I want to tell you, Y/N.”       “ Then say them.” You whispered still close to his face, feeling his hot breath against your skin. “It would ruin Christmas’ spirit.”   “I thought you didn’t like Christmas.”       “I lied.”

[transthaumaturge]

Squirrel Girl is Super Gay for her Roommate and I Want Everyone to Know

A gay infodump of sensible length by Rachel Tikvah

ALRIGHT, SO The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl was the very first comic that I ever read regularly, back when I was looking for more stories with strong female protagonists but didn't really know why. Back then I just thought I really liked strong female characters and not that I was being gay on main, but now I know the truth. The comic had a 5-year run, and it was the first time that Squirrel Girl, AKA Doreen Green, had had her own series. She had a brief run in the mid-2000's where she was established as someone who could beat up Thanos with her bare hands well, more like squirrel hands but was mostly a joke character that happened to be incredibly buff and had indestructible plot armor. USG decided that Doreen's next major life goal would be to enroll in college to become a computer scientist, because her writer, Ryan North, is really into computer science and they basically gave him free rein over Squirrel Girl canon for five whole years. Like, a solid third of the plots are solved with some kind of computer science smarts. It’s really cool. Anyway this is Doreen in one of the gayest solo pictures I could find of her on short notice, which is also one of the variant covers from the actual series:

And this is her college roommate, Nancy Whitehead:

I'm like, 99% certain that Ryan North intended for them to end up as a couple and Disney!Marvel told him no. So he decided to make them AS GAY FOR EACH OTHER AS POSSIBLE without explicitly saying that they were a couple, and it ended up going under the radar. What follows is evidence for that claim. I’m going to put a "read more” after this so it doesn’t clutter everyone’s dashboards, but please read on if you’re interested. There’s a lot of cute gayness after this point. I’m also going to put all of the image descriptions at the end, since they take up a lot of space and I don’t want to break up the flow of the post. Finally, a quick spoiler alert for one arc in the middle of the series and a couple major plot points from the final few issues.

AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES

So for a while it was just kind of hinted at that they’re in a relationship, mostly because they were basically domestic life partners for like, two whole years in-universe before the comic run ended. But it really came to a head with an arc that was ran about 2/3 of the way through the series. Some pictures of them being, like, so cute together in general and/or talking about how much they care about each other before I get to that arc, though: 

Also Doreen describes her and Nancy's cat as "co-parented" in one of the last issues:

ANYWAY, THE ARC. THE HYPERTIME ARC. So one of the villains created for the Squirrel Girl run (I think they liked making weird shit canon just because they could) was a dude who went by the name "EpicCrimez". He’s a crime streamer. He livestreams his crimes to an online audience. I don't know. *Throws up hands*

He had some kind of laser gun that he built out of scavenged alien tech but didn't really know what it did, so he shot it at Doreen and Nancy for kicks. It shot them into hypertime, so suddenly the rest of the world was moving at a fraction of the pace that they were. They were moving so quickly that they were slated to live out their entire lives over the span of a single weekend if they didn't figure out how to reverse the effects. And...they did. Live out their entire lives together. For the two of them, they were the only two people in the world. There were other people, but they looked like statues unless you spent a very long time observing them. Doreen and Nancy grew old together in a world where they only had each other. This is an incredibly cute domestic scene from a little while after they found themselves in hypertime:

Gosh, I wish I could find more official art from that arc of them just living together, it was so good. But the point is, they were both old by the time that Nancy figured out how to get them out of hypertime. And it wasn't ideal. Their bio signatures were stored in the gun that EpicCrimez shot, and they could essentially "reboot" their bodies from when they were first shot and send themselves back into the regular timestream. But they wouldn't remember anything about the life that they had shared together. Nancy almost didn't want to do it. She raised the possibility of them just living out the rest of their lives together, because she didn't want to forget their life together. This is the conversation they had:

"I don't regret any of it. I don't want to lose it, and I don't want to lose us." "You're not getting rid of me that easily." Every time I look at that last picture, which took up an entire page of the comic, I start to cry. We’re seeing the final moments of two people who love each other more than anything, who were each other's entire lives, savoring their last moments together and wondering what the future holds. Sacrificing the life that they built together so that their younger selves could live a better, fuller one. Dying in each other’s arms, scared but comforted by the fact that they had each other. And then the arc ends, and they can't remember anything, so the status quo is restored. They have some paintings they made of each other while they were living together in hypertime, but they move on pretty quickly without ever knowing the significance of those lived decades. Still, it's clear in the arcs that follow and the adventures they embarked on afterward that they would die for each other. All of that continues until the end of the last arc. Their shared apartment's been blown up at this point by a supervillain who wanted to ruin Doreen’s life before eventually killing her. And in the aftermath of the fight, they're sifting through the wreckage for anything that survived (don't worry, the cat got out in time) when they find the picture that they painted of themselves during the hypertime arc:

They have a really cute conversation about how this chapter of their life is over, but they're going to be okay and they're going to build a new life together. And then Nancy basically tells Doreen that she can't live without her:

And then Doreen says something super queer-coded about how she likes the idea of the world knowing her secret identity now:

On the very last page of the comic, after all of the action is over and the series is about to end, they're talking to each other in what's supposed to be a twitter thread and Doreen asks Nancy a very thinly veiled question about whether she still wants to spend time with her now that her identity's out. She pretends it's about a class project, but it's really not about the class project. Here's how that conversation goes:

With no knowledge of what happened during the weekend when they shared their entire lives together, without ever having heard Doreen say it to her before, Nancy’s heart still knows which words to choose. "...you're not getting rid of me that easily. <3" I believe that the author of the series, Ryan North, did as much as he possibly could to portray them as a couple without saying it outright. And as the last piece of evidence to support that claim, I want to share a response he wrote in one of the series' last-ever letter columns:

"as for more Doreen and Nancy, I hope so too. A Squirrel Girl book without Nancy would feel like--like--like some sort of hypothetical "Super" "Man" book without an equally hypothetical "Lois" "Lane"!" It's easy to write off this analysis as wishful thinking, or as a misreading of the subtext. But when the author of the series says that these two characters are meant to always be together and compares them to one of the most famous couples in any comic series ever, it's clear that there's more to it than that. 

Some Additional Thoughts: 1) Doreen and Nancy are both probably bisexual or pansexual, since they both expressed romantic interest in men throughout the series but they’re both clearly interested in each other too. There might be an element of demiromanticism there as well if part of the reason that they’re into each other romantically is because of how emotionally close they’ve become over the years. I want to make sure that that facet of their romantic orientations doesn’t get erased, because bi and pan folks get erased enough as it is. Neither Doreen nor Nancy are lesbians, just super-cool WLWs.

2) HERE’S WHAT THE ISSUE 50 VARIANT COVER LOOKED LIKE

That’s NOT a fun, totally straight way to pose with your platonic gal pal. They’re so incredibly cute together! I have no words! In Closing If you got this far, thank you so much for letting me talk to you about a comic that’s very important to me, and a couple in that comic that I care about very much. I spent way too long making this (six hours and counting), mostly in writing the image descriptions, and I’m very proud of my work but very tired now. Hyperfixation is a hell of a drug. If this resonated with you, please consider reblogging it so that more folks can see it. If not, even a like is nice. I’d also love to engage with people who have their own thoughts, so feel free to leave some comments in the notes if you’ve got an idea/a reaction/any additional cute Doreen/Nancy scenes that you’d like to share with me. At any rate, this post has gone on long enough and I don’t want to ask y’all to read any more than you have to. So have a great day, good morning / afternoon / night, and stay safe. Thanks again for reading! ~Rachel Tikvah, AKA @transthaumaturge Image Descriptions: Image 1: [ID: Squirrel Girl, a young woman with light skin, is posing in front of a brick wall that she seems to have crashed through, leaving a perfect outline of her body. She’s facing away but looking backwards over her shoulder at us and smiling. She’s flexing upward with her right arm and has her left fist resting on her left hip. Her sidekick, a squirrel named Tippy-Toe, is standing in the cutout she left in the wall and is making the same exact pose while wearing a light pink bow around her neck. Squirrel Girl is wearing brown lace-up boots, fur-lined hot pants over grey tights, and a brown fur-lined jacket with sleeves that come up to her forearms and a symbol of an acorn embroidered into the back. She’s also wearing a hairband with fake squirrel ears on it over short reddish-brown hair. She has a large squirrel tail coming out of her hot pants that sweeps down in a curve behind her lower legs. The illustration is drawn so that everything is bathed in the light of a sunset, and Doreen is casting shadows on the wall in front of her.] Image 2: [ID: Two frames depicting a scene between Doreen and Nancy in their college dorm room, with many cardboard boxes still not unpacked and sitting on a bare bed mattress. Nancy Whitehead is a young woman with dark brown skin and short, curly black hair. She's wearing black tights, a white dress-top, and a yellow cardigan over that. Her arms are crossed as she holds her white cat, Mew, against her chest. Doreen is wearing grey tights and a black long-sleeve shirt with a wide collar and white stripes across the chest. She's holding Tippy-Toe up to Nancy with both hands so she can see her better. The following dialogue ensues: Nancy: "A squirrel? But weren't you the one who was all about pets not being allowed in--" Doreen: "Yeah, I know. But this really interesting person I met today told me that obeying an unjust law is itself unjust." Nancy: "...You know, I was worried I'd get a weird roommate, but you're all right, Doreen Green."] Image 3: [ID: Doreen and Nancy are both sitting on a lavender-pink couch in nightclothes. Doreen has short, orange hair. She is wearing a loose-fitting grey long-sleeve shirt and steel-blue cutoff shorts; Nancy has cropped black hair. She is wearing a dark purple top with sleeves that come down to her upper arms, and loose-fitting navy-blue shorts that come down to her lower thighs. Doreen is side-hugging Nancy as she says, with an ecstatically happy smile, “Nancy, you’re the greatest. You know that, right?” Nancy gives Doreen a full smile as she responds, “I’d always suspected it, but it is nice to have it confirmed.”] Image 4: [ID: Nancy is shown from the shoulders up. She has short, curly black hair. She’s wearing large, disc-shaped gold dangle earrings, and a red jacket with prominent shoulders and a yellow collar. She’s fixing the observer with an angry, determined stare as she says, “She knows this man wouldn’t dream about betraying her, or he’d have to answer to me.”] Image 5: [ID: Doreen and Nancy are eating breakfast at the brown, circular kitchen table in their apartment. Doreen’s wearing a skin-tight athletic crop top that’s striped in black, red, white, and blue. Her arm muscles are well-defined and clearly visible as she puts a spoon in her mouth, closing her eyes as she does so. She has a bowl of cereal in front of her, and half a banana in front of that. Nancy is sitting to her left in a pink camisole top that’s also exposing her muscles, scrolling through something on her smartphone. Her hair is in a yellow fabric wrap that’s knotted on one side of her head. A cup of coffee sits in front of her. The clear blue sky is visible through the window centered on the wall behind them.] Image 6: [ID: Nancy and Doreen are facing away from the vantage point, walking towards an Empire State University campus building and holding hands with their fingers intertwined. Nancy is wearing a long knee-length grey coat and black knee-high boots, with a baby-blue side bag hanging from her left shoulder. Doreen is wearing a magenta sweatshirt with the periwinkle-lined hood down, light brown form-fitting denim pants, and black ankle-high boots, with a dark brown side bag hanging from her right shoulder. Trees and bushes hem the walkway in on either side. The building in front of them is dark red, with glass doors and a row of floor-to-ceiling windows on the second floor. Doreen is saying “...we’re just going to have to take the long way around.”] Image 7: [ID: Doreen is facing towards the vantage point and is visible from the legs up, standing in front of a pile of rubble in the background. She’s wearing high-waisted light blue shorts over black tights, and a red windbreaker with sleeves ending at her upper arms that’s opened to reveal a white t-shirt underneath. Tippy-Toe is sitting on her shoulder. There are two people facing Doreen, each slightly in frame and silhouetted in black against the light of the setting sun. Doreen is fixing them with an angry, determined expression, resting her right fist at her hip while she gesticulates with her left hand and says, “So! I don’t know about you all, but Melissa kidnapping my friend and blowing up my life and my house and almost blowing up my co-parented cat makes me feel like giving her a piece of my mind. Friends...”] Image 8: [ID: A full comic page. EpicCrimez is looking like a dork in a green and black skin-tight jumpsuit, bright red ski goggles, and a green wig cap with his brown hair sticking out the back in a mullet. He’s standing inside a jewelry store and holding up a fist of expensive gems and pearls-on-strings as holds up his smartphone and speaks into it. He’s facing off against Squirrel Girl, with her allies Koi Boi and Chipmunk Hunk on her right, and Nancy and Brain Drain on the left. The following scene ensues: EpicCrimez: “And for those of you just tuning in, welcome to another successful heist by your boy EpicCrimez, streaming live! Now with 10% more live crime action than any other streamer! Don’t forget to like and subscribe!! I know some of you in EpicCrimez Nation have been forgetting to do that lately. Not acceptable.” Squirrel Girl: “You picked the wrong small business to rob, crime-initiator! Because this mall is protected by super heroes.” Brain Drain: “HELLO” SG: “And also an unrelated civilian friend I brought along too!” Nancy: (Not looking up from her phone) “ ‘Sup.” EC: “Check it out--Squirrel Girl and her miscellaneous friends are here! It’s action you won’t find on any other channel!” SG: “Are you...streaming your robberies?” (Nancy pockets her phone) EC: “Yeah I am! For money reasons! And with you “heroes” in it, I’ll make even more!” SG: (Whispering to Nancy:) “Question: a fight scene just gets him more traffic, which lets him profit from this crime even more--so does this mean we don’t fight him?” N: (Whispering back:) “I feel like letting him go causes more harm, but I look forward to us teasing apart the moral implications of this later.” SG: “Nice.” SG: (No longer whispering:) “I’ll like and subscribe, EpicCrimez! I’ll like fighting crime, and subscribe... to a worldview wherein the strong protect the weak!” EC: “Oh my gosh, are you like wholesome Spider-Man or something??” At the bottom of the page, small text says: “Wholesome Spider-Man, Wholesome Spider-Man/Does whatever a wholesome spider can/Is he tough?/Listen bud/He’s here to hear you talk about your day and tell you it’ll all be fine while taking you out for your favorite meal for dinner because he knows you deserve it.”] Image 9: [ID: Another full comic page. Doreen and Nancy are in their apartment together, and their friends Tomas and Brian (AKA Chipmunk Hunk and Brain Drain respectively) are frozen as they look down at the machine that Nancy is on her knees in front of, working on. Nancy, barefoot, is wearing cerulean-blue athletic pants, a black long-sleeve spandex shirt without shoulders, and narrow-framed glasses. Her hair is partially covered by a yellow cloth head wrap tied on the left side, with black dreadlocks spilling out the side and back. The machine in front of her is made of dull grey metal, about a meter tall and roughly circular. Wires dangle out of a hatch that Nancy is fiddling with. Doreen is wearing a flowing, dark-purple pantsuit with wide, ankle-length legs and a halter top with the sleeves tied off at her shoulders. Her shoes are light-brown ankle boots with a horizontal gap on the bridge of each foot. Her wavy orange hair is parted in the middle and down past her shoulders. She looks incredibly cute. The following scene ensues: Doreen: “What do you think?” Nancy: “I think--come on you stupid screw--I think we’re still years away from this thing working, if it ever does. Who knew time machine construction is really hard, except of course for everyone who has attempted it?” (She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand) D: “Hah! No, I mean my new outfit.” N: (Looking up and checking her gf out:) “Doreen! You look amazing!!” D: “Liberated it from a very expensive department store uptown!” N: (Now standing) “Tony paid for it?” D: Tony will eventually discover he was kind enough to leave some expensive jewelry in trade, yes. I pinned a note to him so he knows.” N: “There really are advantages to being friends with billionaire playboy genius philanthropists.” D: “Right?!” N: (Taking Doreen’s hands in hers:) “It’s a shame we can’t take a picture of you all dolled up.” D: “Not without standing still for a few months, yeah. But I was thinking about that. I picked up something else at another store downtown. Thought maybe it could help us with that.” (Holding up a shopping bag with one hand while still holding onto Nancy’s hand with the other:) “Nancy Whitehead, I thought you and I might take up painting sometime.” At the bottom of the page, small text says: “Tony Stark moves from meeting to meeting, his body accumulating dozens of notes every second. He sighs. Stuff like this didn’t happen before he knew Doreen. But then he smiles, because after all...stuff like this didn’t happen before he knew Doreen.”] Images 10-16: [ID: Several pages worth of comic frames, posted together to depict one scene. Doreen and Nancy are now old women, likely in their seventies or eighties. Doreen has short, grey hair. She’s wearing a tan button-up waistcoat and an orange ascot, brown flats with an olive-green skirt, knee-length and softly pleated. Her tail is sticking out the back of her skirt over the top, bushy and brown but with stiffer, less-dense hair. Nancy has her grey-black hair done up in a ponytail, a mass of tight curls behind her head. She’s wearing thin oval glasses, black dress pants, black flats, and a lavender cardigan with a flower motif along the edges, open to show the yellow-orange top underneath. They’re standing in front of a completed time machine. On either side are tall pieces of machinery, and in the middle is a round, flat metal dais hooked up to everything else with snaking cables. The following scene ensues: Nancy: “So...this is it, babe. The new machine.” Doreen: “Your secret project! Nancy, it looks like you started from scratch!” N: That’s because I did. I finally realized our old machine was never going to work. Maybe if we had a few more decades, but...there’s no time. And given that our backs are to the wall, I took a risk. I disassembled the gun right down to the metal, and examined all the parts. And I did find something: a data chip. Doreen, the gun stored our bio signatures when it us.” D: “What are you saying?” N: “I’m saying my new machine won’t send us back in time, and we’ll still have lost a weekend of real time. But it will restore our bodies to normal time.” D: (Hugging Nancy tight:) “Nancy! You saved us!!” N: (Resting her hands on Doreen’s shoulders:) “Not--quite. There’s a catch, Doreen. Our bodies will make it...but we won’t. Look, Doreen...I’m an old woman. I’ve spent most of my life in hypertime. This wasn’t how I saw my life going, but...I don’t regret any of it. I don’t want to lose it, and I don’t want to lose us.” D: “I don’t understand.” N: “It’s like restoring from backup. Our bodies will be restored to how they were the moment we were first hit. But--that necessarily includes our brains, too. Everything we’ve done since we entered hypertime--our entire lives spent together...we’ll forget.” (She looks at Doreen in distress) D: “I don’t either, Nancy. You’ve been the most important person in my life. But if we do go back--we can do it again. All of it. It might not happen again quite the same way, but--well, like you say...we’ll have all the time in the world.” N: (Their faces inches apart, they both tilt their heads down and smile sadly:) “Twist my arm, why don’t you.” (They both step onto the dais holding hands, and blue energy starts to ripple around them:) “You filled up Spidey’s web-shooters before we go?” D: “Yep. Again.” N: “You and me, saving the world.” D: “Well,” (holding Nancy’s hand in both of her own) "No reason we can’t do it twice.” N: “You know, there’s a chance things could turn out differently, now that we’ll have video games to distract us. In 40 years we might decide we don’t like hanging out after all.” D: (Hugging Nancy even tighter than before as the energy from the time machine starts to envelop them, resting her face in the nape of Nancy’s neck:) “Nah. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”] Image 17: [ID: Doreen and Nancy are sifting through the charred rubble of their apartment as night starts to fall around them. Doreen is wearing faded blue jeans and a navy blue t-shirt with a Captain America star in the middle. Over top of the shirt, she’s wearing a dark reddish-brown leather vest with four metal studs at the four points of the folded-out collar. Nancy is wearing black tights and a light green long-sleeve shirt with olive-green sleeves. The front of the shirt has a picture of Cat-Thor, Cat God of Cat Thunder’s head on it. The following scene ensues: Doreen: “So I know we’re only a few hours into it, Nancy, but I think my identity being public isn’t gonna be as bad as I thought.” Nancy: “Oh?” D: “Yeah, Tony’s given me lots of tips, and it does honestly help to know that my parents are protected by a robot tree with laser eyes and my friends live in a city with the most super heroes per square mile.” N: “Most super villains too, but--Hold on. I think I found it.” (Nancy lifts a picture frame out of the wreckage, charred around the edges but otherwise no worse for wear. It has a painting inside of it of Doreen and Nancy, arm-in-arm, from hypertime. Doreen is wearing the lavender pantsuit from before, and Nancy is wearing a tight-fitting lilac dress.) “...And it looks like you and I made it through just fine.”] Images 18-19: [ID: Two later comic panels from the same scene. They’re wearing the same outfits, but Nancy’s now cradling her white cat, Mew, in the crook of her left arm while she holds onto the picture frame with her right hand. The following scene ensues: Doreen: “Come on, let’s talk about it! If we’re starting a new chapter in our lives, and we can decide what’s in it, what do you want it to contain?” Nancy: “Doreen...” D: “What are the three things you can’t live without, Nancy Whitehead?” N: (Holding up the picture so that Doreen can see it:) “Fine. If you must know, all this girl needs to be happy are cats and squirrels and knitting and computers and friends and secret tattoos and super heroes and lots and lots of love. Also food and shelter. And water. And internet.” D: “That’s more than three things.”] Image 20: [ID: Same scene as before, a single frame with a close-up on Doreen from her chest upwards. Doreen cups her chin with one of her hands and says, “Honestly--I thought about it. I really did. But I realized that where I am now, I’m safe and I’m loved and I kinda like the idea of not having to lie to people anymore, you know? Even if it is just a lie of omission. I want to share my whole self with the world. I don’t want to have to hide who I am anymore.”] Image 21: [ID: Something resembling a twitter thread, with dialogue between Nancy and Doreen stacked chronologically as horizontal boxes. Their respective names and handles are at the top of each of their comments. Nancy is Nancy W. and @sewwiththeflo, Doreen is Squirrel Girl and @unbeatablesg. The following conversation ensues: Nancy: “You think I’d leave you high and dry??” Doreen: “I think I don’t want our lateness harming your grades and therefore harming your post-secondary education or career choices and therefore harming your ENTIRE LIFE?!” “So yeah I think you should switch to someone else, real talk. I honestly don’t mind, I promise.” Nancy: “Please. If there’s one thing I know about you, about me, and about how we spend our future together, it’s this. Doreen Green...” “...you’re not getting rid of me that easily. <3″] Image 22: [ID: A paragraph of text, black text on a yellow background. “As for more Doreen and Nancy, I hope so too. A Squirrel Girl book without Nancy would feel like--like--like some sort of hypothetical “Super” “Man” book without an equally hypothetical “Lois” “Lane”!”] Image 23: [ID: A group picture of Squirrel Girl and friends sitting down on a grassy hill and watching the sunset together. Kraven the Hunter is in the foreground for some reason, looking almost directly at the camera. In the background we see Koi Boi, Mary Mahajan, Chipmunk Hunk, Brain Drain, and Mew the Cat. In the middle of the shot, Doreen and Nancy sit together. Doreen is in her superhero outfit with Tippy-Toe on her right shoulder, and Nancy is in a yellow cardigan and jeans on Doreen’s left. They’re holding hands, fingers intertwined, as Nancy leans against Doreen with her whole body. Their heads are tilted inward towards each other, the side of Doreen’s head touching the side of Nancy’s, as they look off into the distance together.]

[zealouswerewolfcollector]

Chronicles of Grief

2392 words, T

Warnings: Discussion of character death, grief/mourning

Minor Russingon, though you can easily read it as friendship only

On Ao3

Russandol,

I do not know why I am writing this if I am not going to send it. I will not risk a messenger for a personal letter. Perhaps I will send it with a bird. Perhaps I will keep it in the hope of handing it to you when I see you. In the hope that I will see you…

You must already know what happened. I should have known it the moment I was told he had ridden away. I must have known, but I did not believe it. It is still hard to believe. I am sitting on his throne, his crown on my head, and I cannot believe it.  

How long did it take you to accept that your father was… gone? You see? I cannot even bring myself to say the word. In the letters I have deemed safe to send I wrote lost, fallen, gone, but I cannot bear to write de

I apologize. I should not have mentioned your father. You did not even have time to mourn him. I have become inconsiderate in my grief. Perhaps I will not show you this letter even if I do see you.

---

We had a small ceremony. It felt empty without the body to bury. Afterwards, Lalwen and I sat with Father’s closest friends and told increasingly gruesome war stories to each other to distract ourselves from pain.

I wish I could go to sleep and wake up a decade later. I know it would not change much (if anything, it would make things worse), but I intensely wish for oblivion.

Forgive me for the grim words. I am trying to find something positive in this (I can see you shaking your head at me). I am trying to tell myself that Father will rest in the Halls, that he might return to Mother. I am trying to tell myself that we are strong enough to survive this, to come out stronger from this, but it does not help, Russandol. It does not help at all.

---

I am king now, it seems. How ludicrous. The blame lies with you, you know? Of course, you do. I am king now, and I cannot lock myself in my chamber and reread your letters over and over again as I long to do.

There are so many things I should take care of, so many new responsibilities. I have been the lord of my own keep, but this is entirely different. I wonder if I can do this. I am not my father. I cannot be my father.

Why did he go and left me alone with this? Why could he not wait? I am… I suppose I can tell you. I am so angry, Russandol. Angry with him for doing it, for not thinking about me. Angry with the Enemy, with the Valar, with your father. Angry with myself.

---

I am going to confess something. I feel relieved that I have not seen the body. I know that the Lord of the Eagles would have taken it to somewhere safe, maybe to my brother, and in my heart, I am grateful that it wasn’t me he chose. I would not want to see him like that, not my father. I want to remember him as I last saw him – strong and full of life. Do you think it makes me a coward? Oh, I know your answer. You are not trustworthy when it comes to my flaws.  

---

I keep waiting. Not for him to return, not for this to be a nightmare, but for an end. An end to what – I cannot say. I would welcome any.

All we have built is falling apart, but I cannot bring myself to care. The world could break this very moment, and I would only shrug. No, worse. I would embrace it. I find myself thinking about it, wanting it. No, not wanting. I am not sure I am capable of wanting anything anymore. I would not mind it if it happened, that is all.

Do you see now? Do you see how unfit I am to bear the crown? If not, I will tell you something more horrifying. I hear about all those deaths. So many Elves and Men. Our cousins, my friends, my close friends. Do you know how it feels? Comforting. I feel comforted that I am not the only one going through this pain. Now, at least, can you see? What kind of a king does that make me? What kind of a person does that make me?

I cannot do this, Russandol. I cannot be a good king. I do not even want to try to be one. You are the only one I can admit this to. Please, do not judge too harshly. No. Judge as harshly as I deserve.

---

It is like living in a house with one wall gone. Gone forever, not to be replaced. You are no longer shielded from the wind and rain. Your home is no longer home.  

---

Sometimes I revisit the memories of the moments before I received the news. They are not good memories, full of uncertainty, pain, blood, and my friends dying one by one in front of my eyes. And yet, they bring comfort because at least my father was still alive then, I still had hope, I still had him to rely on even after such heavy losses.

I would give so much to have him back. It frightens me how much I would give.

---

I should have known disaster was going to strike. I had been so happy lately. We had had peace for long years, the Edain had come to their own, and I was free to wander. And if my wanderings often led me to you, I was the happier for it. I should have known it could not last. I had dared to forget we were cursed.

Everything feels different, Russandol. Everything is different. I do not think I will experience joy ever again. My joy will always lack something.

I keep talking about my own pain, but the truth is I do not care about it. Despite my anger, I do not care that he will not be here for me. I only care that he will not be here. Do you understand the difference?

Perhaps there is none, and I am only trying not to appear selfish. It is hard to tell sometimes.

---

I am still so angry. I have surges of violent thoughts. I want to rage against this unfairness, this injustice. I want to break the chairs, I want to sweep off the dishes from the table, I want to scratch the walls. It is so unfair! It should not have happened. He should not have done that.

I go and practice with the sword to let the anger out, but it does not help. I am powerless against the natural order of things, against the unchangeable and cruel finality of it.

---

I was passing by the kitchens the other day, and I heard the cooks sing. It was Snow upon the Taniquetil; my father loved that song. I joined in from afar, and halfway through the song, I noticed that I was trying to imitate my father’s voice. I stopped then. It was a poor imitation. It was not even close.

What am I supposed to do, Russandol? How am I supposed to replace him? His absence is felt so deeply, and not just by me. If only you could see Lalwen… You would not recognize her. The bold and merry aunt we know is gone. She is a shadow of her former self. I have never seen her like that. Not even after Grandfather died.

How can I help her, Russandol? How can I be what my father was for her? I cannot, I know I cannot, no matter how hard I try.

---

Everything reminds me of him. I had never thought about how many of my memories are connected to him. Even something as simple as brushing my hair or riding my horse makes me think of him.

It is only natural, of course; he was my father. And yet, I find myself astonished to discover just how much he has shaped me, how great a role he has played in making me what I am, how entrenched he is in every aspect of my life from my mannerisms to my habits and preferences.

I hear his voice sometimes, I hear his laughter. I go somewhere, say something, and I know for certain how he would respond. I hear it with perfect clarity, and I almost want to reach out and touch him, let myself lean against him as I used to do when I was younger.

I miss him. It is unbearable.

---

My father used to say sometimes that when this was over, he was going to leave the governing to us, youngsters, and go live on the seashore in a small house he would build for himself. I laughed, convinced that he was joking.

The other day I found drawings in his chamber. Drawings of a house. It was truly a small one, but in his nearly illegible handwriting, he had scribbled my name and the names of my siblings over the chambers. He had reserved one for each of us and another for Itarillë.

He never got to have that, Russandol. Isn’t that so terribly unfair? He was kind and strong, and he had tried to be the best father he could be for us. And he did not live to achieve his dream.

---

Time has lost all meaning. Sometimes I remember last summer’s feast my father held or that time just a month before the firefall we rode in Ard-galen with Aunt Lalwen and a small company (Angaráto and Aikanáro came to join us, and we spent a few nights under the stars), and it seems like it has just happened, it seems impossible that most of the people who were there are no more, that my father, larger than life, is gone, all his hopes and dreams are gone. He seems so alive, so present.

When I think back to the first days after his death, I am surprised I survived them. It still seems unthinkable to go on when you have lost someone so important. At times, it seems it happened so long ago that I cannot believe it has been only several months. And yet, I feel that a part of me is still there, locked within those terrible moments, reliving them over and over again. That part of me will always stay there.

---

Sometimes I wonder if I could have done something. If I could have stopped him. If I could have saved him. I wonder what I could have done differently to change the outcome. It is a futile exercise that does nothing but bring me more grief, but I cannot stop.

Sometimes I wish I could have gone back to the moment he rode out and stop him. I would stand before him and beg him to stay. I would scream at him that he was condemning himself to certain death. But he knew that already, didn’t he? He knew. Even if I could have stopped him, something else would go horribly wrong, I am sure of it. We are cursed, after all.

---

I still feel rage at times, but it is calmer, mellower, not the all-consuming fury it used to be. I sit at a council and feel the urge to throw the goblet I hold upon the wall, to see it break. I watch myself doing it, but distantly, as if it is a different person wearing my face, while I am calmly conversing with my court.  

Is this how it is going to be, Russandol? Will I slowly learn to accept it, to live with it? To live without him. It is not what I want. It feels like a betrayal.

I laugh sometimes, I make decisions, I keep on living, and it too seems a betrayal. I am wrong to feel this way, but I cannot help it. I look at his portrait – smiling, he wanted the artist to paint him smiling, so when one day Itarillë came to visit, she (a full-grown woman she already was at the moment the painting was made, mind you) would not be scared – I look at it, and I smile back, and I tear up, and I hear him scold me for these thoughts, and still I cannot help it.

---

Will you believe that I have not cried yet? I cannot do it. There are moments when I feel I will break down, when my eyes fill with tears, and my chest constricts with the wretched pain of loss, but they last seconds, and I get myself under control again.

I try to work myself into exhaustion, so I will fall into a deep sleep and not have to think, but I lie in my bed wide awake and think of him dying alone. It makes me want to scream, but I am afraid that if I start, I will never stop.

Perhaps I could weep if you were here. Perhaps I could break in the safety of your embrace. Perhaps I could afford to be fragile and vulnerable if only you were to see me. Oh, how I wish you could come. I am barely stopping myself from asking you. I know that if I sent this, you would be battling with the same desire, but of course, your good judgment would prevail.

---

I have to end this letter one day, but I have no idea how. I still hurt, I will always hurt, I still think of him every single day. There are days I still feel angry, there are days I still cannot believe it, there are days I feel exhausted and incapable of doing anything. But there are also days I am able to remember him without the accompanying piercing pain.

Maybe there will come a time when those days grow greater in number, and I will be able to smile when my thoughts inevitably turn to him. Until then, I will try to do my best and keep living and hoping to see you safe and sound.

Yours,

Findekáno

[arse-crack-thistle]

quality time

rwrb and the five love languages | part four

in which bea nearly crashes from the stress of party-planning (aroace rep)

Princess Beatrice buzzes around The Masquerade, double-checking place cards, straightening table settings, and pulling dried rose petals from the centerpieces. She rented the concert venue for the night to throw a modern Valentine’s gala to benefit Henry’s queer youth center in London. He and Alex are around here somewhere, probably hooking up in a broom cupboard and definitely not nitpicking every detail like Bea is. Her assistant follows her with a clipboard and updates her on the schedule: t-minus three hours until guests arrive and, in the meantime, she needs to give final approval, soundcheck with the band, and get dressed up. Jeans and a blazer, while royal casual, are not party-appropriate, and tonight needs to be perfect.

She usually hates royal events like galas, but this one is special. Not because it’s Valentine’s Day—Bea could not give two fucks about the holiday—but because ever since coming out as asexual around Christmas, she’s been looking for an opportunity to help other queer people, or at least give them a public figure they could point to and say, “See Mum and Dad, she’s like me.” Henry and Alex got their chance, and now this time, it’s hers.

The stage lights up with pink and red; it’s cheesy, but Bea digs it. The concert was the one thing she would not budge on with her royal event planner. Did she want to reach into wealthy pockets? Yes. Did she still want to have a good time? Hell yes. And the band she’s joining for one night only happens to be just as queer as the charity they’re supporting.

Permanent Record, local to London, tune their instruments on stage. Bea has met them dozens of times over the last month and vibed with them instantly. Margot, the too-cool lead singer always decked out in a leather jacket and Docs, is ace like her, and as much as Bea has wanted to get to know them, there’s been no time. Turns out, party-planning and party-executing steals the host away from all meaningful human connection. She’s only been able to keep up with Henry because he’s partly responsible for this event.

The pit, full of tables covered in pink and gold, finally looks perfect enough for Bea to hand-off any other minute fixes to the planner and finally have her soundcheck with the band. But then, a large crash comes from the back of the venue, and she hears a loud shriek coming from a familiar voice, the one that’s been shrill and disapproving for the last month. When Bea runs up, she sees hundreds of shattered champaign flutes and her planner on the floor, blood oozing from her hands.

This cannot be happening. The only reason Bea kept this woman around was to take most of the day-of duties off her plate. But she’s in the back of an ambulance now, and Henry is nowhere to be found. Bea’s stress levels go from tolerable to unbearable as she orders her assistant to track down replacement flutes. The staff are quick to fill her other requests: a couple of people start sweeping, someone runs off to find her co-host, another tells the band Bea’s soundcheck will be postponed, and a brave soul steps up as a temporary assistant and follows her around the back tables to check for broken glass. Bea knows she doesn’t have to be the one to do this, but it seems like the success of this event lies solely one her shoulders. If something goes wrongs, it’s her face—not Henry’s—in the papers the next day. Powder Princess Crashes and Burns at Gay Ball. Christ.

After an hour, everything is sorted. There’s no glass. The planner is getting stiches. Permanent Record has started their soundcheck and sound amazing. But even their chill indie tunes can’t calm the princess. She needs to get on stage, but her stylist specifically requested she have at least two hours to work his magic, which is not going to happen.

Bea tells her assistant to get her stylist and his team to the venue, because she won’t be able to leave, and warn him he’ll only have an hour at best. Henry and Alex have already taken off to get ready, and she has to remind herself to smack them later for abandoning her.

She tugs off her blazer, drapes it over a chair, and rolls up her sleeves. If she does get her hands on a guitar, she’ll explode. It’s all she can think of to stop her from raiding the bar at the back.

“Better late than never, eh, Princess?” Margot says as she huffs on stage.

One of the stagehands gives Bea her beautiful sleek, black Fender Stratocaster, and her anxiety reduces itself to a hum. Music can’t cure all, but it certainly keeps her from wrecking every good thing in her life.

“Let’s just play,” she says.

But it’s anything but perfect. Whatever chemistry she had with Permanent Record somehow jumped into the Thames between their last rehearsal and now because this is an absolute travesty and she’s only playing two songs with them tonight. She’s forgotten measures of one song and can’t find the chords fast enough in her solo of the other. Utter shit.

Why does she even fucking bother?

She always fucks everything up. Always. Why did she think she could put this on? Sure, she’s chaired these events before, but not ones she actually cares about, not ones she’s actually put her heart into. Christ, no wonder. She should’ve known it would turn out like this. She’s the anti-Midas; everything she touches turns to shit.

No kid will ever see her as a queer role model. She’s the girl they point to and say, “See Mum and Dad, what a waste.”

She needs a hit so fucking bad.

Which is why she has to get out of here ASAP. Before she does anything she’ll regret. She won’t slip again, and she won’t be the reason this gala fails. Henry can handle it without her.

So when Margot calls for a five-minute break, Bea excuses herself and hands off her guitar. On her way out the door, she tells the stagehand to find her assistant and tell her to have Henry take over. The hard part is over thanks to the planner actually being brilliant at her job, even if she and Bea would never get along.

No doubt, cameras are already lined up outside, so she hides in one of the green rooms and locks the door behind her. If she just takes a deep breath and calms down, she can bring herself back from the edge.

Five things she can see: The 1975, Arctic Monkeys, Oasis, Solange, and Fiona Apple’s signatures on the artist wall.

Four things she can feel: the worn leather on a crusty couch, the chipped-paint walls, her toes in her shoes, and her fingers through her light brown hair.

Three things she can hear: the ticking from the clock, the click of her heels as she paces, and a knock at the door.

Two things she can smell: decades-old musk from artists past—no doubt coming from the couch—and her light perfume on her wrist.

One thing she can taste: a hint of coffee from earlier.

She breathes in and out, and the knock on the door continues.

“Bea, are you in there? Could you let me in?” Margot. Essentially a stranger. She supposes it’s better than facing a disappointed Henry, so she opens the door and promptly relocks it as soon as they’re inside.

“Christ, this place is legendary, isn’t it? Everyone’s played here—is that Bob Dylan? Fucking nuts,” Margot says, pointing to the wall.

“I’ve seen loads of people here. Always wanted to play here myself,” Bea tells them. She traces Lizzo’s signature. That was a fun night; Nora and June flew out for a girls’ night, which was ultimately crashed by Pez.

“Me too, and the rest of band as well, I suppose.” Margot looks at Bea and smiles. They’re brown eyes crinkle in the corner, and it reminds her of Alex. “And now we get to, eh, Princess? Couldn’t’ve gotten here without you. The whole world knows Permanent Record now.”

“You could’ve done it without me,” she says. “You will tonight anyway.”

“Hey.” They reach for Bea’s hand. “Everyone has some hiccups before a big gig. It’ll be grand, but only if you’re there. This is your night as much as it is ours or the youth center’s. You have no idea how important it is for your lot to shine a light on causes people shy away from.”

That makes Bea smile. For so long she wanted to hide from her position. She wanted freedom to do whatever she pleased, but now she understands the power she has, even if people still see her as “The Powder Princess.” No matter what she wears, millions of fashion influencers share links to her clothes. If she walks into a restaurant, their yearly profits skyrocket. When she told the world she was ace, thousands of people messaged her and said the same. One of them was Margot, telling her about their undiscovered band from South London.

She tells Margot how that was one of the first times she really felt like herself. Completely at peace with who she is. How that peace got away from her and turned this gala into a near-panic-attack-inducing event, she doesn’t know.

“Have you let on how stressed you’ve been to anyone?” Margot asks. The two sit together on the couch after Margot bravely plopped themself down on the dirty, old thing.

“Hadn’t the time,” she says. Truthfully, Bea doesn’t think she’s had a genuine conversation with anyone since the gala’s conception.

Margot throws their hands in the air. “Well, there you go then! You’ve got to take the time! To take care of yourself. To hang out with your mates. Just to have some goddamn fun, Bea! Come on! You think I’d be a functioning human if I didn’t let loose with my mates every now and then? This—” They gesture to their body, covered in tattoos and tattered black clothing. “Doesn’t happen on its own.”

Bea laughs. It’s been so long since she’s laughed from anything other than stress. “Right, so how does this all happen then?” She swirls her hand in Margot’s direction.

As they chat, Bea relaxes. They talk about their families and uni and music and coming out. Bea tells Margot about the time she and the gang went to the karaoke bar where Henry got wasted and sang Queen horrifically. Margot tells her about the time in year twelve when they got dared to try out for the school play and ended up playing an old man in the most unbelievable bald cap.

Eventually, the two of them pull out their phones and play a few games of Among Us until Bea’s desperate assistant finds her and pleads for her to get ready though the door. They only have an hour before guests arrive.

“You all right?” Margot asks. “Want to go out there and try again?”

Funny how it doesn’t seem so scary anymore. How it only took a short break, a nice chat, and a little pink astronaut to put Bea at ease. She smiles. The notes come back to her fingertips.

check out the rest of my rwrb and the five love languages series: part one, part two, part three, and part five. (links to come as they’re released)

listen, my permanent headcanon is aroace bea and you will never convince me otherwise and i will never write her as anything else bc i love her so much!! (that being said, if you ship her with anyone, i totally understand). also, i reference a fic of mine i wrote for winterfest so if you want to check out my version of bea’s coming out, you can do that here! and finally, i know this wasn’t a romantic fic for romance week but like i said in part one, valentine’s day is different for everyone. <3

rwrb romance week | @rwrb-fests

[homogrimoire-archive]

Kingfield's Fourth Anniversary - Day 1

Just An Urban Legend

Feng, David, Dwight, and Jake find themselves at the fire together after a trial. Stories from back home are exchanged to pass the time, and some of those stories manage to find their way into the trials.

AO3 Link

This time around, it was Dwight, Jake, David, and Feng around a fire. They all had finished a trial some time ago, Dwight and David were with a different set of survivors, and Feng and Jake from another set as well. Jake was contently resting on the outskirts of the camp, Dwight and David were leaning against each other by the fire to keep even more warm, and Feng was sitting on a log bored out of her mind.

She really didn’t like this place. Its not like she was ever particularly outdoorsy. Sure, she had her smartphone, which miraculously never died, but it was entirely useless. No offline games on it, no music, and the clock was obsolete in a place where time didn’t matter. The flash didn’t stun killers, and throwing it at them just made them angry more than anything.

Still, she held onto it. A piece of home. All of them had something from home they kept on themselves. For Jake, it was a well used Swiss Army Knife, an expensive and genuine one at that. For Dwight, it was his old wristwatch. Apparently, he had it since forever. It looked as old. And for David, it was a roll of sports bandages. It never seemed to run out, despite how much he used it.

“I’m bored. Any of you got any stories?” she eventually asked since she figured the others would like to kill the time too.

“Hmmm… ” Dwight contemplated. Feng noticed that David patiently awaited his boyfriend’s response. How someone could manage to fall in love here was beyond her.

“I saw bigfoot once.”

“No you didn’t.” Jake quickly protested as he shot up from where he slept. “It was probably an emaciated bear, or some guy in a suit, or a trick of the light with some branches or something.” He then promptly went back to lying down.

“Yeesh mate, how long’ve you been holdin’ that one in?” David wondered.

“I just have very strong strong and very right opinions on dumb myths like that.” he rationalized.

“Well it’s true!” Dwight pouted. “I was working as a janitor for this huge park and this kid got lost in the woods so they arranged a search party. I went to help after my shift with a co-worker. We were searching for hours, and it was getting dark, so we decided to head back. Keep it one missing person instead of making it three, you know? So, we were on our way back when we heard this terrifying scream! It was like something I’d expect to hear here, honestly. So me and my co-worker are scared shitless. We’re back to back with our flashlights looking around to see if we can find the thing. And just when we think we’re kinda safe, I turn my light to see two glowing eyes staring right at me and the outline of a huge man.”

“No!” Feng says, almost in disbelief.

“Yes! I scream and cling onto my coworker, and then he sees it and screams, and we trip over ourselves and fumble as we run away, still screaming like little girls!” Dwight laughed. “No joke though, it had to have been at least twice as tall as me.”

“What you heard was probably a cougar, or some other large cat. Or some animals mating. Those things are freaks.” Jake shuddered. He heard animals getting it on more times than he would have ever liked to.

“Well, I know what I saw, or my name’s Aloiscious the Third! And its not.” the honest man proudly stated.

“…Whatever.” Jake sighed.

“Well, I believe you, luv.” David comforted with a kiss to his cheek.

“Thanks David.” Dwight cooed as he leaned back into his boyfriend.

“You know, I saw something’ kinda scary too when I was a kid.” David mentioned. “Not so scary now, but that’s kinda expected.”

“I’m down to hear it. Fire away, champ.”

“It began on a dark night. Me ‘n some blokes were bored and decided to pay a visit to an abandoned church.”

“You know how cliché that sounds, right?” Dwight questioned.

“And wanderin’ to the woods at night ain’t?” David fired back.

“…Touché.”

“Anyhow, we were walkin’ up to the place when we saw the thing. It was a Black Dog. Thing was guardin’ the place of course. Pry thought we were gonna tear it up, so it howled bloody murder and ran straight for us barkin’ like it was rabid!” David laughed at the memory. “Needless t’say, our arses were humbled for a few good days.”

“You saw a feral black dog? I guess that’s kinda scary.” Feng commented. She liked Dwight’s story better.

“Yeah… Could be scarier.” Dwight admitted.

“Wasn't just any ol’ bloody black dog, A Black Dog. Guess you lot might not know what they are. Legend says the first buried at a churchyard had t’guard it ‘gainst the devil. Since no one wanted to be the poor sod stuck doin’ that, people buried a dog first. Then again, could’ve just been a regular ol’ demonic black dog. Lot more of those furry bastards.”

“I could believe that.” Dwight conceded.

“Yeah. If I’m remembering correctly, there are tons of spirits and a ton of different types back home. I never really bothered to learn about it though.” she nonchalantly admitted. It never really interested her. “But, this one gaming cafe I was staying at did have a legend around it. Supposedly, a guy solo queued nonstop and died there. Sounds like a noob if you ask me. Honestly, he wasn’t even Top 500. He wasn’t even Grandmaster!” she laughed, and then saw David and Dwight looking at her in confusion. “Oh wait, you’re all kinda old huh? Guy played alone in a team based video game nonstop, and died. He wasn’t even that good at the game.”

“Ah.”

“That makes a bit more sense.” David said gratefully. Things could get rather confusing when you had friends from a few decades ahead or behind you.

“So anyways, legend has it that if you sat in the chair he died in, his spirit would possess you, and you’d get his skills. But, you’d also game yourself to death like him.”

“Did you ever sit in his chair?” Dwight wondered.

“Pft, and gain the skills of a noob like him and get wrecked? As if! I might as well have went AFK for a week. I had some juicy Prestige to keep up you know.”

Before they could pester Jake for a story, the Fog began to roll in.

“Aw shit, here we go again .” Feng said as she rolled her eyes.

“Ain’t no rest for the wicked, huh? See you guys there.” Dwight said with a wave. With his other hand, he still held onto David despite knowing the Fog would separate them regardless. They had all worked together before, so Dwight didn’t need to explain a plan of action.

“I hope it’s one a them Legion bastards. Love seein’ ‘em lose.” David grinned, sure they would have a successful trial. He gave Dwight a kiss on the cheek in celebration of the impending victory, making the shorter man blush.

“As long as we survive, I don’t care who we're up against.” Jake said as he threw in an offering, hoping it would land them in the forest. “See you all on the other side.” And with a salute, they were whisked away.

-

The Fog cleared to reveal the Red Forest. Dwight knew that somewhere, Jake was happy. He just hoped the Huntress wasn’t here this time. She was far too efficient on her home turf. Dwight wandered shortly before coming across a generator to work on. Surprisingly, he managed to complete it before something happened. Based on the scream, David was hooked. But thankfully, he wasn’t too far away from him.

Sneakily, Dwight made his way over to the hook, keeping an eye out for this trial’s killer. In a close call, he saw the eldest Legion member passed right by him. Dwight let out a sigh of relief once he was in the clear, and then rushed to David.

“My knight in shining armour’s come t’rescue me, has he?” David chuckled, but instantly regretted it and winced from the pain of the hook.

“You can thank me later. Come on, let’s go!”

“Oh, I will~” David said smugly.

“You’re terrible…” Dwight said in a restrained voice, not wanting to reveal his anticipation and spurn the other man.

Eventually, it came to the last generator, and Dwight ended up being the one to keep the Legionnaire busy.

“Come out come out wherever you are! Don’t worry, I bite!” the young man teased. Dwight tried to keep calm as he hid in the locker. Slowly, the legionnaire passed by the lockers, dragging his knife across the metal doors.

“Gotcha!” he steamed as he yanked open a locker door, revealing it to be empty. “Fucker…” he cursed as he slammed the thing shut. “Now where could he have gone?” he wondered as he idled in front of the locker Dwight was hiding in.

“How about… Here!” he screamed as he opened the locker Dwight was in, causing him to scream in turn. “HA HA HA! Classic!” the Legionnaire rejoiced as he tossed Dwight over his shoulder.

Dwight tried to break free, but was unable too. The closest hook was nearby, leaving him with not enough time.

“Alright, let’s hear you scream again!” the killer announced with eager anticipation. But just before setting Dwight on the vile contraption, there was a roar that seemed to shake the area. “What the fuck was that? What the fuck is that?” he said once he caught a glimpse of the roar’s source. Dwight saw it too, a tall thing with glowing eyes.

“Hmm?” the killer hummed, and brought up his free hand to the side of his face like it was a phone. “… Really? … Alright, alright! I get it! Sheesh… Consider it done, boss.” the killer said and hung up, and threw Dwight to the ground. For a moment, he thought he was about to get mori’d.

Instead, he got a kick to the dick and a boot to the face as the killer ran off laughing joyously. Meanwhile, Dwight curled up into a ball as he clutched his groin. A few moments later, he got up and hobbled away. A terrible experience, but better than being mori’d. When he reached the group, they had just finished the last generator, sounding off to let the killer know as well.

“Shite, wot happ’ned to ya?” David fretted as he immediately went to Dwight’s side, the deep bruise on his face and funny walk evident. “I swear, I’ll find a way to make the bastard pay!”

“Well, a kick to the dick and face. I’ll live. But, something else happened, something odd.” Dwight began. Then, they felt the heartbeat, letting them know the killer was near. Then, something passed then, something neither survivor nor killer.

“Get back here so I can skin you alive! Papa needs a new pimp coat!” the Legionnaire giggled.

“Hey, watch this pro strat!” Feng told the other survivors. “360 no scope!” she announced with a twirl, and tossed her phone. It flew in the direction of the killer, just so happening to land in front of him. He stepped on it, and slid head first into a tree. A crack formed on the mask as he groaned.

“Suck it!” Feng taunted as she brought her hands to her hips as she thrusted outwards. The others celebrated with her. This was the most fun she had in a long time.

“You little bitch! I’ll-” he began, but was cut off with a swift knee to the dick. He let out a long, high pitched squeal as he slowly crumpled to the floor, clutching his family jewels.

The thing had come back to help out. It gave a thumbs up. They all knew what that thing was now that it was in front of them.

“Nice.” David said as he gave it a thumbs up in return before it ran away again. Dwight looked at Jake with a shit-eating grin once it had left, and they were on their way to the exit gate.

“Okay, you know this doesn’t count!”

“Gotta take the L, my guy.” Feng said as she patted Jake on the back.

Back at the campfire, Dwight recounted what happened, to the shared anger and surprise of the others.

"Least that bigfoot bloke seems like a good fellow. Has my respect."

"I hope we see him again. He seemed cool." Feng hoped. It would be something to spice up life in hell.

"And what do you think, Jake?" Dwight smugly asked.

"I refuse to acknowledge that thing." he simply stated. Dwight let out a little laugh that David found cute.

But, to the surprise of everyone, the Fog rolled in. It never rolled on so soon after a completed trial.

"Oh come on! We just finished one, you bastard!" David yelled out.

“It’s probably because of what happened last round.” Dwight sighed. None of them were in terrible condition or overly exhausted, but still. It would have been nice to have a longer break.

“I’m sure we’ll do fine like last time.” Jake assured.

“I just hope it’s not that doctor. He really creeps me out.” Feng said. The others agreed, and were taken by the Fog.

On the other side, they found themselves in a warm climate, a ghost town in the wild west. Dwight and Feng found themselves spawned near each other, and were quick to get working on a generator. As it neared completion, their hearts hastened as they heard the fear-inducing lullaby of The Huntress.

She was unbothered by the vastly different environment. She sniffed the air, and snapped her head in the direction of the generator. An axe was readied, and thrown in the direction of the generator.

“Run!” Dwight yelled as the generator announced its completion. An axe buried itself in the spot where he was. Feng was faster than him, so Dwight found himself the target of the killer once more. He cursed being fun to chase. He noticed that for some reason, the Huntress particularly liked to hunt him. He didn’t want to dwell on why.

He was eventually axed and downed in a single hit. He screamed when she yanked it out, revealing that its iridescent red color didn’t just come from his blood. She scooped him up in her arms and held him like a baby, resuming her song to try and comfort him. He tried to wiggle free, but it was harder than it looked. Sometimes, he wondered if the Entity even gave her any supernatural strength. He wouldn't be surprised if she didn’t. He was soon on the hook in a basement, crying in pain. She stood there for a moment to admire her work, or something, before leaving.

Dwight knew to wait for someone to unhook him. It was safer, even more so with David around. But basements were a more dangerous place to be when the Huntress was involved. She always seemed to know when someone was there. He figured that another generator or two had to be finished by the time he heard someone approaching. It generated a spark of hope that quickly dissipated as he heard her song.

And down the stairs came Feng, a wound in her shoulder, also in her arms like a baby too. As she screamed on the hook, the Huntress also winced, muttering something unintelligible before leaving.

“Hey Feng…”

“Hey…”

“How- Ack!” he cried as the hook moved a little in him.

“Fine.” she sighed, already knowing his question. “Two more gens. … I hate this place.”

“Yeah…”

They waited for a rescuer in the ambient silence of the basement. With two left, it would be easy to lure the Huntress far from the basement so they could be saved. Their hopes rose and fell, just as before. She came down singing with David slung over her shoulder. One of his arms appeared to be wounded.

“Fockin’ bitch!” he screamed as she tossed him onto the hook and left without a second glance at him. “I swear ’m gonna- Argh!” he yelled as the hook dug into him as we squirmed.

“Okay, let’s just, keep calm. Wait a few moments, and then we’ll try to free ourselves.”

“As you say luv.” David agreed. Feng hummed in agreement as well.

“So, how’s it hangin?” he dared to ask after waiting a little bit.

“Ughhh, you did not just say that.” Feng groaned.

“David, I swear!”

“Sorry…”

“You’re lucky I love you. Alright, on the count of three guys. One… Two… Three!” Dwight yelled as they tried to unhook themselves. Each of them failed, screaming in pain as they fell right back onto the hook, Entity’s claws showing up to induce more fear.

“It’s okay guys. It’s- It’s alright.” Dwight said, trying to sound calm himself even though he was not, panting, sweating, and a few tears breaking free. He didn’t want to feel that emptiness that even love could not stave away. Neither did the others. Then, the last generator sounded completion. A few moments later, Jake came hurrying down the stairs. The Huntress would surely be there soon.

He unhooked David first, who unhooked Dwight with one arm as Jake got Feng. They didn’t even bother to heal, not that it mattered when she could one shot them into dying this trial. But at the top of the steps she awaited. With a hunter’s cry, she threw an axe down the stairs, the survivors narrowly dodging it. Still, she sang her song and grinned a mad smile

Just when she was about to lunge at them, she shifted to block an attack from something. It was a dog. It chomped right through her axe handle. She wasn’t singing anymore. She quickly retaliated with a headbutt, knocking it away. She cast aside her broken axe with a snarl and lunged at the other beast. They wrestled each other to the ground, aiming for each other’s throats. Seeing their chance, the survivors took it and ran.

“I thought you said those things were demons?!” Dwight questioned as David carried him in one arm.

“Most a ‘em! The church ones ain’t the only ones to do protectin’.”

“Who cares! Let’s just hurry up and escape!” Jake yelled as he led the way.

They soon reached an exit gate and hurried to unlock it. About a third of the way through, they heard an animalistic yet human roar. She had won. Around her mouth was black blood. But, she did not come out unscathed. She bore many scratches, a number of them deep and flowing with dark red blood. Even half of her mask was broken, revealing a red iris surrounded by black.

“Come on come on hurry up!” Feng shouted at the switch as she ran towards them, laughing maniacally with an axe in hand. Their hearts were pounding, the knowledge that at least one of them was probably going to die about to set in. Jake took out the flash light to try and stun her, but fumbled and dropped it.

And out of nowhere, she was knocked to the ground by a blur of black. It was the black dog again. It was on top of her, and then in one swift motion, she was on top, and tore out it's throat with her bare hands. She tossed aside the flesh and fur and resumed her true hunt. She was only a few feet away when she fell forward, the dog’s maw mangling her ankle. She let out a scream as she tried to hit it with her axe, but missed. Then the alarm sounded and the gate opened.

“Go, go, go!” Jake ushered.

“Wait!” David shouted, and switched Dwight for Jake’s flashlight. He ran back, and aimed the light at the Huntress as she thrashed about. Once she was blinded, David whistled for the dog and patted his thigh to usher it to come.  It did, and ran beside David as they ran through the exit gate to the safety of the campfire.

David and Dwight laughed in celebration, the dog rejoicing with them. Feng breathed a sigh of relief as Jake mended her wound.

“Wanna refuse to acknowledge this one?” David joked as he ruffled the dog’s thick, dark fur. Jake finished patching up Feng, and went to go patch up David while Feng took care of Dwight

“Refuse to acknowledge what?” he asked, playing dumb. “There’s no such thing as a Black Dog, just black dogs.” Just as he was about to apply something to David’s arm, the dog growled at him, causing him to back away. The others lightly laughed.

“Alright, fine! … It’s real.” Jake told the dog. It seemed content with being acknowledged, so it let Jake do his work, proceeding to rest at David’s feet.

“So, what can you tell us about your dog, King?” Feng asked.

“Hmm… their name is Heir, being heir to the King’s throne an’ all. Fights like a King too!” he praised he he ruffled the dog's fur.

“You mean we’re keeping them?” Dwight asked with a bright smile.

“Well, I hope so.” David said as he continued to pet it. “Don’t think Heir’ll be goin’ to trials though. Pry for the best.”

“Aww, so cute! C’mere!” Dwight called. It got up and went to sit before Dwight. He let the dog sniff his hand, and it licked it before ploping back down in front of David. “Oh my god they like me!” Dwight squealed, looking like he was about to cry.

“‘Know I said most were demons. A few are good, like this little bloke ‘ere!” he praised as he scratched behind its ear, which it seemed to like. “Either protect a church, or guide the wayward. Fittin’.”

The Entity seemed to be willing to allow them the repose, since it didn’t quickly call them into a trial. Even after the next trial the dog remained by the fire, awaiting David’s return. If David were out in a trial, Dwight would oft find the dog at his feet, lounging around. The big, dark furball comforted other survivors after dreary trials, even if it too could not dissipate that empty feeling.

And even so, the trials soon became much more lively, as did the times round the fire

[popculturebuffet]

Green Eggs and Ham: Here (Patreon Review for Emma Ficci)

Hello all you happy people! And I have my first fully paid for comission and patreon review all in one! Yes my good friend Emma became a patreon and you can too, go to patreon.com/popculturebuffet. Even one buck a month helps and 5 a month nets you a review of whatever of your choice a month. An episode of any tv show I have acess to. It feels good to have more than one person paying my salary, though I sitll want to thank Kev, my other patreon for helping with that. 

So with that all in order, let’s talk about this thoroughly weird, thoroughly wonderful show from a couple years back. Green Eggs and Ham is modern adaptation of a Dr. Seuss book..... and I bet those of you who haven’t heard of this series before or it’s reputation just had your bowls clinch a bit. Yeah while I haven’t seen illumination’s takes on the maestro of children’s books, I haven’t heard the best things and the trailers and odd and counter productive marketing tie ins for the Lorax have made me want to stay 30 feet away from it at all times. Seriously you get certified Legend Danny DeVito.. and you waste him on “Dat’s a woman” a joke that I don’t have time to unpack all the ways it sucks. My point is Seuss really hasn’t had the best time with adaptations latey.  But leave it to Warner Animation and Netflix to pull out a great one. Yeah I wasn’t too excited about a tv adaptation of one book at first due to all this and even a celebrity cast wasn’t a good sign. They roped Danny DeVito into the Lorax. So even with a whopper cast containing Michael Douglas, Diane Keaton, my boy Adam Divine, Ilana Glazer, Kegan Michael Key,  Jeffery Wright, Eddie Izard and JIllian Bell.. I wasn’t convinced. But word of mouth was really good, and the animation looked downright gorgeous, perfectly mimicking suess’ work and feeling like an unabashed love letter. 

So I did what I tend to do.. and sat on it for several years because I simply forgot to watch it till my friend comissioned it and here we are. And off the bat.. the reputation.. is not remotely overblown. This is easily the best Dr. Seuss adaptation i’ve seen in some time taking the best of his ideas and whimsy, with what little behind the scenes stuff I could get saying they specifically took art design from his art of book, with a modern and intresting story behind it and an all star cast that this time around are used well instead of just being there for Name Recogntion. Not only that but it takes inspriation form, of all things, Planes Trains and Automobiles, but does so well so far, getting the oddcouple dynamic down perfectly. 

So join me under the cut as I cut this bit of green eggs and ham into bite sized pieces for you all and go into why it’s so delecitable. 

This episode’s mostly broken up into bits to introduce all the main players, so as I tend to do when there’s multiple plots, I will be covering each one at a time. 

Guy and Sam: The Failed Inventor and the Animal Thief

So our story begins with.. a ninja breaking into a zoo to steal the rare Chikaraffe. 

Neither was the narrator, played by Key.. and the narrator naturally for a work like this delightfully interacts with things and is one of the best parts of the whole episode. But this already shows how well the series updates things. There’s one or two things like Ninja Sam or a family making ducklips during a photo, there’s even a fairly obvious trump stand in we’ll get to.. but none of it’s SO overdone it takes you out of things or dates the projects. The tech is kept to about the 70′s or 80′s with cameras still used instead of camera phones, crt tv’s, and what have you, and most inventions seens are susian. It feels wholly in line with his books while still nudging it into our current decade here and there. In other words.. how you SHOULD do it: add in a few things here or there but no overt pop culture refrences and at most a take that at something Seuss would gladly take aim at. 

So we meet our other hero the next day, Guy-Am-I. Guy is the show’s version of the nameless harassment victim from the books, with a bit of a darker fur and hat, likely to help better distingish him from sam as well as sell him being older than his co-star. It’s a good change, and helps sell Guy as what he is.. a grumpy middle aged man who keeps failling in life as demonstrated by his way to the inventions: he falls in a puddle, signs no on a pettition because he’s in a hurry, reminds me of man in a hurry from hatchefield but I couldn’t find a good image of him saying that in time and takes a picture of the family “Say runing my life” “ruining your life!”. We later see after some of the following scenes Sam do the same.. but he hops over the puddle then dives ino for fun, signs an entire page of the pettition, and takes tons of pictures. It’s a nice establishing scene for both. 

Guy is presenting his invention for Snerzco, your standard megacorp given a delightful Seuss twist with LITERAL pencil pushers and beancounters, to present his invention, with other inventors presenting, witht he hopes of presenting to Snerzz himself, having such delightfully bonkers and seussian inventions as a reverse umbrella (it rains on you) and an automatic fingercrosser. It’s touches like this that really tell me the series really loves Dr. Seuss. 

Sadly things don’t go well for guy as he’s hoping his invention dosen’t explode, his invention being a backpack made of hands to help people fly. Most people are imprestted apart from Michelle a bean counter who.. randomly snarks she wouldn’t let her daughter fly on it.

Yeah it’s not a great introduction for one of your major characters to have her randomly mock something that hadn’t exploded yet, and to for no reason bring up what a paranoid and unfun parent she is. We’ll get to her more in a bit. But yes it does explode and Guy’s dreams are ruined. 

And this whole picture.. shows who guy is. He’s someone whose kept trying agian, and again and again only for it not to work, and to get laughed at by the public and spat on by god themslef. It’s easy to see WHY he’s such a bitter curmudgeon: life hates him, so why shouldn’t he hate it back. That’s a self defeating prophecy of course but this is episode one and tha’ts probably the point of the series: to explore this. That being said I could see this coming from a mile away and felt it to be the most unupsired bit of the episode. 

Guy enters a diner to get some Oatmush “The Sadmans Special” after the bus leaves before he can get to it because again, God hates him personally.  No the sadman’s special is a famous bowl from KFC. I should know as a professional sadman. Regardless Guy is miserable.. and in enters sam, whose fascenated their “Breifcase Buddies” because thier briefcases match.. and unlike the above I like how they call attention to them being identical. We know wha’ts going to happen there but the lampshading helps it go down easier and makes us wonder if they will swap. Sam is a regular, being friends with Donna the waitress and ordering his usual green eggs and ham.

So we get the expected bit: Sam asks Guy to try them, he says no, but the show makes a good choice. Instead of just.. stalking guy for the next 11 episodes to get him to try it.. he simply asks if he’s actually tried it, Guy says no and makes a great poop joke, and Sam leaves it. He apparently asks once an episode, but it’s made more into a character thing; Guy refuses because he hates to try new things outside of his inventing and that’s hit a wall. It’s also a nice suprise that Devine and Douglas just play perfectly off one another. The two are from vastly diffrent generations and backgrounds acting wise, but they just work perfectly together and it’s what makes their interactions work. 

Sam does leave it and the other inventors having ALL got the golden ticket, arrive and Sam treats them.. only to notice Guy’s paper and the fact guy failed, and asks donna politely to get guy his mush as he ordered first. It’s good setup for Sam. We saw him be nice and free and what not, but we also see that while he can be insietive (He asked guy what broken dream he had earlier in the scene) he does geniunely care and it isn’t just surface level. He loves people and helping them and getting to know them. 

Of course while Guy is greatful, showing that beneath his own exterior he’s not a bad guy just one made miserable by life, he’s not going to be best friends or anything.. that’s a lot to ask they just met and takes his case after gulping down his oatmush. 

That night Sam prepares to leave, having given Donna his adress.. multiple times. in the hopes someone comes over and hangs out. Can relate even if i’d never go that far. He does however reveal himself as the ninja and prepare to take the chikaraffe with him for whatever reason. 

Guy goes to his hotel room to sulk, not helped by the other inventors partying outside, and full of misery and self loathing throws his suitcase in the fire.. until it makes a noise. He quickly pulls it out to find the Chickaraffe. Will he surivive? I mean probably. We have 12 episodes left. And a full second season. God this is going to take a few years.. regardless, let’s move onto the subplots. 

MIchellee and E.B.

We meet Michelle’s daughter EB who just wants to live but her mom dosen’t let her have toys or shenaniagnas.. and comes off untetionally as really abusive. She’s SUPPOSED to be overprotective, but saying “I detect a hint of whimsy.. i’ll allow it” really just paints you as an overcontrolling psycho. Their headed on a trip and while EB wants to catch the chickaraffe for herself dosen’t have the time and her mom gives her a magnetic friendship bracelet.. that shackes her to her. Just... yeah Michelle has made me  hate her in one episode and she’s played by Diane Keaton. How do you do that? Hopefully she’ll get better but hearing about these two characters was part of the reason I procastinated so long. The other is my brain being kind of a forgetful swamp. 

Snerz: We meet Snerz himself who has someone bringing him the chickaraffe. Snerz is a cold, mean man with trump hair.. that in this case is a literal being he’s forcing to be his hair, has everything gold plated and keeps animals in a wall forcing them to stand on the other side and put their heads through like he mounted them because he’s a sociopath. And this is the refrence I meant. Snerz has many comparisons to trump, the hair, the gold platings, but it dosen’t really date the thing as Trump has been around since long before this and will sadly probably be around till his inetivitible jail sentence. But it’s not so overt or over the top that it takes you out of it it works. Okay one more. 

BAD GUYS:

Two mysterious agents, one old and one on her first mission, go to the zoo and interogate the guy running it holding him over a slapping turtle exhbit. Their after the chickaraffe and depart.. with the yougner agent accidently dropping him. Whoops. At least he gets to get hit into space by a turtle. Some of us never will “Sigh”

Final Thoughts:

This was an excellent first episode. It fleshes out the characters well, sets up the story without feeling too slow, and the show strkes the right ballance of being it’s own thing while still feeling Seuss. It’s a wubusoully wonderful good time and I recommend checking it out. I look forward to the rest of the series over the next year. 

Next on this blog: Sleepover time as Shadow into Light, my Lena Saberwing retrospective resumes. 

[debbiechanclub]

Best Two Out of Three, Part 19

Alright, folks, thank you for your patience. This was the longest we’ve gone between parts, which is honestly kind of insane. Reason being: @what-does-mine-say and I can’t make up our damn minds. I need to avoid my dash when I’m trying to write this thing because I’m too damn easily influenced.

ALSO, I owe a HUGE apology to my dear co-writer. So wrote a SHIT TON that ended up getting pushed to the next chapter (I’m sorry please forgive me I <3 you). So this chapter is a little shorter than the last few, but don’t worry - it’s not lacking in any of our signature angst and drama.

Just a note as you read: the night of the gauntlet match where you-know-what happens is right around the corner *evil Seth laugh*

Best Two Out of Three

Part: 19/26

Pairing: Kenny Omega x OFC x Cash Wheeler and Adam Page x OFC

Word count: 4.7k

Warnings: Language; angst.

My tiny tag list: @freshlysqueezedmox @gabbynorth98 (if you’d like to be added send me a DM!)

Catch up on previous parts here.

“Someone’s blowing up your phone.”

Callie gave Cash a look as they stepped onto the hotel elevator. “It’s Britt,” she said. She pushed the button for the third floor and pulled her phone out of her back pocket, clearing the screen without reading any of the messages. Britt was the type who texted one thought at a time—and she’d had three thoughts in a row. “She texted while we were at the restaurant asking where I was. I just told her I’d gone out. She thinks I’m with Adam.”

Cash made a sound of understanding as he nodded. And then he said, “She’s gonna interrogate you as soon as you get back in there, isn’t she?”

“Oh, one thousand percent.”

They shared a grin, and soon the elevator arrived at Callie’s floor. She was surprised when Cash got off with her. “Aren’t you above me?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, but I figured I’d walk you to your room. If that’s alright with you?”

Warmth crept into her cheeks again. She nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

They walked down the hall in silence that was something between comfortable and awkward. Comfortable because she’d enjoyed the time she’d spent with Cash; awkward because she couldn’t help but feel a little guilty about it. After they’d gotten the obvious topic of conversation out of the way, they’d just talked and gotten to know each other. He’d told her about his time in WWE and how it compared to AEW; she’d told him about how she’d first gotten into the business after meeting the Bucks at a PWG show she’d gone to with a friend. It had been an unexpected distraction from the emotional turmoil of the last few days and weeks. But now that they were back at the hotel, her thoughts couldn’t help but return to Adam. She wondered where he was, what he was doing. If he was trying to distract himself, too.

“Well, this is me,” she said as they arrived at her door. She turned to face him and gave an awkward smile. “Thanks for commiserating with me. I actually had a good time.”

She fidgeted, wondering if she should have said that. But Cash didn’t seem to take it any sort of way. “It was better than drinking alone, that’s for sure,” he said.

Callie bashfully bowed her head. And then, suddenly, she thought of Alex. What would she think if she knew she’d been out with Cash? Guilt gripped her all over again. “Well, goodnight.” She stuttered, already reaching to open the door.

“Night,” Cash waved; and as Callie went back into her room, she couldn’t help but think that tonight had been the first time in a while that she’d felt something other than pushed away. And, despite all her guilt, that was a nice feeling to have.

* * * * * * * * * *

It had been maybe thirty minutes and a drink and a half since Alex and Adam had seen Callie and Cash walk into the hotel together, and Alex’s thoughts hadn’t stopped spinning since.

“It was probably completely innocent,” she said, more trying to convince herself than she was asking Adam’s opinion.

“Stop thinking about it,” he said.

“They probably just met up as friends to drown their sorrows together. I mean, that’s exactly what we’re doing. Right?”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion at his apathetic response. She didn’t understand how he could just sit by and be so calm about this. “How are you not bothered by seeing them together like that?”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t,” he returned. “I’m just choosing to ignore it.”

That only confused her further. “Don’t you care what they might be doing right now? What if they’re up there fucking each other?”

He sent her a hard look. “Would you really care if they are? Because it seems like you want to be with Kenny, anyway.”

Alex’s eyes hardened. She knew exactly what Adam was doing. He was being a fucking asshole in attempt to mask just how bad he was hurting. And she wasn’t going to stand for it. “I’m not the only one who fucked up my relationship, Adam. You pushed Callie away and now what? You’re just gonna let her go after more than a year? She loves you. Don’t throw that away like I did with Ken…ny.”

She trailed off, stunned by her own words. She hadn’t realized that’s what she would say until it was already out of her mouth. She gripped her beer harder. Maybe Cash was right. Maybe she had already chosen.

Adam stared down into his drink. His jaw tensed. “Then go be with Kenny.”

Alex let out a frustrated breath. He was completely missing her point. “Fine. If you don’t want to talk to Callie, then I will.”

She stood from her seat and limped as quickly as she could on her still-tender ankle out of the bar. Adam jumped up, told the bartender to charge the drinks to his room, and went after her.

“You don’t even know where she is,” he said as he caught up with her.

“Well, she’s staying with Britt. And I know where Britt is, so we’ll try there. And if she’s not there, then we know who she is with.”

She punched the up button for the elevators and the furthest one immediately opened with a ding. She hobbled toward it more quickly than she should have on her ankle.

“Alex, slow down. You’re gonna hurt yourself.” Adam took her arm and helped her onto the elevator. She pulled away from him as she hit the button for the third floor. He frowned. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because you won’t!” she shot.

“And you didn’t stop to think that maybe there’s a reason why?”

Alex blinked. She hadn’t expected that response, nor the earnest look on his face. But before she could even think to ask what he meant the elevator arrived at the third floor. She turned away from him and limped off, down the hall toward Britt’s room.

Her ankle was throbbing by the time she got there. She banged her fist hard on the door. It wasn’t long before Britt answered.

“Can I help—”

“Is Callie here?” Alex cut her off and pushed her way into the room. Adam gave Britt an apologetic look as she glared at them.

“Um, excuse me,” she said, but Alex paid her no mind. Callie was sitting on of one the beds—and she looked like she’d seen a ghost.

“Hi, it’s been a while,” Alex clipped. “What the hell were you and Cash doing out together tonight?”

If possible, Callie’s face went even whiter. She looked back and forth between her and Adam, wide-eyed with shock. “What—”

“Skip the innocent act,” Alex interrupted. “We were at the bar and saw you walk into the hotel together. What was that about?”

Callie hesitated to answer. She was frozen on the bed, her gaze fixed on Adam. The alcohol in Alex’s system made her even more impatient than usual. “The longer you wait, the more suspicious it looks, Cal.”

“Alex,” Adam started—but Callie finally fessed up.

“We just went out for dinner as friends,” she said. “That’s it. I left the show early. FTR did, too, and Cash and I ran into each other in the elevator when I was going out to get dinner. We ended up going together, just to talk. That’s it.”

She finished, and an uncomfortable silence gripped the room. Alex glared at her, putting the pieces together as best she could in her foggy brain. If Callie and Cash had left the show early and not come back to the hotel until well after Dark had wrapped, then they’d been out for hours. Hours talking about what? But before she could ask, Adam did.

“To talk about what?”

There was more than just a hint of accusation in his voice. It sent Callie on the defensive. “About everything that’s going on,” she returned. “Cash and I are going through the same shit right now, Adam. It was nice to talk to someone about it. Isn’t that why you and Alex were at the bar together? Or are there some questions I need to ask you, too?”

“Oh, come on,” Alex interjected with a scoff. “That’s completely different.”

Callie’s brow lowered. “How the hell is it different?”

“Because Adam is one of my best friends! I’ve known him a fucking decade of my life! You’re not friends with Cash! You barely know him!”

“That doesn’t mean anything!”

“Yes, it does!”

“No, it doesn’t! And unlike you and Adam, Cash and I have never made out!”

“Oh shit,” Britt muttered.

Alex’s eyes darkened. “So we’re going back to that now?” she asked Callie. “To you constantly worrying that Adam and I want to fuck each other?”

“I don’t know.” Callie’s gaze shifted to Adam. “What do you think, Adam? Do I have reason to worry that you want to fuck Alex?”

Both Alex and Britt’s mouths dropped open in shock. They looked at Adam, awaiting his reaction with bated breath. But, aside for the tension in his jaw and brow, he looked calm. Too calm.

“Think whatever the fuck you want, Callie. I’m over having to constantly reassure you,” he said, and he turned and walked out the door.

Callie watched him go with glassy eyes, still frozen on the bed. Alex went after him.

“Adam, wait!” She struggled to keep up with him on her bum ankle as he took long strides down the hall. “Would you fucking stop!”

He stopped and turned halfway back around, his hands on his hips. She frowned at him as she approached. “Are you alright?”

He glared at her. “Really? That’s what you’re gonna ask me right now?”

Her brow lowered. “Yeah, it is. Sorry you have a fucking problem with it.”

“I didn’t even want to go in there, Alex!”

“Well we had to, Adam! Did you even know she was worrying about us again?”

He ran a frustrated hand over his face. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Confusion contorted Alex’s face. “What does that mean? Why would she think—”

“I don’t know, probably because she surprised me in fucking lingerie the other night and I turned her down!”

Alex stared up at him, mute. So that had been the surprise Callie had tried to ask her about when she’d been in Philadelphia; the surprise that Adam had told her hadn’t gone as planned when she’d called him while he was driving to her house. Suddenly, Alex understood why Callie had been giving her the cold shoulder lately. And she even understood why she would be worried about her and Adam.

“Look, you got your answer about why she was out with Cash, alright?” Adam said. “I’m going to bed.”

He turned and disappeared around the corner toward the elevators. Alex let him go that time. Yes, she’d gotten her answer about why Callie had been out with Cash. But now she had a million more questions that needed answering.

She pulled her phone out of her back pocket, thinking of maybe texting Cash; but when she unlocked it, she saw she had a new text from Kenny.

Hey, I just got back. Do you want to come up?

Alex bit her lip as she read it. She’d completely forgotten that Kenny had said he would let her know when he got back from dinner; she’d completely forgotten that she’d tentatively agreed to go see him when he did. But now, seeing him sounded like a welcome distraction.

Yeah. I’ll be there in a minute, she sent back, and she pushed her phone back into her pocket and limped toward the elevators, Adam’s words still turning over in her head.

* * * * * * * * **

“How’s the ankle?”

Alex let out a little whine as she walked into Kenny’s room. “Aggravated,” she said, and she wrapped her arms around his middle and buried her face in his chest. He hugged her back tight; she felt some of the tension leave her body. It felt good to have his arms around her.

“Why?” he gently asked. “What’d you do?”

She looked up at him. “Just haven’t been resting it like I should be.”

He smirked. “Of course not.” He dipped his head down and gave her a tender kiss. Alex melted into him before he pulled away, a curious look on his face. “Have you been drinking?”

She gave him a sheepish look. He just grinned and took her hand. “Come on; you really need to rest it if you only want two weeks out instead of four.”

He helped her to the bed and fluffed up the pillows behind her as she sat down. Then he grabbed another pillow and used it to prop up her ankle. Alex smiled to herself as he sat down by her feet and started untying her right sneaker. She hadn’t expected him to take care of her. It was sweet.

“Were you with Adam?” he asked.

She nodded, unsure if it was a good thing that he’d just assumed she was with Adam because she’d been drinking. And then, before she could stop herself, she asked, “Do you know what’s going on with him and Callie?”

He shook his head as he pulled off her shoe and set it on the floor. “No. There's something going on?”

Alex frowned; that answer disappointed her. It highlighted the widening gulf between Adam and the rest of The Elite. She watched as Kenny moved his attention to her left shoe, thinking. It wasn’t her place to tell Adam and Callie’s business… but Kenny was his teammate. Maybe if she told him, he’d go easier on Adam.

“Callie walked out on him over the weekend,” she said. “She’s staying with Britt.”

Kenny paused to look up at her, his eyes wide. “What? Did they break up?”

“I don’t know,” she honestly returned. When Adam had told her about it back at the arena, it had sounded like they were just taking some time. But after what they’d just said to each other not ten minutes ago… after what he’d just said to her… she wasn’t so sure anymore.

“He did seem pretty depressed today,” Kenny commented, drawing her out of her thoughts. “But I had no idea. He doesn’t really talk to us anymore.”

He doesn’t talk to you or you don’t talk to him? she thought. But she figured it would be better to keep that herself.

Kenny carefully removed her left shoe and put it on the floor next to the right. He looked at her ankle, inspecting it the best he could through the compression wrap that the trainer had applied. “It still looks a little swollen,” he said, and then he stood up and disappeared into the bathroom. When he came back out, he had a washcloth in his hand. Alex watched as he moved to the table where the ice bucket sat, opened it, and started putting ice inside the washcloth.

“You went and got ice?” she asked, surprised.

He nodded. “Yeah. I had a feeling you probably weren’t icing it like you should be.”

He sent her a smirk over his shoulder. She rolled her eyes.

“Don’t get mad,” he teased. She just pouted at him. He sat back down on the bed and placed the makeshift ice pack on her ankle. She winced as the cold seeped into her skin.

“Well, thank you,” she genuinely said. “It’s actually really sweet that you thought of that.”

He smiled at her. “Of course, baby.”

Alex flushed, butterflies teeming in her stomach.

“Are you staying here tonight?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she returned, even as she laid back and made herself comfortable. “Do you want me to?”

“Of course I do,” he said. “Always.”

Alex couldn’t help the smile that spread across her lips. Today had been physically, mentally, and emotionally draining; nothing short of chaotic. And now that she was here with Kenny, all she wanted was to fall asleep in his arms. “Well, I need something to sleep in, then,” she said.

“No, you don’t,” he returned. She gave him a flat look. He let out a laugh. “I’ll get you a shirt.”

She sat back up to hold the ice pack in place on her ankle while he moved across the room to his suitcase. It wasn’t long before he tossed her a black t-shirt. Alex arched a brow as she looked at it.

“Bullet Club?”

He shrugged. “Nostalgia.”  

* * * * * * * * * *

The Saturday afternoon sun felt pleasant on Callie’s skin as she laid out next to the pool with Britt. As much pain as she was in, Orlando’s warm, beachy atmosphere had been a like a balm for her soul. It reminded her of home, back in California. She missed it. She just hadn’t realized how much until now.

“I have to admit, this is definitely better than Virginia. We don’t have a pool.”

Britt smirked. “Didn’t you try to talk Hangman into moving down here?”

Callie rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses. “He didn’t even want to consider it.” When Adam had first asked her to move in with him, she’d floated the idea of getting a new place together in Jacksonville instead. He’d laughed at her like it was a joke. “He’s perfectly content to stay hidden away in his comfort zone in the middle of nowhere.”

“Sounds about right,” Britt commented. She brought her glass of iced tea to her lips; but she abruptly paused and looked at Callie, her brow furrowed. “Doesn’t Alex live near him?”

She pursed her lips. “A couple hours,” she muttered. “I’m sure it’s part of the reason he wants to stay.”

Britt scoffed. “Well after what he said to you at the hotel, yeah.”

Callie stared at the pool in anxious silence, watching as the sunlight danced on the water. She hadn’t been able to get Adam’s last words to her out of her head. Think whatever the fuck you want, Callie. I’m over having to constantly reassure you. It had hurt; it still did. And the more she thought about it, the more uncertain she became that they’d be able to repair the emotional damage they’d both caused each other.

Her phone chirped, breaking her out of her thoughts. She picked it up from where it sat on the sun lounger next to her. She had a new text—and the name on the screen surprised her.

Britt sent her a sly grin. “Is that Cash?”

“What?” Callie shot, both confused and a little bit offended she’d assumed that. “No. It’s Matt.”

“Jackson?” Britt asked, surprised. But Callie didn’t answer, too preoccupied with reading what he’d sent.

Hey, I heard what’s going on with you and Adam. Just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing.

She stared at the message, unsure how to respond; unsure how to even take it. Who had told him? Adam? It couldn’t have been. Adam wouldn’t have opened up to Matt about something so personal; not with the way things had been between them lately. She wracked her brain, trying to suss out the culprit. As far as she knew, the only people who knew what was going on were Alex, Cash, and Britt. Well, and Adam Cole. Could he have said something to Matt? He had been in Bullet Club, once upon a time.

“Earth to Callie!” Britt snapped. “Is it Big Brother Buck?”

Callie sent her an annoyed look. “Yeah.”

She arched a brow. “What does he want?”

Callie ignored her as she typed back. Hey, I’m kind of surprised to hear from you. I didn’t know anyone besides Britt knew.

She hit “send,” hoping the little white lie would get Matt to take the bait and tell her who’d told him. It wasn’t long before he responded.

Sorry, I know it’s not my business. Kenny told me; Alex told him. And I assume Adam told her.

An agitated sigh escaped Callie’s lips. Of course Alex had told Kenny. She should have assumed as much.

“What?” Britt asked.

Callie shook her head. “He just wants to know how I’m doing. Apparently, Alex blabbed to Kenny about what’s going on and then Kenny told him.”

Britt pushed her sunglasses further up her nose. “That’s not surprising. But it’s nice of Matt to check in, at least.”

Callie absentmindedly nodded; it was nice of him. She and Matt were old friends—as she’d told Cash the other night, the Young Bucks were the whole reason she was even in the wrestling business. But they weren’t as close as they used to be. Things had changed since she’d started dating Adam.

She typed back. Don’t apologize. Everyone will find out sooner or later. And thank you for checking in; I actually really appreciate it. I’ve been better obviously. I’m honestly just trying to pretend I’m on vacation.

She set her phone back down and tried to relax again. But another text came through.

Well in that case I would have invited you to Cali if I’d known.

Callie blinked when she saw the message. She hadn’t expected him to come back with that. But she didn’t think too much of it. Matt was a flirt; he always had been. So she just sent him back a tongue-sticking-out emoji and relaxed back on the lounger, doing her best not to think about Adam and Alex—and what they might be doing.  

* * * * * * * * * *

Alex didn’t plan on doing a damn thing but sitting her butt on the couch and having a movie marathon. She couldn’t do much else thanks to her stupid ankle, and with an entire week left until the next Dynamite due to the NBA playoffs bumping them from Wednesday to Saturday, she needed to fill the time somehow. 

Furthermore, she needed a distraction. Because, so far, all she’d done since arriving home was overthink about everything.

Kenny. She couldn’t stop thinking about the night she’d spent with him at the hotel—and they hadn’t even done anything. He’d just cuddled her and kissed her neck, and she’d fallen asleep with her back tucked against his chest, his arm around her, wearing his old Bullet Club shirt. They’d done that dozens of times before; but that night had felt different. More meaningful. And then, when she’d woken up the next morning and seen him, his curly mop of hair an absolute mess and a sleepy smile on his face, she’d felt it—those three words, so little and so big at the same time, swelling within her chest. She’d wanted to say them. But she hadn’t. Things were still too messy.

Cash. She didn’t know what she felt toward him anymore. When she’d seen him walk into the hotel with Callie, she’d been jealous; shocked. But over the last few days that jealousy and shock had given way to sadness and regret. She wasn’t even sure how they’d gotten here anymore. It was all just one giant clusterfuck of emotion.

And then there was Adam. Alex was worried about him. But after all that had happened the last time she’d seen him, she wasn’t sure what there was left that she could say or do to try to get through to him.

So she settled down, all ready with snacks and a blanket to watch Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. But before she could hit “play,” her phone pinged with a text. She let out a sigh and picked it up, thinking it was one of the boys again—their group text had been going nonstop all morning—but she froze when she saw the screen. It wasn’t one of the boys. It was Cash—and he’d sent her a photo.

Her heart started hammering in her chest. They’d had no real contact in over a week, and now he’d suddenly texted her a photo? Part of her wanted to clear the message without even opening it. But her curiosity got the best of her.

She opened the text—and let out a breath. It was a picture of his dog. She smiled despite herself. It was cute, but confusing. Maybe he’d sent it to her by mistake. And then, against better judgment, she decided to ask him exactly that.

Did you mean to send that to me?

She set the phone back down and pressed play on the remote. She was almost certain he’d sent it by mistake; he’d probably just leave her question on read. But then he texted back. Alex immediately reached for her phone and opened it.

Yeah. I figured a cute dog picture would be a good icebreaker.

That only confused her more. An icebreaker for what? But then those three dots appeared—he was typing again.

I had no idea what happened with Dark Order until I got home. Are you okay?

Alex frowned when she saw that. She was grateful he’d asked; but it felt too little, too late.

But she couldn’t bring herself to say that. Yeah, it’s just a bad sprain. I’m out two to four weeks. She sent that off, and then added, Thank you for asking.

She placed her phone down again and bundled back up under her blanket. A minute passed, and then another, and she figured that was the end of it. But then her phone chirped again.

I wanted to text you after the show. But when you ran off earlier that day it seemed like you weren’t interested in talking.

Alex stared at the text, a conflict of emotions bubbling up inside her. On the one hand, she did regret running off how she did when he’d mentioned her Dark match. But on the other hand, he’d run off, too; he’d run out of the arena entirely. If he had really wanted to talk to her, he could have made more of an effort. But he’d gone out with Callie instead.

Her fingers flew over her keyboard. She sent her next message before she could stop herself. Did you want to text me before or after you went out with Callie?

She threw her phone aside and refocused on the movie. Several minutes went by with no response from Cash; she was sure that text had caught him off-guard. But when he finally did respond, she immediately read the message.

We just went out as friends. And it was both before and after.

Alex closed her eyes. Then why didn’t you just do it, she thought. Maybe if he had, she wouldn’t have spent the night with Kenny. Maybe she’d be with Cash right now instead of all alone in her house watching Harry Potter. Her mind started spinning; this whole mess of a situation was plagued by endless “what ifs.” What if she hadn’t kissed Kenny when he’d given her that locket? What if she hadn’t gone to that cookout at Adam’s? What if she hadn’t listened to everyone’s opinion about her personal business? How different would things be right now? Would they be better—or worse?

She reopened her eyes. Despite all the what ifs, Alex liked to believe that everything happened for a reason. And if Cash hadn’t bothered to text her, maybe it was just supposed to happen that way. Maybe there was a reason for all this heartache. Maybe she had to take the long away around to get to where she was supposed to be. Maybe that was how it needed happen so that she knew it was real.

Her phone chimed again. But it wasn’t Cash that time—it was Kenny. He’d sent her a photo, too. She opened it; and her smile split her face in two. It was a selfie of him with his giant fluffy cat. It was one of the most adorable things she’d ever seen.

He’d sent a message, too. We wish you were here.

Alex’s heart swelled. There it was again; that feeling, those three words in the back of her mind. She couldn’t ignore them.

I wish I were, too, she sent back. And she knew she absolutely meant it.

[lynelovespopculture]

THE CHILLING ADVENTURES OF ZELDA-CHAPTER 15 THE DREAM/PART 4 I HAVE BEEN WORKING MORNING, NOON AND NIGHT FOR 3 DAYS TO GET THIS ‘EMERGENY’CHAPTER OUT TO YOU. IF YOU’VE NEVER COMMENT ON MY WORK BEFORE, NOW’S THE PERFECT TIME TO START BECAUSE AS A WRITER AND A SPELLWOOD FAN, I’M FEELING FRAGILE RIGHT NOW. -THANKS, LYNEZELDA

“No! Oh dark mother, please, no!” Faustus Spellman jolted up in bed, pushing the bedspread off his naked chest which now heaved up and down with heavy breaths.  Faustus was unaware of just how sweaty he was until he buried his face in his hands.

“Honey? What is it? What’s wrong?”

Faustus looked up to see his Zelda, in her eyes he saw concern for him. “Zelda, come no closer! Don’t make me hurt you more! Please, I beg of you, stay away!” Faustus moved from middle of the bed to the end. 1 moment he felt the mattress beneath his hand, another moment there was only air. Faustus prepared himself for the fall, only it never came, for Zelda had rushed to his side, pulled him up and in an effort to comfort him, tried to put his head on her chest, which made him very confused. He fought her. “Zelda!  Get away from me while you can!”

Still, Zelda was worried. “Darling? Hush now, can’t you see that you just had another nightmare?!”

Faustus shook his head. “It wasn’t,” He insisted. “It was too real this time.”

Zelda tried again. “What did you dream about? Walk me through it, all that you can remember.”

Faustus sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. “It was like no time had passed. I was struck inside Blackwood, who of course, trying to hurt you and the coven. I just can’t escape it, can I? I truly am evil!”

“Try to focus, Faustus. Please tell me what happened.”

“I founded another church. The Church of the Night Pilgrims.”

Zelda shook her head. “There is no such church. I would know, as an ordained high priestess, I have a current list of all the world’s covens. I can show it to you if like.”

“I won Mary Wardwell to my cause!” He said firmly.

“Impossible for 2 reasons!” Zelda’s reply was just as firm. “Mary Wardwell would never abandon her faith that easily and secondly, you never properly meet that mortal, only once when you with stuck in Blackwood.”

“I freed the Eldritch Terrors.  I did!” He insisted when Zelda only sighed.  “All 8 of them, the darkness, the uninvited, the weird, the perverse, the cosmic, the return, the endless and the void. I also almost ruined Hilda’s wedding with the uninvited.”

Zelda pleaded gently by putting her hands on his chest. “You have warned us about the Terrors ever since you spilt from the curse. We have taken all the precautions but not 1 terror has shown up yet. It’s been 13 years and waiting.  You didn’t ruin Hilda’s wedding. You escorted her down the aisle after saving her groom from armed robbers. The 2 of you have been best friends ever since remember? Darling, please, you have to stop!”

But Faustus couldn’t stop; He was afraid if he stopped talking, he would give into the tears that were just below the surface and then he would never be dried eyed again. “Oh, and Lilith gave birth to a boy and called him Adam.”

“Easy fix. Lilith’s son is named Alexander and shortly after his birth, she met a man called Adam who was working for Emperor Blackwood. You just got your wires crossed on that 1.”

Rather than calm down, Faustus stiffened. “Oh goddess! Emperor Blackwood! Even if I had the power, why would I go around arresting witches? It makes no sense! For goddess’s sake, I’m a witch myself! And why would I spent so much time and energy to get rid of Sabrina? She’s such a sweet girl and we have made our peace.”

Zelda listened patiently. “Yes, I agree with you about Sabrina, but I have no idea what else you’re talking about. Blackwood took the title of Emperor when he stole Elizabeth’s throne, not you. As for arresting witches, well, my love, that simply never happened.”

“What of the weird sisters?” Faustus demanded.

“They’re fine,” Zelda assured him.  “Prudence, Dorcus and Agatha are all fine.”

“No. Agatha was insane and was murdered by Prudence and Dorcus.”

“You cured Agatha of her insanity years ago and then all was forgiven, for her and for you.”

“And the other sisters?”

“What other sisters?” Asked a confused Zelda.

“Well, for 1, Rosalind Walker.”

“What?! Rosalind is a seer, not a witch. Never was, never will be.”

“And Mambo Marie? Or Baron S-something, as he turned out to be. He was a lord of the underworld, who was still in love with you.”

“What? Poppycock! Mambo Marie is still living in New Orleans. We know that because she got married last month. Prudence went to the wedding and we sent her off with a gift. Hecate, Faustus, you signed the card. We all did! I just got a lovely thank you card from Marie and her new wife the other day. Anyway, it doesn’t matter because I love you.”

“Well, you shouldn’t!” Faustus jumped away from the bed and from Zelda’s gentle touch. The tears finally started to fall. “I killed Sabrina! Or I helped her to her death when I tried to sacrifice her to the void so I could have it power for myself. You tricked me which made me blind and later, Prudence took a chainsaw, cut off my limbs and buried them at the 4 corners of the world and you were both right to do it!”

Zelda calmly got off the bed and went to her husband. “I don’t know what the void is, but I do know that Sabrina is fine. Yes, she is!” Zelda stressed when Faustus shook his head violently. “In fact, right before I came back in here to check on you, I just off the phone with her. Sabrina just got final approval for her new office and she wanted me to thank you.”

“Sabrina thank me? Whatever for?!”

“Perhaps because you helped her find the place? Or because you co-signed for the loan. Or because you gave the idea to be a therapist in the 1st place?”

“I did?”

“You did.” Zelda confirmed. “What about the other things you said? Are you blind now?”

“Only by my tears.” Faustus mumbled.

Zelda gently wiped his eyes for him. There. Now, what do you see?”

“What I always see when I look at you. The most beautiful woman, witch or mortal, in all the realms.” Zelda smiled at him and it would have been so damn easy to give in. Faustus wanted so badly to believe he could be this great guy who would live with this goddess who had owned his heart forever.  He leaned in to kiss her but turned away at the last second. “No! I can’t! If I can dream all this, then I must still be dangerous.”

“Faustus- “

“Zelda, I’m going to leave now and you must promise me that if you ever even hear the name of Faustus Blackwood, you will run the other way!”

“Alright, I will.”

It broke his heart completely to hear her agree but it was for best. However, he only half turned before he felt Zelda’s hand on his arm.

“You know; Faustus Blackwood no longer exists. You are Faustus Spellman and this” Zelda leaned over and took a framed picture from the nightstand. “is Faustus Spellman’s family, taken not even 2 weeks ago.”

Faustus looked at the photo. They were all there. Him, Zelda, Hilda, Dr. C, Sabrina, Ambrose, Prudence, the twins, Judith and Ju-no, their names were LJ and Jake now. They were all smiling and happy. Then Faustus saw a face that was not in his dream at all. “Cordelia?”

“Of course, Cordelia.” Zelda smiled. “Our 12-year-old is probably downstairs right now, eating cereal and watching TV, like she does every Sunday. I love you, and I won’t let you throw away 13 years of your hard work to be mentally well. It was all a dream, Faustus. It means nothing. Everything’s fine. I really hate that it’s been over a decade and Edward’s curse still has the ability to haunt you like this.”

Faustus couldn’t quite hide a little smile. He was touched beyond words how Zelda thought of it as Edward’s curse, not his own. Still, he wasn’t sure. “How can I know that this isn’t the dream?” Faustus wondered. “What if I’m still stuck inside Blackwood?” That thought terrified him.

“Blackwood has been gone and buried for the last 12 years. Still, if you have to be convince that this isn’t a dream.”

“Ow,” Yet he smiled when Zelda pinched him.

His wife raised her eyebrow. “Not enough? Okay.” Zelda leaned forward and kissed him deeply.

During the kiss, Faustus felt Zelda unbuttoning his shirt. “What are you doing?”

“Checking,” Zelda said matter of fact. “Earlier you mentioned Prudence cut your limbs off. If that actually happened, you would have scars.” She lowered his shirt and kissed around his shoulders. “No scars here. Wait, I need to check on something.”

“Where are you going?”

“On the night we buried Blackwood, I had to save your life with a binding spell. Which means that if you have a mark on your body, I have it on mine as well.”  Zelda explained as she went to look in the mirror.

Faustus came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her middle. “I was beheaded too, but your neck seems fine.”  He gently brushed her hair aside and began kissing her neck.

“What about my shoulders?”

Faustus was still kissing her neck when he tugged off Zelda’s silk robe and let it fall to the floor. Then 1 at a time, he pulled down the straps of her nightgown. “Nothing here,” he reported. He claimed her lips with his own and then kissed her brow. “You know; I did say all 4 limbs.” Zelda felt a delightful shiver as Faustus let her nightgown fall to the floor. His long arms felt the front of her until he got to the limbs of her thighs. His fingers made quick work of her underwear, letting them fall as well. “You are perfection.” He whispered as he touched the most secret part of her.

As soon as she was able, Zelda turned around. “Now that I’m all checked out, let’s finish with you.” The pretense was dropped entirely after that, just like Faustus’s pants. They tumbled backwards onto the bed, clinging tightly to each other as they made love.

“I love you, Zelda.”

“I love you, Faustus.”

Faustus fell asleep quickly after their lovemaking. It was no surprise to Zelda. After all that dreaming in the night, he must have gotten very little rest. She kissed his forehead and whispered, “Sleep long, sleep sound. Let no more dreams come around.” Happy with her spell, Zelda got up, got dressed and started the phone calls.

 Faustus awoke to the sounds of a busy kitchen. 1 look at the clock told him he had slept the day away. Just taking a shower and getting dressed made him feel better. He went downstairs and the 1st thing he saw was the weird sisters, who were setting the table.

Prudence looked up first. Although Faustus felt weary, her eyes and her smile were welcoming. “Hello, Father.”

“Hello, Mr. Spellman.” Agatha and Dorcus said together, in that unique weird sister way.

It was oddly comforting. “Hello, girls.” Faustus was still smiling when he felt a pat on his back.

He looked beside him to see Dr.  C. “Hey buddy! Zelda called and said you had a rough night. We thought a nice family dinner would make you feel better.”

Faustus remained speechless but he walked into the kitchen with Dr. C. Then he saw the steel wrist band on Dr. C’s arm. “You still have the incubus?”

“Of  course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Uh…never mind.”

They reached the kitchen where he saw more Spellmans readying dinner. Well, most of them. Ambrose was leaning against the island, casually reading a book and dipping his free hand into a food bowl, until LJ slapped his hand away.

“Father! You’re finally up, sleepyhead!” Jake tossed him a teasing smile as he carried the chopped carrots to the stove and dropped them into the pot that Hilda was stirring.

“Hey Dad,” the child’s comment was casual as she walked by him, carrying a side dish, bound for the dinning table. However, Faustus had to reach out and touch her, afraid she would disappear right before his eyes.

“Cordelia!  You’re real!”

Her face, exactly like Zelda’s, clouded over in confusion. “Thanks? So are you?”

He watched her walk away and for the 1st time, Faustus thought that perhaps Zelda was right, perhaps it all had been just a dream! Then Faustus saw something that made his heart drop into his stomach. A very   much alive Vinegar Tom got off his dog bed and went to his food bowl. Of course, he had no problem with the dog being alive. Heaven, when he first heard of the familiar’s death, his gut instinct was to run and comfort Zelda, yet he couldn’t because he was still married to Constance at the time. No, the problem was that Tom’s life was Marie’s final gift before returning to the underworld. If that part of the dream was real surely everything else was real too.

Faustus was still trying to sort fact from fiction when an arm came around his waist and Zelda kissed him. “Feeling better, darling?”

“Vinegar Tom is alive?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Don’t you remember?”

“Humor me, dearest, please?” Faustus begged.

“Well,” Zelda’s voice lowered to a whisper. “As you know, I cried hardest for Tom on his birthday and you always do your best to comfort me. But 3 years ago, when she was 9, Cordy must have heard us for later, when we went downstairs, we found her petting Tom’s stuffed form.”

“Yes!” The memory struck Faustus’s brain like lighting. “I managed to get Cordelia out of the room, but you called me back a moment later, Vinnie was alive. We didn’t know how to explain it to Cordy, so you kept Tom at the academy for a few weeks. When Vinnie came back, we told Cordelia that he was a new dog, named Vinegar Tom as tribute.”

“Yes! That’s exactly what happened.”

Faustus was smiling at his wife when his feet felt warm. He looked down to see Vinnie sitting on his shoes. He picked up   the dog and, together with Zelda, petted him. “I’m glad you have your soul mate back.”

“I’m glad I have both my soul mates back.”

“You said that to me before. The night VT came back.”

 5 minutes later,  with everyone around the table, Faustus finally realized who was  missing. G  He was about ask when the front door opened.

“Hi all. Sorry I’m late.”

Before he realized he was doing it, Faustus ran to her and hugged her. “Sabrina!”

“Hi Uncle Faustus. Nice to see you too.”

“Your tongue! For the love of Hecate, please show me your tongue!”

“O-okay.” Sabrina spit out her tongue.

“Pink and normal. Yes!”

“What’s with him?” Asked Sabrina.

Zelda came up behind her husband. “Your uncle had an awful dream last night. I’m afraid he’s still recovering.”

“Oh, well, don’t worry, it’s just a dream.” Sabrina kissed his cheek.

Faustus was still feeling his cheek when Zelda took his hand and led him back to the table. “1 more question, have any of you ever felt like you ever on a tv show?”

[iam93percentstardust]

I'm bombarding you with those prompts, so I fully understand if you just ignore all those you don't like, lol. Would WinterIronFalcon be an OT3 you're intrested in writing? Some established WinterFalcon with Tony pining helplessly after them, not believeing he could have a chance? With a dash of angst in it? Thank you ♡

There isn’t much angst in this but there is hopeless pining so yay?

Also on ao3 here

~

“Share Bear, it’s not fair,” Tony whines into the phone.

“What isn’t?” his cousin asks, sounding patient but also kind of amused. He takes the phone away from his ear and squints at it. Is she making fun of him? She probably is, Sharon always makes fun of him. She’s mean like that; he’s pretty sure she gets it from Natasha.

“They’re so fucking gorgeous, I can’t stand it.”

“Oh. Them again. Seriously Tony, didn’t you used to have better taste?”

“Excuse you,” he says, offended. “My taste is perfect.”

“They think arguing is foreplay.”

“It’s bickering! And it’s cute!”

“Gross,” Sharon says cheerfully.

“God hates me,” Tony says dramatically, flinging his hand over his eyes. “That’s why he cursed me to work with two such beautiful humans who are already dating each other.”

“Tony—”

“I know Bucky stays up to date with the fandom,” he continues, going a little quieter. “He’s gotta know that tons of people ship the three of us. But he doesn’t say anything about it. Share Bear, why doesn’t he say anything?”

“Probably because for every person who ships all three of you, there’s twice as many who ship just you and him,” she admits. “I know that if someone were shipping Maria and Nat and ignoring that I even exist, I’d be pretty upset.”

“Yeah,” he says glumly.

“What’re you filming today anyway?” she asks.

“True Crime. We were supposed to be doing an episode of Supernatural at the Odinson Mystery House, you know, over in Norway where the son found out he was adopted and then got super into Norse mythology and supposedly disappeared into a rainbow?”

“Oh yeah, that guy was crazy.”

“Wasn’t,” Tony insist stubbornly. “There are three different eyewitnesses and they all saw the same thing.”

“All three eyewitnesses tested positive for meth.”

“It was trace amounts and ruled irrelevant to the case. Anyway, there’s some sort of blizzard so our flight got canceled. We figured we’d get a jump on this season’s True Crime episodes instead.”

“What are you doing this week?”

He scowls into the phone. “Fandom episode. They voted for Captain America.”

He can practically hear Sharon wince. “I’m sorry. That fucking sucks.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, not least because both of them know exactly what happened to Captain America. He was recovered from the Arctic back in the 50s and went on to live a very happy and fulfilling life with Aunt Peggy. But that’s a very closely guarded state secret; the U.S. government can’t let it get out that Steve Rogers survived nearly a decade in the ice. Technically, Tony and Sharon aren’t even supposed to know but Aunt Peggy had insisted she be allowed to tell them after she took custody of Sharon and Tony moved out of Howard’s and into her home. It’s kind of cool actually, knowing that Uncle Steve is really Captain America. He’s a pretty great guy. It just kind of sucks that he can’t tell anyone about it and now he has to do a whole episode about it when everyone knows he’s a shitty liar.

He’d talked it over with Uncle Steve and Aunt Peggy when the results of the vote had first come in. Aunt Peggy’s advice had been to act more manic than usual, throw even more outlandish theories into the mix, and really make this episode about the banter between him and Bucky. “Direct their attention away from Steve,” she’d said. “They’re already going to be looking at you. Just make sure they’re doing it for the wrong reason.”

He kind of wants to kiss Bucky. That would definitely draw attention away from the episode. But that’s not fair to either Bucky or Sam, who are very happy with their relationship and don’t need a homewrecker like Tony throwing a spanner into the mix.

“Good luck,” Sharon tells him before they hang up. “You’re gonna need it.”

“Wow, thanks,” he mutters but she’s already gone.

~

Marvels Unsolved was never supposed to be this popular. It started off as a novelty webseries about Tony trying to convince Bucky about the existence of the supernatural—he firmly believed that if science could turn Uncle Steve from an actual shrimp to the god of muscles, then magic had to be out there—and then they’d started talking about an unsolved crime from the early 20th century after filming an episode one day, forgetting that the camera was still rolling, and had ended up with enough footage to make a second episode about real crimes. They had stayed pretty unknown throughout that first season but then true crime podcasts had exploded in popularity and Unsolved along with them.

Now they have a fandom and merchandise and actual fanfiction written about them, which is the craziest thing. They both have several often-quoted gifs floating around the Internet and Bucky has somehow become the poster child for being unimpressed by literally everything (he actually makes some of the best faces when something genuinely scary happens but they always end up editing those parts out—he has an image to maintain after all).

They brought Sam on once they started gaining in popularity. Tony, by that point, already had a pretty well-established crush on Bucky. He’d even thought that he had a chance with his co-host, small as it may be, and at first, it hadn’t seemed like Sam was going to change anything. He and Bucky argued all the time so Tony had been absolutely stunned when he’d stumbled upon them making out like it was the end of the world.

They had just finished filming their second season. Sam had suggested going out to a local bar. He’d suggested it for all three of them but Tony had, inexplicably, felt like a third wheel all night as Sam and Bucky bickered. At one point, Sam had disappeared off to the restroom and a couple minutes later, Bucky had followed him. Tony doesn’t know how long he had sat there waiting for them but he’d eventually gone looking for them only to find Sam pressing Bucky up against a wall.

And that had been that.

Three years later, Sam and Bucky are still going strong, Tony is as smitten with Sam as he is with Bucky despite knowing how hopeless both crushes are, and the fandom seems convinced to either write Sam out of Tony and Bucky’s relationship or write Tony into Sam and Bucky’s. He wishes they would stop. He stays pretty up to date with the fandom as well and they have all these meta posts about the way Bucky looks at him or something. It just keeps giving him hope but, well, it’s been three years. If Bucky wanted him, or if Sam did for that matter, they would have done something long ago.

~

“Hey, you doing okay?” Sam asks him as they’re setting up.

“Sure, why wouldn’t I be?” He avoids meeting Sam’s eyes, focusing instead on adding creamer to the coffee. Marvels had presented them with these mugs last year to congratulate them on four years of Unsolved. They’ve got their most iconic quotes printed on them, Bucky’s with “Obviously I killed JFK” and Tony’s with “I’m the dramatic bitch your mom warned you about.” Sam has one too with his one and only line in the entire show printed on it (“Why did I agree to work with you?”) but since he’s always behind the camera, he doesn’t have to use the same mug for each episode.

“You just seem a little off.” The worst part is that Sam genuinely looks concerned. If they didn’t care about him, he thinks his crush might be easier to manage but they do because they’re just nice guys like that. “I know you weren’t too thrilled when we announced this week’s case.”

“Howard worked with him, practically hero-worshipped the damn guy. Of course, I’m not excited.”

Sam winces. They know all about Tony’s shitty relationship with Howard after his dad called Marvels furious that his son was hosting a webseries instead of coming home to grovel at his feet and take over the business. The whole team had been brought in to listen as Fury tried to placate him. By the end, Bucky had been furious on Tony’s behalf and Sam had berated Fury for twenty minutes for making Tony listen to the vitriol his dad had spewed. It had cemented his crush on Sam, then just a passing fancy, into something real and permanent.

“Seriously, Sam, I’m fine. Might be a little off today but I would have said if I didn’t think I could do it.”

Sam doesn’t look convinced but he agrees anyway. Tony sits down next to Bucky and passes him his mug. Bucky shoots him a grin and murmurs, “Thanks, doll.”

Tony doesn’t blush but that’s only because he has five years of practice. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Sam counting them down and he turns to face the camera, settling his hands in front of him.

“This week on Marvels Unsolved True Crime and in celebration of our 100th episode,” he begins, “we asked you what you’d like us to investigate and you came back—”

“—overwhelmingly,” Bucky interjects.

“Many, many times,” Tony agrees, “with a topic near and dear to my own heart: Captain America.”

“That’s right,” Bucky says, sounding surprised though Bucky had been the first to point out that maybe they shouldn’t do this episode because of Tony’s connections to Project Rebirth. “Your dad helped turn Steve Rogers into Captain America, didn’t he?”

“And he never let me forget it!” Tony says cheerfully.

“One hundred episodes,” Bucky says slowly, enunciating each word. “Can you believe that, doll?”

Sometimes, he wonders why the fans ship them when Sam is right there. Other times, Bucky says things like this and he understands completely.

“Not even a little bit, Bucky Babe.” Okay, so maybe he doesn’t help.

“One hundred. The big one zero zero.”

“We tried to do something extra special and get Sam in front of the camera for you guys—”

“—so you could see what a hunk he is—”

“—but Sam said that he didn’t trust anyone else to film us properly—”

“—which makes sense because Tony? If you put him in the wrong light, he’s practically a gremlin—”

“Hey!”

“I’m just telling the facts.”

“Well, the facts are wrong.”

“They’re facts, sweet thing, they can’t be wrong.”

“Can too. Anyway, since Sam refuses to join us—”

“—and that just breaks my heart because Sam, he’s one of my favorite guys, you know?”

Tony pauses. It’s not like Bucky to say anything nice about Sam. Usually, it’s all good-natured insults and bickering. He must really be fed up with the Starkbucks shippers to say something like this when they’re still this early in the show.

“Only one of?” he asks curiously.

Bucky shoots him one of those filthy grins that their audience loves so much. “Well, it’s hard not to include you on that list,” he drawls.

He’s not going to blush.

He’s not going to blush.

He’s not going to—

Damn it.

Whatever. It’s no big deal, that’s what editing is for. So what if Sam has never edited out one of Tony’s blushes yet? Maybe Tony will get lucky and he will this time.

“You know, I was actually named for Captain America’s sidekick?” Bucky asks, getting them back on track.

“Wow, that is deeply unfortunate,” Tony deadpans.

“Yeah, Dad’s a fanboy. His whole troop was pinned down and rescued by the two of them. He tells the story all the time—kind of like your dad.”

“Except my dad goes straight past into fanboy and directly into obsession territory.”

“…Fair enough.”

“Really? That’s all you’re going to say?”

Bucky shrugs and takes a sip out of his mug. “I’ve been inside your house. I’ve seen the Steve Rogers shrine. I’m not going to argue with you.”

Tony thinks about that for a moment. “It is kind of a shrine, isn’t it? Anyway, we’ve got some great stuff for you today. We’re going to crack open this cold case, show you some never-before-seen footage courtesy of my mom sneaking my dad’s old war tapes out of the mansion, and then we’ll talk a little bit about the theories out there.”

“How many of them are going to be ridiculously outlandish and physically impossible?”

Tony glares at him. “None of them. I have never once presented a ridiculously outlandish and physically impossible theory.”

“Right because alien abduction is a valid—”

“Aliens are real!”

“You said that crabs might have eaten Amelia Earheart!” Bucky shouts over him.

“It’s a valid theory!”

“I take it back, you’re not one of my favorite people anymore.”

“That really hurts me, deep inside,” Tony says sarcastically, trying to cover up that maybe that does send a small pang shooting through his chest. He likes the thought of being one of Bucky’s favorite people. He doesn’t want to lose that.

“How deep?” Bucky asks and winks.

“Very deep. Way, way deep down. Practically in my—”

Bucky’s eyes widen and he nearly chokes on his coffee. “Okay, that’s enough of that. Let’s get into the facts.”

“Hey, that’s my line!”

~

“With a missing plane and pilot and so much redaction in the files, we’re lucky to even have a name, let’s get into the theories.”

“Actually, wait, before we do that,” Bucky says, “I want to ask if you’ve ever noticed that your voice changes when you’re doing the voiceovers.”

“Wait, what?” Tony asks. He glances at him, to one of the cameras, then back to Bucky. “What do you mean?”

“You know, it gets all deeper like you’re trying to voice movie trailers or something.”

“No it doesn’t.”

“Sure it does.”

Tony shakes his head. “There’s no way.”

They both turn toward Sam, who thinks about it and then makes a ‘sort of’ motion with his hand.

“Told you!” Bucky says triumphantly.

“You’re such a child,” Tony sneers.

“Yeah, that’s why you like working with me so much.”

Behind the camera, Sam silently snickers and Tony glares at him before telling the camera, “If you’re watching, let us know in the comments. Is my apparent movie trailer voice okay or does it need to go like Bucky clearly thinks?”

Bucky goes paler. “Hey, wait, I didn’t say it had to go.”

“It was implied when you brought it up,” he argues.

“No!” Bucky insists. “I was just wondering if it was on purpose.”

They both turn toward Sam, who thinks about it and then makes a ‘sort of’ motion with his hand.

“Aha!” Tony says triumphantly.

“Traitor,” Bucky mutters into his coffee.

Sam signs, “I’ll make it up to you when we get home tonight.”

“And that was more than I ever wanted to learn about Sam and Bucky’s love life,” Tony lies through his teeth. “Let’s get into the theories. I only have two for you today, one of which I think Bucky will particularly like.”

“Oh no.”

“Our first theory is that Steve Rogers died in a plane crash on December 16, 1944. Winter months in the Arctic are known to be particularly stormy. There would have been low visibility due to the high latitude and time of year and with the waters and surrounding land being well below freezing, it’s possible that, even if Captain Rogers survived the impact, he would have frozen to death in the stormy seas.”

Bucky thinks about it for a second. “Yeah, that seems plausible.”

“In addition, Howard Stark, a known Captain America aficionado and the father of Marvels Unsolved’s best host—”

“You lie like a rug!” Bucky howls.

Tony snickers and then when Sam signs, “He’s really not,” bursts out into full-out laughter.

Once he’s recovered, he continues, “Howard Stark has spent the first fifty years after the crash of the Valkyrie and the last twenty funding searches in the Arctic in the hopes of recovering Captain Rogers’ body. He has found no evidence that Captain Rogers survived the crash although he did find part of the remains of the Valkyrie and has since stated that, ‘No human could have survived that crash.’”

The expeditions are a scam and have been since Howard first found the Valkyrie crash site and Uncle Steve along with it. He hadn’t been planning on continuing the expeditions—too costly, as he claims—but when Aunt Peggy had told him that Uncle Steve’s survival had to remain a secret, he’d kept them up for pretense’s sake.

Bucky is saying something about how it sucks that the first superhero is gone and when he finishes, Tony grins and says, “Then you’ll like our second theory.”

“Somehow, every time you say that, I end up completely hating it. Wonder why that is.”

“Our second theory is that Steve Rogers survived the crash and is still alive but cryogenically frozen in the ice. There—”

“Bullshit!”

Tony starts laughing but he tries to continue on over Bucky shouting that it’s complete nonsense. It’s hard and he knows that Sam will probably have to do some editing and maybe make Tony do some voiceover work in order to make the theory audible but he thinks he manages to do a pretty good job.

Bucky is pouting by the end of it, arms crossed over his chest. “What fucking bullshit,” he mutters.

“The supersoldier serum—” Tony starts to point out.

“Isn’t a miracle drug.”

“That’s exactly what it is.”

“No, it just made him big and strong. It doesn’t just magically keep people alive when they should have died.”

And then they’re off into familiar territory, arguing about the merits of either theory. Tony’s actually feeling pretty good about himself, convinced that he’s doing a decent job of steering the conversation away of anything classified, right up until Bucky says, about halfway through the episode, “I’m surprised at you, Tony.”

He wrinkles his nose. “Surprised?”

“Usually, you have some absolutely batshit, off-the-walls crazy theory but these have actually been pretty normal for you.” He pauses and then adds for effect, “And you’re usually much better at your research than this.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh come on, even I know that there’s one more theory.”

He starts tapping at his chest nervously, almost wishing that he had a pair of sunglasses. Aunt Peggy always said that his lies are in his eyes, that they’re too expressive to hide the truth. When he was living with Howard, in the spotlight, he always had a pair of sunglasses to hide his eyes but he hasn’t wanted to use those since he moved out. He wishes he had them now.

“And what’s that?” he asks, feigning a casualness he doesn’t feel.

“That Steve Rogers lived and came out of the ice at some point and has been living out his life in anonymity.”

He barks out a nervous laugh. “I didn’t mention it because even I know that that theory is completely impossible.”

“Hasn’t stopped you before.” Sam nods agreeably. Bucky nods back at him and adds, “Even Sam agrees with me.”

“He’s your boyfriend, he’s practically required to.”

Both Sam and Bucky laugh at that one and yeah, okay, it was a pretty ridiculous statement. Anyone who knows them knows that being boyfriends is less likely to make them agree with each other.

“Look, Steve Rogers didn’t come out of the ice alive. Howard would have known for one thing and if you think, he could keep something like that quiet, then you don’t know him very well.”

“Maybe the government insisted it be a secret,” Bucky suggests, shrugging. “There have been plenty of people who have claimed over the last couple decades to be Captain America.”

Tony scoffs. “Oh come on, by that logic, anyone could be Captain America.”

“Maybe they could be.”

“No,” Tony says flatly. “It’s like that crazy conspiracy theory guy over on Reddit who’s convinced that Bruce Wayne is Batman.”

“Maybe Bruce Wayne is Batman.”

“Ooh do the butts match?” Tony says mockingly. “I mean, really, Bucky Babe, if we’re going off of lookalikes, then my fucking Uncle Steve is secretly really Steve Rogers, which is ridiculous because the guy’s like practically ancient and faints at the sight of blood in PG-13 movies.”

That sets off another round of arguing that lasts the rest of the episode until finally Tony wraps it up with, “Whether Steve Rogers died in 1944 or is still alive today is a mystery that will remain unsolved.”

They both pause for a moment to provide time for Sam to edit in the theme music and closing title. Usually, there would be some lighthearted bantering afterwards, maybe a joke about something they said earlier in the show. This time though, Bucky says thoughtfully, “The thing is, though, I’ve met your Uncle Steve—”

Tony goes cold.

“—and he really does kind of look like—”

Tony panics. That’s the only explanation that he has for declaring, “I’m done waiting,” reaching across the tables and grabbing hold of Bucky’s shirt, and yanking him forward to kiss him.

For a moment, Bucky is too startled to do anything but then he melts into Tony, mouth opening under his, tongue pushing forward to meet his. Bucky’s arms come around him, pulling him up and out of his chair and settling him into his lap. Tony makes a small greedy sound, swallowed by Bucky’s kiss, and then they’re both pulling away. Bucky’s lips are very red; Tony can’t stop staring at them even as he’s filled with dismay.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Why not?” Bucky demands.

“You—Sam—” He glances toward the camera but Sam isn’t standing there anymore. His heart drops into his stomach—has he just ruined Bucky and Sam’s relationship? But then he hears someone drop to their knees behind him and when he turns slightly, Sam’s fingers are on his chin, gently turning his head.

“How long?” Sam asks.

“How long what?”

“How long have we been wasting our time when we could have been kissing you instead?”

Three years, two months, and fifteen days. “Too long.”

Sam kisses him then, mouth gentler than Bucky’s but no less consuming. Bucky is a hard, hot line against his front; Sam is warm against his back and Tony? Tony loses himself in the storm that is the two of them, sparks shooting through him as Bucky’s hands find their way to his hips, as Sam’s tongue slips into his mouth, as Bucky whispers into his ear, “We’re not wasting any more time.”

~

Marvels Unsolved’s 100th episode shoots to their most watched, most liked video in less than a day and when asked, maybe the smallest handful of viewers could have said what it was about.

The day after it posts, only a week after it was filmed, Tony’s phone rings.

“Kill it with fire,” Sam says sleepily.

Tony, however, recognizes Aunt Peggy’s ringtone and he rolls over to grab it before Bucky can throw it at the wall. “Hello?” he asks groggily.

“Congratulations on not blowing Steve’s cover,” she says.

“Oh yeah,” Tony mutters. “Can I go back to bed now?”

“One more thing, duck.”

“What’s that?”

“Congratulations on the new boyfriends.”

[softyoongiionly]

⚡️with you, i just feel rich ⚡️

In a town that never stops raining, you and your neighbor Jimin cozy up at your place and find ways to cope with the bad weather.

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: language, smut, Jimin (because, he's a warning all on his own)

A/N: I hope you guys like this one! Jimin makes me feel all kinds of feelings...godspeed

CRACK!

Jesus.  

That was a big one.  

It’s been raging for hours and hours now.

There really isn’t a sweater thick enough to combat the bitter cold that’s seeping in through the cracks in your walls.

You remind yourself to call the carpenter tomorrow; the splitting in the oak is getting worse every week.

How can you blame it though?  

The town you’ve spent your life in clearly pissed off an ancient god of some sort because; it hasn’t stopped storming for more than a week at a time in the last 50 years.  

Unyielding rain doesn’t exactly pair well with an old wooden house that was clearly built a decade before you were born.  

“Noodles??” You call over the crackling thunder, the house trembling around you.

You think you’d get used to it but, the thunder has always bothered you; even after all this time.  

“Noodles?”  

No response.

“I swear if you got out again, I’m returning the fancy feast! It will be dry kibble for the next two weeks…” You threaten, knowing full well that he can’t understand you.

Noodles, a fat orange tabby, is your bedtime companion. He usually does his own thing during the day which includes sleeping, staring, sulking and, searching for food. At night however, he nestles beside you, pressing his back side against your sleeping figure in attempt to find some warmth. Although, you’d like to think it’s because he actually likes you.

Your search for Noodles is interrupted by a knock at your front door. The sound is almost drowned out beneath the massive burst of thunder but, thankfully you catch a glimpse of it before your house shakes once again.

“Coming!”

The storm is getting worse; you can’t help but wonder why anyone would leave their home in this weather.

Upon opening the door, you are met with your neighbor; clad in a thick yellow rain coat and a pair of dark jeans.  He didn’t come empty handed either because, in his arms sits a soaking wet, grumpy looking Noodles who clings desperately to the yellow plastic on his arm.

“Oh my god, Jimin,” You stretch your voice above the noise of the storm, shaking your head as you reach out towards your pesky little feline, “I’m so sorry, did he get in through your window again?

Jimin chuckles, nodding in amusement, “I heard you calling for him and, figured I’d look around, I found him under my kitchen table.” He assists in handing Noodles over to you, shaking his wet hair out of his face as he does, “Don’t put the blame entirely on him, I think he smelled the steak I was cooking…”

Noodles settles into your arms, clinging onto you as another roll of thunder crackles in the sky.  

“You can’t just break into people’s houses every time you smell food, it’s not polite…” You chastise him, kissing the top of his damp head, “Thanks for bringing him home…again.”

Jimin giggles at your soured tone, adjusting his rain coat, seemingly unaffected by the monumental storm raging behind him, “No worries, I miss having animals in the house, Rosco would have loved this one...he’s feisty”  

You frown at his response. Jimin lost his pitbull Rosco roughly 6 months ago after 16 long years together. Rosco had a happy ending, Jimin and his father held a funeral for him in the back yard complete with flowers, cake and a big large bone to send him off.  

It's what Roscoe deserved.  

“Roscoe loved everyone, he was too good for this world,” You smile, eyeing the fluffy orange cat in your arms, “...far too good for this common criminal. Thank you again for bringing him home, I’ll make sure to tell Maggie to take a look at the window tomorrow.”  

Jimin nods, sending you a closed mouth smile, adjusting his raincoat once more. He goes to open his mouth but, sky interrupts with another angry clash of thunder. The brilliant blast of lightening follows soon after, signaling that isn’t far away.  

“I better head back, I don’t want to be out when that gets any closer. My dad will kill me if his dinner isn’t done...” Jimin chuckles but, there is a hint of bitterness to his statement.  

You nod, stepping back into the warmth of your house, allowing Noodles to scurry off into the living room.  

“We’re still on for Thursday right? My co-worker agreed to switch with me so I’m free after 3:30...”

It was a bi-weekly tradition; Jimin would come over on a Thursday evening; you would bake him and his father two different pies to feast on for the following two weeks and, he would bring you free wine from the local bar. The arrangement was a simple one but, for the last six months or so, you’ve been able to get wine drunk for free and, hone your baking skills. Plus, Jimin isn’t exactly hard to look at nor is he hard to converse with; in fact, the two of you had been shamelessly flirting for quite a while now...

Jimin looks hopeful as he pushes his blonde hair away from his face, the remains of a smile still on his lips.  

“Yeah of course; can you come over around six? I should be finishing up at the school around four but, I’ll need time to get the last pie in the oven...” You lean against your doorframe, trying to avoid staring at your handsome neighbor.  

“Six is great yeah, that will give me time to get dinner ready for my dad.” Jimin muses, adjusting his raincoat.

“Ah yes and, then you’ll be coming home with dessert for him later on; maybe you’ll finally win son of the year...”  

Jimin snorts, shaking his head at your comment, “Yeah, in my fucking dreams...”

You giggle, nodding to his house, “Get home safe ok? I’ll see you Thursday.”

He throws a smirk your way before conceding, turning to head down the stairs of your porch.

“See you Thursday.”

The storm has increased in ferocity and, if Jimin lived any further out, you would have insisted that he stay at your place until things let up.

Thankfully, his house is literally 30 feet from your porch but, you still eye him carefully, ensuring that he makes it through his front door.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

The entirety of your small home smells of apples and cinnamon as the final pie bakes to a perfect crisp in the oven.  

You and Jimin had been sipping cheap cabernet for awhile now and, although there was plenty of space in your kitchen, the two of you decided to lounge on your couch instead.  

“Have you dated anyone since Cara?”

He tilts his head, looking unsure of his response, “I mean, I’ve hooked up since Cara but, things don’t really pan out after that. It’s probably for the best honestly, between school and my hours at the bar, I don’t really have a lot of time for a relationship.”

You nod, understanding how busy life can be, “I get you. I picked up a second shift at the school so, I tutor on the weekends now. My bills aren’t killing me as much but, the hours certainly are.”

“Do you still play the lottery?” Jimin smirks, a bit of fondness in his eyes

“Every week.” You giggle, nodding to the mountain of lottery tickets sitting on your side table, “I’m hoping since my odds of getting struck by lightning are so much higher than the average person, my odds of winning the lottery will also be higher.”

Jimin giggles at this, shaking his head at you, “That doesn’t make any sense…”

“Shhh_” You nudge his shin with your foot, giggling along with him, “Yes it does, just go with it.”

His laugh is adorable and, the way his eyes crinkle up with the sound is enough to make you melt.  

“Alright fine, what would you do if you won the lottery then?” He challenges, tilting his glass towards you.

Narrowing your eyes in thought, you go over the hundreds of ideas that have popped into your brain over many hours of contemplating this question.

“I’d pay off my student loans and, my car.” You begin, “I’d make sure my mom was taken care of and, the rest of my family and then, I’d buy an island in the Pacific Ocean…”

Jimin smiles, intrigued “Really? You’d live there all alone?”

“Well, I wouldn’t live there permanently, just during the winter months. Every other month, I’d live in my 17th century cottage in France where I’d master the art of making French desserts.”

The matter of fact way in which you state your plans has Jimin rolling, his wine sloshing around his glass as his twinkling laughter fills the room.  

“Don’t laugh at me!” You giggle, nudging his shin again, “I’ve thought about this a lot…”

“I can tell, you have quite the life planned for yourself Y/N. I think I’d be begging to join you in that cottage of yours. You can master French cuisine, I’ll attend some fancy ass French art school, it would work out perfectly…”

You scoff, “What makes you think I’d let you freeload in my cottage? You’d have to earn your keep Mr. Park…”

Jimin smirks at the name, “I’d be a good roommate. I’d do all the dishes, the laundry, the maintenance, I’d keep my shirt off too so, you know, you had something nice to look at…”

With that, you nudge his leg once more, giggling at his ludicrous plan, “Hmm I don’t think it’d be worth it. I clean around here just fine on my own…” You move to pull your foot off of his leg but, instead, his hand comes out to stop you.

With his fingers wrapped around your ankle, his hooded eyes flit up to yours, a lingering smirk still on his mouth, “Leave it…”

Your eyes narrow in confusion, “My foot?”

“Yeah,” He rasps, licking over his lips as he turns to put his wine on your side table, “You said they were hurting earlier right?”

A giggle comes from your mouth, as you wiggle your toes in his grip, “You’re really trying to get in on this cottage situation aren’t you?”

He moves so his knees are no longer bent and, your foot is resting comfortably his lap, “I’m just trying to show you what you’d gain if you took me in as your sugar baby…”

You guffaw at this, tugging your foot in his grip, “Oh so you’ve upgraded your request from roommate to my sugar baby?”

Jimin pinches your calf playfully, smoothing his hand over the top of your socked foot. You welcome the touch eagerly, not fully remembering the last time a man has touched you.  

“Tell me more about this cottage hm? What’s the interior like?” Jimin’s tone shifts slightly as he tucks his fingers into the black wool and, slowly begins to pull it from your foot.

“Hm…modern amenities, classical architecture; I’m a big fan of French construction…” You note, your voice lowering with the comfort Jimin’s hands were bringing you.

He’s slow and careful as he presses the pads of his thumbs into the arch of your foot, working out the tension there. “Is there a big kitchen then? Since you’re planning on mastering French desserts, you’ll need the space right?”

Immediately you nod, settling further into the plushness of your couch cushions, “Of course, complete with a brick oven and, two stand mixers…”

Jimin’s amusement grows as he continues kneading out the tenseness in your foot.  

“Would you have a garden? Fresh ingredients would make your food taste better.” He points out, his lips lingering in a smile.

“Mm…” You acknowledge, resting your head against the couch now, his touch paired with the wine, fogging up your motivation to speak full sentences; you want him to keep talking, “Definitely would need a garden; that can be part of your chores, tending to my plants…”

Jimin chuckles, admiring the way your toes wiggle in response to his touch.  

“What about you?”

“What do you mean?” He inquires, tilting his head in confusion.

“What would you do if you won the lottery?”

Jimin pats your other foot as he sets the one he was currently working on back in his lap.  

You hesitate for a moment but, quickly oblige, not wanting his attention on you to wane.  

“Ah well,” He slips off your sock, just as slowly as he did the first time before answering your question, “I’d get my dad out of this town, maybe into some fancy old folks resort in Florida or something,” He chuckles, sighing as he continues, “I’d finish school debt free and, probably try to open up my own studio in a nice city, maybe New York or Seoul…”

His voice is music to your ears and, in such strong contrast to the raging storm shaking your house. You wish he never stopped talking.

“I’d buy a condo too and, start collecting art, like the real thing, not just the shitty reprints I have now,” He elaborates, his eyes lit up with his own daydream.

“Who’s your favorite?”  

Jimin smiles as he starts massaging over your toes, keeping his touch as gentle as possible, “Degas. I’m sure you’ve heard of him. He’s the guy who painted ballerinas…”

You know exactly who he’s talking about, having taken several art history courses whilst in university.  

“Yeah of course, he’s a French artist right?”

“He is,” He points a finger at you, “So see? I’ll have to be in France sometimes so; I can study where Degas did; all the more reason to let me stay in your cottage.”  

A giggle is pulled from your throat and, “We may be able to work something out, I’ll definitely be expecting more foot rubs though.”

He smirks, “I can do that. Do they feel any better?”

A wiggle of your toes confirms your suspicions that Jimin did wonders on your tense muscles.

You can’t help but wonder how his hands would fair on the rest of your body.  

“So much better thank you…” You vow sincerely, “I think the last time I got a foot massage was two summers ago when I had my toes done for my cousins wedding.”

Jimin’s eyes narrow as your statement perplexes him, “What about your ex? He never gave you a foot rub?”

“No, definitely not,” You shake your head, tucking some hair behind your ear, “There really wasn’t a whole lot of touching in that relationship if I’m being honest…”

The wine and massage clearly leave you more willing to share the truth but, Jimin doesn’t seem to mind, taking the opportunity to learn more about you.

“Life in the bedroom went stale? Was that part of the problem?” He ventures but, he tries to keep his tone casual, hoping that his question doesn’t offend you.

A scoff leaves your lips, “If I’m being brutally honest, it was never fresh in the first place…”

“That’s something I know all too well,” He bristles, the wine clearly coating his tone, “Sex is always made out to be this passionate, jaw dropping experience and, you’re just expected to know what the other person likes and, how they feel. No one talks about it though. No one has that conversation, everyone is just aimlessly shifting around in the dark, hoping that their partner is enjoying themselves...or I don’t know, maybe that was just me...ha.” He’s not drunk but, he’s tipsy enough to start spilling his guts and, it’s got you wondering how deep this conversation is going to go.  

“Is that how it was with Cara?” You venture, leaning back on your sofa  

He smirks, eyes flitting over the perimeter of your coffee table, “It’s sad that my only long term relationship contributed to the worst sex I’ve ever had. I’m not blaming her either, not entirely, it was definitely mutual. We didn’t have any chemistry.”  

“At least the split was mutual too,” You offer, taking another sip of wine, “Break ups can be a disaster...”  

His head tilts to the side, conceding with you, “Yeah that’s true. By the time we decided to end things, half of my stuff was already back at my dad’s place.”  

“Do you ever hear from her?”  

Jimin nods, the blonde hair that’s framing his face bobbing along with his movements, “Every now and again, we’re still friendly towards each other. She called me last week to tell me she found a sketch pen of mine. It was one of my favorites so, she mailed it back to me. She’s a nice person but, the more I look back, the more I realize how unhappy I was with her.”  

You understand the feeling; it was very similar to your own failed relationship.  

“Hindsight is everything huh?” You raise your glass towards him and, he laughs, following your lead.  

“Here, here...”  

The two of you clink glasses, taking a long, slow gulp of your wine and, lean back against opposite ends of the couch.  

“I agree with you though, about sex. I think the worst part for me was always how mechanical everything could feel. Like, when someone is trying to get you off, you want to feel like they want to see you get off; like your pleasure turns them on...I never had that. I could never figure out why.”  

Your bare feet are braced against the cushions, toes wiggling into the fabric as the wine warms up your senses.  

Jimin chews on his lip, nodding in consideration, “I feel that. It was like that for me too. I always assumed it was me, like there was something wrong with what I was doing. She seemed really into what I gave her but, she wasn’t very eager to return the favor. I was too young to feel confident enough to press the issue…”

You don’t know his ex very well but, right now, you couldn’t relate to her at all. Jimin’s messy blonde hair, his cheeks rosied from the wine, his toned body tucked effortlessly into his sweater and, jeans; how could one possibly resist the chance to make him cum his brains out?

“I don’t think it was you,” You assure him, “I’m sure there were a lot of things that played into why it was so stale. I get why you’d feel that way though, I felt the same way when I was with my ex…”  

“His lack of foot massages could have told me that… ” He smirks, throwing back the rest of his Cabernet, the red liquid lingering on his lips as he pulls his glass away.

Tempting.

“You want to know something tragic?” You lean over and grab the bottle of wine off of the table, “We were together for 4 years and, I can count the times he ate me out, on one hand…”

Jimin’s eyes go wide, “Fuck off, you’re kidding me right? Did you ever say anything?”

He silently holds his glass out, and you pour a little more for the both of you. You didn’t know how long he would be here but, you didn’t want to risk either of you getting too drunk.  

“I mean, I did but, I guess it was similar to your situation. I felt like he didn’t really like doing it and, I’m not really turned on by the idea of my boyfriend giving head because he feels obligated to…”  

Jimin glances at the exposed skin of your inner thighs and decides that anyone who passes up the opportunity to bury their face between your legs, is likely insane.

“I can’t picture it, I’m sorry…” He chuckles, shaking his head, “I couldn’t imagine not wanting to eat pussy.”

Your cheeks heat but, it’s not out of embarrassment; Jimin’s lips looked really good curling around the word pussy. They look really good all the time though…

“When I asked him about it one time, he said,” You pause, to giggle at the memory, feeling ridiculous that you had bought into his bullshit, “‘I like feeling close to you babe and, when I’m down there, I don’t feel like we’re connecting emotionally.’ “

His eyes widen again as he splutters a laugh through his pursed lips, “Oh my god, what a fucking tool. That is the biggest load of shit I’ve ever heard. I bet he had no issues with you sucking his dick though right? Was that close enough for him?”

You join in his laughter, nodding with the second question, “Ah yes that was pure intimacy. My throat was a one way ticket to my heart and soul.”

Jimin’s laughter grows, his head falling back as he leans into the back of your couch for support.

“I can’t believe I stayed with him for so long, he and I were so different…” You muse, as the laughter between the two of you dies down.

“You guys were high school sweethearts right? Maybe you stayed because it was comfortable.”

Your teeth have found a place on your lower lip as you nod in consideration of his words, “Yeah, that definitely played a part. It was also because everyone expected us to stay together you know? My mom loved him, my friends loved him and, I loved him too but, honestly? I don’t think I ever fell in love with him, not fully. I figured it was something I’d eventually get over or, something I’d fix but, it wasn’t on me. It wasn’t on him either. That’s why I ended things, we just weren’t right for each other.”

Jimin nods slowly, eyes scanning over you to ensure that you’re ok, “Did he feel the same, when you guys split?”  

You think back to the day you broke things off. Your ex didn’t really act surprise at your announcement; in fact, he seemed pretty relieved that he got out of having to breach the subject himself.

“I think so. He knew it was time; it had been time for a while. I started ‘falling asleep on the couch’” You quote the terms with your fingers, “and, he was going out with his friends like 5 times a week.  We ended things as friends and, I genuinely hope he’s doing well.”

Jimin offers up a sweet smile, impressed with your outlook on things. He felt a little bitter by the end of his relationship, although he has trouble admitting it.  

“He’s still a tool for not wanting to eat you out though; hopefully he’s learned the error of his ways…” He jests, taking another sip of wine, eyeing you as he does.

“I’m hoping for the sake of the next girl that he has.” You concede, smirking over the rim of your glass.

A bit of silence moves between the two of you and, Jimin spends that time in contemplation before he speaks again,  “Y/N, not to be too forward but,” Hooded eyes lock onto yours, in an incredulous deadpan, “the fact that he didn’t want to make you cum every chance he got is disturbing to me…”

Jimin’s words lick at your insides, stoking a fire deep in your belly but, you’re confused; why does he care so much?  

A smirk curves on the corners of your mouth, not wanting to show that his words affect you, “I could say the same thing about your girl Cara, I couldn’t imagine being with you and, not wanting to suck your dick.”

He splutters against his glass, checking 3 different times to make sure he just heard what he thinks he heard, “Excuse me?”  

A shrug of your shoulder pairs nicely with a nonchalant sip of wine, “What? I just repeated what you said...”

He shakes his head immediately and, upon noticing the darkness edging around his pupils, you feel a tightness growing between your legs.  

“Your response was a little more descriptive don’t you think?”  

While you’re thinking of another totally chill response, Jimin sets his wine glass on the coffee table. His tongue licks over his bottom lip before it’s tucked carefully between his teeth.

“Are you uncomfortable with my response Jimin?”

He smirks now, understanding what you’re playing at, “No, not in the way you’re thinking...”

You return his expression and, set your own glass down before the kitchen timer interrupts your lustful exchange. The heat on your cheeks is almost unbearable but, you can’t risk setting the smoke alarm off so, reluctantly, you nod toward the sound.

“That’s the pie...”

Jimin’s smirk hasn’t faltered, his puffy eyes alight with intrigue, “I figured...”

“I’ll be right back.”

He doesn’t give you the chance though because, not a full minute passes after you pull out the second apple pie before you feel a pair of arms wrap around your waist.  

The breath that is due to exhale gets caught in your throat and, your hand comes up reflexively to grasp at the limbs currently encasing your hips. 

“It’s me...” Jimin’s melodic voice is at your ear, his breath causing goosebumps.

“Bummer, I was hoping it was my other hot neighbor.” You tease, nails gently raking across the top of Jimin’s hand.

He snickers, face firmly situated in the crook of your neck, “Sorry to disappoint you...”

His hands are getting braver now, sliding slowly under the hem of your sweater, forcing every hair on your body to stand at attention. Without permission, your body seems to betray you as it melts back into Jimin’s embrace; the woodsy notes of his cologne are making you dizzy and, you can feel the tightness between your legs intensifying. Quickly, before you collapse onto the floor, you turn around in Jimin’s arms only to be met with his lustful smile, his hair disheveled from being roughed up against your neck.

“I want a kiss...” He whispers immediately against your lips, nudging your nose as he does, “Can I have one?”  

A nod is all you can muster before leaning in and attaching your lips to his. Jimin kisses like the devil himself; slowly exploring your lips with gentle caresses of his tongue and teeth, his hands still tracing into the curves of you. He smirks into the kiss as he feels you press closer to him; he knows he’s good.  

“Your lips are so soft.” Jimin muses, eyes still closed, smirk still present as he slowly backs you into the counter, chuckling darkly as you gasp when the cold tile hits your exposed skin.

“So are yours...they’re big...” You whisper clumsily, your cheeks heating as you hear exactly what you just said, Jimin’s already snickering again, having beat you to your explanation. “You know what I mean...”

“I know what you mean jagi...don’t worry about it...” He rasps, allowing his ‘big’ lips to travel down your chin and into your neck, his saliva acting as another catalyst for goosebumps. He hums low in his throat as he kisses tenderly against the junction of your neck. “I want you by the way...in case you were wondering...”

His comment causes you to giggle but as he sucks your tender skin between his teeth, a moan catches on the end of it. The sound is enough to make his dick swell in his jeans, a groan rumbling deep in his chest.

“You think I could get you to make more of those noises for me?” He challenges playfully nipping into your skin again and, his hands gripping your hips tighter.

A slow smile comes over your lips as your eyes lull back in pleasure, “You can definitely try...”

Jimin likes that answer, he likes the challenge...

Moments later, bare of any clothing, Jimin takes time admiring your body using his lips, his hands, his words:

“I’ve never been this hard for someone in my entire life...you’re so fucking beautiful...so fucking soft...” The bite of his words are pairing with the bite of his teeth, which are currently digging into your hips whilst his eager hands smooth up your inner thighs. He pauses for a moment, lips still lingering against your skin before he looks up at you through hooded eyes, “As much as I want to hold these pretty hips down and eat you til you cry...”

He pauses when your eyes close as you take a deep breath at his words, another sinful giggle coming from his lips. He bites your hip again to get your attention, “...I’d rather have you crying on my dick instead.”

Whatever Jimin wants, Jimin-

“Oh my god...” You whimper into his neck as he expertly pumps his hips against yours, his toned back flexing under the grip of your nails. “Jimin...”

“She really wants me to cum doesn’t she? Saying my name all pretty and shit...does this dick feel good baby?” He chuckles into your ear, pressing a few haphazard kisses against the shell of your ear, his stomach churning from the amount of pleasure swirling in his gut.  

You nod, smiling darkly as you run your fingers through his hair, “So good...you’re going to make me cum...”

This eggs him on, he pushes into you deeper, harder, faster, his shaky breath puffing heavily into your neck, “Fucking cum for me then...”

The release you’re both chasing comes quickly, the pleasure warming you from the inside out. As Jimin gives his final thrust, he collapses on top of you, kissing your neck as the two of you come down.

Mind blowing, that’s the only word to describe him.  

“You deserve to win by the way, more than anyone I know...” Jimin whispers after moments of silence, his hands still roaming over your skin.

Warmth spreads from your head to your toes as you press a kiss to his cheek.  

He’s talking about the lottery...

“Still trying to sweet talk your way into my cottage?” You giggle and, he follows suit, kissing languidly across your chest.

“No,” He smirks up at you, sweaty blonde hair framing his face, “I think I found a better way to use my mouth...”

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt.61

Coming back to VOLTRON was a little disappointing after the night before. Lance felt like he was walking on air right up to being greeted by Coran and Allura. Allura with a waiting blood bag, Coran with a knowing smile. Lance had had Keith drop him off, they’d showered the night before, and again in the morning before they left, but Lance figured Keith could use some time to check on Kosmo and get changed

“Well, come on my boy, you must tell us everything”

And that was that. Heading to Coran’s office, Lance let Allura have the chair as he sat on the edge of the examination bed, before twisting the top off the bag of blood

“So? Did you two have fun? What did you do?”

Coran nodded at Allura’s questioning. Both of them too obsessed with his love life

“He took me on a ride on his bike and went to the hotel. We kind of talked about things and stuff”

Allura groaned

“But did you enjoy the date?”

“Yeah. Talking was nice”

Lance wasn’t about to say that after dinner had been had and digested they’d had sex again, the laid tangled up in each other as Keith explained more about the murders and Lotor. Lance was shocked to hear Lotor’s name again. It must have been a good 2 decades since Allura mentioned him.

Burying her face in her hands, Coran wrapped his arm around Allura

“My boy. You must understand, we wanted this night to go well for you both”

“It did. I mean... the room was amazing. The food was good. The company was good, but I want to keep somethings to myself”

Sucking deeply on the blood pack, Lance didn’t want to talk about being intimate with Keith. That was something special and between them

“You two were intimate?”

Lance blushed at Coran asking. Did Keith sucking his dick count? Because fooling around was one thing. Sex was something else, especially with Keith

“Is that important?”

“Only in the terms of data. Did you experience any heat like symptoms?”

“The usual scent and stuff happened”

“And you remained clear minded?”

“In the way you’re asking... is it bad?”

“No, my boy! This is excellent. Now, Allura and I have had a little chat. We know you living with us is sadly temporary and currently unavoidable. With your permission, we would like you to help us”

Lance felt a little betrayed

“You set us up on a date so you’d make me feel obligated to say yes”

“Not at all, my boy. Both Allura and I are firm supporters of you and Keith. As the kids these days say “we ship it”. No. We were thinking it was quite unfair the time apart you spend due to your schedules. Our current investigation is failing to divulge leads as fast as fast as we would like and were wondering you’d possibly help us. This means being in contact with other vampires. We wish to perform a couple of tests on scents to ensure you won’t go into heat”

Lance crossed his arms. He wouldn’t be against it, but didn’t they have Lotor now?

“What can I do, that Lotor can’t?”

Allura finally raised her head

“Both Shiro and Keith have taken issues with Lotor. Lotor’s status ensures that he is noticed wherever he goes. We have tried to talk to him about it, but I’m afraid his ego is only fed by being half fae. I feel that we may have more chance is we run two operations, Shiro, Keith and Lotor in one location, the two of us in another”

Oh. So they needed a plain and boring vampire. Way to make a man feel special...

“What about my scent?”

“If we can capture a sample of your scent, we can analyse it and figure out a means to temporarily deaden or shift it. Keith and Shiro will both be sitting this one out with the pair of you, due to Keith’s natural scent. It’ll be you and Allura, for one night. The fact that the murder pattern is changing means something has changed with our killer. None of what I’ve told you obligates you to help”

No, but loved Coran. He’d repay the man for the warming family feeling he’d gifted upon him so easily. Waving his free hand, replied

“It’s fine. I’ll do it. But Keith won’t be happy”

“Ah yes... I do not want to complicate things between you two. Perhaps have a little think and a talk with him?”

Keith was coming back as it was... now they just had something else to talk about

“Yeah... I’m gonna head back to my room now”

And get cleaned up before Keith got there

“Long night?”

Coran sounded so pleased, like the question was going to make Lance crack and spill how nice it had been down to every detail. Throwing them a wink, Lance slid off the examination bed, thankful that blood would soon take away the lingering pain in his hips

“I’ll leave that to your imagination”

Heading down to his room, Lance was now torn between the feeling of happiness every time he thought of Keith, and his boyfriend being angry about him putting himself in danger. If he was out with Allura he should be safe... but Keith had been deeply traumatised by him being hurt. He didn’t want to put Keith through that again... but he honestly had hit his limit of feeling useless. He still hadn’t heard from Pidge and Hunk. The two never far from his thoughts for very long... Maybe he should try reaching out again? But if he was going out and there were bad guys he didn’t want to lead them home. His poor house was probably traumatised for life putting up with two werewolves... Maybe it was time to bite the bullet and just go home? If Pidge wanted to burn his house down, she would have by now. Rieva ensured him she was keeping Matt in line, but things had gotten damaged when the full moon came. It was funny. He thought he could some kind of silent protector for Garrison when Matt and Rieva first came. Like keep the big bad wolves under control. He couldn’t even keep his post for a night... He missed Matt and Rieva. He missed people... People who understood and didn’t judge... He missed Pidge and Hunk, even though he knew seeing them would probably lead to a boat load of judgment in his direction. It hurt his heart to think that maybe the pair didn’t think he cared about them because he hadn’t reached out again.

Flopping down on his bed, Blue let out a “roow” as she came flying up to jump on his stomach. His princess settling herself down to knead at his chest as she flicked her tail. She missed her house. She missed prowling around at night, and running around the house like a lunatic. If Allura and Coran wanted his help, he’d give it, but this wasn’t fair on Blue. He seriously needed to get his act together. When Keith came he’d message Pidge... after he’d asked Keith if he thought it was time for Lance to return to Garrison. He was supposed to be the adult. He was supposed to be the cooler more mature one. Ever since Keith came into his life, it’d been one thing after another... but that was okay. It was okay because he had Hunk and Pidge. It was okay because things changed and evolved with Keith. Keith’s life turned upside down because of him, but he functioned. He did what he had to do. He took pride in his job, even letting Lotor parade him around as a fake pet...

Scratching Blue between the ears, Lance drained the rest of the blood bag. Last night felt more like a dream. Him and Keith... the warmth of his boyfriend against his cold body. Laying in bed, trading secret whispers. Keith opening up to him about Lotor and work in general. He was tired of all the negative feelings in his head. He knew Pidge and Hunk wouldn’t understand or want him around. But having that cord between them cut so suddenly... Maybe he could reach out to Hunk first. Arrange a meeting. Him, Hunk, Curtis and Keith. Keith because this concerned him too. Curtis because he missed him. Curtis had his own work to do. The time they’d seen each other drastically cut. He really missed his house, but he missed those days when they were all together. He hadn’t appreciated Curtis leaving sex stuff for him and Keith, but that was Curtis being Curtis. He liked that about him. He cared. Lance knew he cared, but he didn’t know if Curtis knew he cared about him

“Blue, what do you think? Is it time we go home again?”

Blue bunted into Lance’s hand, purring loudly as she did. The glare in her eyes telling him she didn’t care. She hadn’t had her wet food and that Lance’s actions disgusted her

“Okay. Up we get. I’ll get you your food, but then you’ve got to let me sort our life out. We’re better than this, princess”

*

Keith had finished cleaning up Kosmo’s mess as his personal phone chimed. Shiro was still sleeping, so his return to there apartment was kind of a let down. The hunter had hoped his brother would be awake to ask him how his date went with Lance. Normally he wasn’t a “gusher”, yet he’d had such a good time with his boyfriend that he wanted to tell Shiro. He wanted his brother to ruffle his hair and tease him... but no. He’d come home to find Kosmo had chewed up a shoe, and left a trail of pee from the bathroom to the now dead shoe. Two more chimes went off, Keith having to ignore them as he took the mop and bucket to the laundry. Kosmo had a grass mat for doing his business on, but his fur son seemed to pee every time he found something exciting.

Returning from the laundry, his phone chimed again. Knowing the messages had to be from Lance, Keith scooped Kosmo up before retrieving his phone from the kitchen bench. Opening up chat, he found three new messages in group chat, and four in his personal chat with Lance. Nerves washed over him. Thumb hovering before clicking on his personal chat with Lance. Too chicken to check group chat in case it was Hunk, Shay, or Pidge saying their friendship was over.

Though he’d parted with Lance a little over an hour ago, it’d taken that long to clean up the pieces of shoes, dispose of the evidence, then mop the floor, his boyfriend hadn’t gone back to his room to rest. No. Apparently Lance had gone back to his room and started thinking. Keith didn’t have a problem with Lance thinking, what he had a problem with was “We need to talk”, “That sounds bad”, “it’s not bad”, “I don’t want to break up LOL, but we need to talk”. Most people dreaded the “we need to talk” message. Keith could imagine Lance had written a great long message, before deleting it and sending that instead, then realising how it sounded. He just didn’t know what they suddenly needed to talk about.

Gathering up his courage, he checked the group chat. “I’ll be in Garrison next week”, “I know I’ve been giving you space, but I miss you guys”, “If you’d rather I left you alone, let me know”. So Lance going back to Garrison was what they needed to talk about? Why couldn’t Lance just say it like that? Did he think Keith was going to be mad? That he wasn’t going to support him for trying to reconnect with his best friends? How could Lance think that after the night they’d spent together? He’d support him. Hell, Garrison was probably safer than Platt right now. Lance had taken the news of the vampire deaths rather well, considering. Was that why Lance was moving back home? Because he didn’t trust Keith to keep him safe? Groaning at himself in annoyance, Keith opened up his contacts list, calling Lance, only for his call to not connect. His boyfriend wasn’t elevating his worry. Who messaged someone, then turned their stupid phone off? Lance, that’s who. His boyfriend was an idiot.

Now unable to call Lance back, Keith forced himself up off the sofa and to his room. Setting Kosmo on the bed, he changed his clothes, put on his sneakers, grabbed Kosmo’s lead and sighed heavily at the thought of walking to work. He should have just gone in with Lance. Then his boyfriend wouldn’t be overthinking things and making him overthink things thanks to his thinking. Clipping Kosmo’s lead to his harness, the puppy tried to lick him to death, wagging his whole body with excitement as Keith tried to put the harness on. Slowly Kosmo seemed to be learning that harness meant an outside trip to the closest patch of grass for pees. Very slowly. Kosmo was a special kind of “smart stupid”, with Keith suspecting he was the one being trained instead of his puppy.

The walk to work was slowly, Kosmo wanted to sniff and pee on everything he could. Every stranger had the possibility of being a friend, which worried Keith enough to wonder if he should get a muzzle in case someone tried to feed Kosmo something bad as a joke. He’d never known that grapes could kill a dog. The fruit now banned from the apartment, and a list posted on their fridge so he and Shiro didn’t accidentally poison his precious pup. Shiro might grumble about Kosmo’s “accidents” and how he wasn’t responsible for Keith’s dog, but he’d caught the pair of them snuggled up sleeping on the sofa, Kosmo’s nose against Shiro’s cheeks. He now had photographic proof that he wasn’t afraid to hold over Shiro’s head the next time he complained.

Reaching the bookshop, Keith scooped Kosmo up so his son couldn’t cause chaos inside the car. He’d barely opened the door before he heard a voice that made him jump

“I don’t think they let you bring dogs in there”

What the hell was Narti doing here? It was the middle of the day. Turning towards her, he found Narti and Axca both bundle up in thick jackets, long pants, and sunglasses

“Oh? Um. Thanks for letting me know. He’s my... um... companion. I’ve brought him here before”

Leaning forward Narti sniffed at him

“You smell really good. If this place allows pets, maybe we should bring ours next time?”

Narti shouldn’t know it was him. He and Shiro kept their faces covered... so why did this impromptu meeting not feel so impromptu? He felt like a Narti was showing up deliberately to fuck with him. She was annoying like that. All Keith really knew about her was that she really liked blood and making everyone uncomfortable like it was a game. Lotor had no patience for you, yet let her get away with it all the fucking time. Keith didn’t have the patience for it

Narti reached towards Kosmo, hand stopping just short

“It’s a shame when something happens to a pet because their blind to their master’s true nature. Sometimes the closer you are, the less you see. let’s go. I don’t feel like being here anymore”

Turning away, Keith felt his eyes meet Acxa’s as she turned. Axca was still very quiet and level when they spoke, Keith felt that she was hiding something big from them. If only he could talk to her alone. Not that he was great at talking, but he was sure she had something she needed to say. Hugging Kosmo tighter, Keith stepped into the bookshop wishing he’d never bumped into those two with his face uncovered. His puppy wasn’t something he appreciated having threatened. Kosmo was his precious boy and best boy. Narti could die in a ditch for all he cared. Now he was going to have to tell Coran... and hopefully not be benched from work because of it.