#but maybe bring a better point to the table than “fuck you for creating fanfiction” lmaooo

[genericpuff]

imagine not knowing the definition of fanfiction

i'm literally crying rn, how could i be outed like this

i'm absolutely 100% a fraud, i've been lying to you all, peddling you a story with characters that are, in fact, not my own

i'm sorry for lying to you all

[thelightofthingshopedfor]

re: your tags on the post defending people being dramatique about reblogs; whoever ghosted you over that is a dick, but also there has GOT to be a happy medium between "fuck you if you don't reblog everything you feel positively about" and "fuck you for asking for reblogs" like omg, tumblrinas plz, i am begging for like half an ounce of nuance i know this is the internet but please for the love of the blorbos stop the madness *headdesk*

I mean, yeah, I don't actually think guilt/shame is a good motivation for engaging with fandom, for a lot of different reasons, and tbh the overall tone of the post I just reblogged is probably more abrasive or something than what I've reblogged before or said myself. I mostly just reblogged this one because apparently I can't get over how hurt I feel over the whole basically-being-ghosted-by-a-long-term-friend thing (especially given that it made me feel really insane in a specifically neurodivergent way, like, "either I have massively misinterpreted literally everything about this relationship for years because I fundamentally don't understand friendship or social interactions in general, or you didn't mean anything you said to me, or you changed the rules at some point and didn't tell me").

but it's also just...deeply frustrating that even the mildest posts saying "if you don't do some very basic things to support the fanworks you like, you will start seeing a lot less of those fanworks, because those creators will get discouraged and stop producing it" gets categorized as whining or guilt-tripping when it isn't, it's literally just describing cause and effect. there are other posts scolding fan creators for expressing that discouragement or asking for a little damn engagement because we just want to feel like we're part of a community, all of which just contributes to the atmosphere of discouragement.

and it feels increasingly bizarre to me the more time I spend on Instagram, following all kinds of artists and small businesses, all of whom talk a lot about how important engagement is to what they do and how much their work lives and dies by The Algorithm and how crucial it is for people to take a few seconds and boost stuff they like because otherwise it just gets lost to the void, and I don't see the same backlash there of "well you should just be satisfied with creating for yourself, you shouldn't worry about stats, stop whining for attention, stop guilt-tripping people," whatever. granted, it's a different matter when there's money involved, because with a small business whose only source of advertising is social media, we're talking about someone's actual livelihood, but there's a huge amount of crossover with literally any artist--fanartist or otherwise--given that loads of them do also have Patreons or Ko-fi links or shops with physical items, or maybe they don't start out that way but when they build an audience organically they're able to bring in some actual money. and I've definitely seen people who aren't primarily selling things, who really are just producing art as a hobby, but still ask people to share their stuff because it encourages them to make more, and that seems to be seen as perfectly legitimate, except on Tumblr and also Reddit. fanfic is a little different because it's inherently an extremely bad idea to monetize, so there isn't the angle of "of course you want to share this so your favorite writer can keep food on the table!" but it doesn't seem like a huge stretch to say it follows a similar principle, right? if you like it, it just makes sense to support it in some small way, because then you're more likely to keep getting it? and if you don't make any effort to support it, then you can't complain when you stop getting it? (making this very basic point got me downvoted on r/Fanfiction because of course it did.)

and, I don't know, I personally get really discouraged begging for reblogs, and it would feel a lot better if I didn't have to. not even just my own fic (although, yes, especially that), but original posts about helpful resources or awesome Kickstarters or fic recs or cool free games or "hey this artist is doing charity commissions, look at their awesome art, please reblog so they can raise money for this important cause" mostly just all kinda fall into the void. not that I'm at all unique in that respect, obviously; anyone who doesn't have a big audience deals with that frustration (while people who do have big audiences get to deal with different problems, as I understand it, although I certainly wouldn't know from experience). it just sucks, you know?

[sea-side-scribbles]

Fanfiction: Sympathy For A Downer

Link:https://archiveofourown.org/works/22737214/chapters/77806700

Chapter 62

The next morning, Nick was still clingy. “Good morning, my King. Did you sleep well in your new home?”, he whispered while hugging him. He was also rubbing his cheek against Arthur's shoulder, tickling the other man a bit. “Fantastic”, Arthur approved. “Just fantastic. And the morning sun”, he gestured towards the window, “I missed that too.” “It's much more comfy than a tunnel, right?” Nick's voice was soft as silk and he kept hugging. Arthur kissed his forehead, then he gently attempted to shove him away. “Nicky...why don't we try out your kitchen today? I wanna see if you have another coffee monster lurking in there that needs to be tamed.” “Hmmm...”, Nick said, “The monster is me.” “Then we better go feed you.” Nick slowly let go of Arthur, who noticed his lover was trying his best to look happy but his expression was rather bittersweet. It didn't take long until Nick put an arm around him again.

Side by side, they went all the way to the kitchen. They passed by the manager who gave them a surprised look. Arthur was almost blushing, but they quickly said good morning and went their ways. The kitchen was cleaner than it had been the first time Arthur had seen it. No dirty dishes in the sink and someone had dusted the place up. Nick pointed at the coffee machine. “There it is. Try your luck, my King.” Arthur figured this was easier. However, when the liquid ran out, he realized he had forgotten to put a cup underneath it and backed away from the hot splash. “Ouch! Goddamnit! No, no, no...!” The drink ran down the counter and created a puddle on the floor tiles. “Sorry...” Arthur turned around and was surprised to find his lover laughing out loud. Looking back at the mess, he couldn't help but to laugh with him. It was the first time this morning that Nick looked happy, and his laughter was enchanting.

When they started wiping up the puddle together, the door opened and Brad came in. “You having fun in here?” He eyed the scene. “Oh, hi Arthur.” “Good morning”, Arthur said shyly. “Busy reporting the news, huh?” Brad sounded rather bitter. “What news?” Then Matt came in. “Hi Arthur.” He looked from Arthur to Nick and Nick saw him draw the conclusion. “Nick”, Matt asked afterwards, “Can I have a word with you?” “Uh”. Nick glanced at Arthur who made a puzzled nod. “Sure.” He got up and followed Matt outside, bracing himself for a storm. In the living room, he leaned against the wall and eyed his friend who seemed to search for words. “Do you have any shame?”, he brought out. “What? Can't I have guests anymore?” “Guests?”, his friend snapped. “You're lying into my face! Arthur was the one you betrayed Morrie with! You spent days with him and we were joking about it! How long did you betray him?” “Sssh, quiet,” Nick hissed. “He doesn't know about Morrie.” “Oh, great! You better go and tell him then!”, Matt shouted. “Sssh, Matt, please, leave this to me!”, Nick whispered begging. “I can't believe it! You...” Matt made a fist. Nick braced himself for a punch. But Matt lowered his hand again – and his voice. “He's just another poor soul you're playing with!” “No, listen, I'm not playing, I love him!” Matt gave an upset gasp. “And Morrie? You used him because it was convenient? You heartless piece of...!” “No, I love him too!” Matt grimaced.

“Listen, I know it sounds funny, but...” “Funny?”, his friend spat. “It sounds fucked up! And it look awful! You spend the night with Morrie, he dies, you come back full of blood and instead of mourning like a true lover you bring the next playmate home!” “Matt, he's not a playmate and I do mourn!” “Really?” Matt lifted his brow. “Sounded more like laughter to me. You have a weird way of crying.” “I had one pleasant moment after a horrible day and you...” “Oh, you poor thing! One 'horrible' day of mourning for a year long friend! Are you sure one playmate is enough to repair your broken heart?” Now Nick raised his fist. “Say that one more time...” “Oh, now you're protective!”, Matt teased him. “If only Morrie had received your protective instinct! He'd still be alive!” That was too much for Nick. He jumped at Matt and threw him on the ground. Matt punched back, and soon they were rolling on the floor. The noise alerted Chris who ran in and stepped between the two. “Are you crazy? This won't bring him back!” Because neither of them wanted to hurt Chris, they stopped. Nick kneeled on the floor and started sobbing while Matt got up, his expression sour. “I'm done with you!”, he yelled at Nick and went out. Chris watched him leave and then pulled Nick up. “Come, let's get out of here...”, he said. “Great timing, really. Making that fuss while the reporter is here...” “He's a friend...”, Nick sobbed. “Sure...but he'd suck at his job if he wouldn't turn that into a story.” “Let me talk to him.” “Like that? No way, man!” But Nick escaped him and went back into the kitchen. Both Brad and Arthur sat at the table and gave him a startled look.

“Arthur”, Nick said wiping his eyes dry, “do you have a minute?” Both men exchanged glances, then Arthur went with Nick. Nick insisted to flee into his bedroom and then he clung to Arthur again. “I'm sorry about Morrie Memento. I had no idea...”, Arthur whispered. “I found him in the morning when I went back home.” “Oh god, I'm sorry...” “Now they think it was me...I touched Morrie, because in my panic I tried to shake him awake and then I was all bloody when they brought me home...” Arthur shook his head. “When I saw what they did to Kitty, I wondered if they were even human.” Nick cried as an answer. “Nicky, that'd be another reason to leave...” “But Arthur, I can't just abandon them...as long as they don't hate me, I'll stay.” Arthur sighed. “Were you talking about me? I think I heard you say my name.” Nick began to pat his hair. “They thought you were here to...put salt into the wounds, I guess. Create a big story about Morrie's...holiday.” “Is that why you were fighting?” “We're upset, all of us...”, Nick said quietly. “I should apologize to Matt.” “Later”, Arthur said and kissed Nick's cheek.

“Arthur?”, Nick whispered. “Yes, Nick?” “Could you do me a...big favour?” “Huh...perhaps? What is it?” “You're still a reporter, right?” “Yeah?” “And you were at the party?” “Oh, I forgot about that. I recall we had our own party.” Arthur was happy to see Nick smile at least faintly. “Could you...write a piece about it? Say that it all went smashing and no one was hurt?” “Uh...I guess...” “Please.” “It's actually about time I get something done...” Arthur crawled out of the bed. Nick busied himself gathering papers and pencils for his lover and put them all on the desk. “There you go. You need something else? A drink maybe?” “Uh...water would do, thanks.” Nick grimaced. “Water? You're not in jail.” “But everything you gave me so far made me lose my mind.” “Are you sure it was the drink?”, Nick purred and massaged Arthur's shoulders. “If not, there's no hope for me...”, Arthur sighed and stretched himself. “Water, please.” “Alright.” Nick shrugged and made his way to the bar to get the mineral water.

On the way, he met Virgil. Nick only muttered a greeting and then went to the counter. Virgil followed him and lay a hand on his shoulder. “Let me see”, he said. Nick turned around and showed him the bottle of soda he had in his hands. Virgil however inspected Nick's face. “Any bruises?” “No...”, Nick said. “You know Matt, he doesn't hit very hard...I'm fine.” Virgil relaxed and leaned against the counter. “So...Arthur's the one, huh?” Nick put the bottle down. “Yes...and I've been with him all night, so at least he knows that I'm not a killer.” A pause ensued. “How long do you know him?” “You too?”, Nick protested. “You never cared about my relationships and that made you very pleasant to talk to!” Virgil made a face. “I was more interested in how good you know that reporter.” “I know him good enough.” “Was he really with you all the time?” “Yeah...I guess so...I had him like that...” He held up his arms the way he had held Arthur and tried a smile. Virgil remained pondering. “What do you mean? Are you suspecting Arthur now?” Nick was shocked. “I'm trying to make sense out of things. And he wouldn't be the first bad egg you trusted. I feel that there's something off about him.” “Don't call him that!”, Nick blurted out. “He's just shy, that's all! And if you all make him feel like he's off, it's no wonder he's acting weird!” Virgil crossed his arms. “So, I'm not the only one who suspects him? Interesting.” Nick turned away and rolled his eyes. “Morrie was doubting him. The others like him.” “Morrie, huh?” Virgil took a deep meaningful breath. “Did you ask him what he thought in detail?” Nick noticed this conversation was going the wrong way. He should've bitten his tongue. “No”, he said coolly. “I think he was jealous.” “Well, he wasn't wrong, wasn't he?” Nick span back to his manager. “For Christ's sake, Virgil! That doesn't make Arthur a killer! I'm sure it's not one of us, I've probably never seen the guy! Or the girl! I have a lot of jealous fans, they're all suspicious! It's too easy to suspect Arthur instead! You should be smarter than this!” Virgil didn't answer. He quietly walked away, deep in thoughts. Nick could only hope that he drew the right conclusions. He came back to Arthur with the bottle in his hands.

“I'm sorry it took me so long, my King. Virgil held me back”, he said while serving his lover the drink. “There you go.” He patted Arthur's shoulder and looked at the paper that was filled with small handwriting. “Thank you. I'm almost done”, Arthur explained and took a sip from the soda. “A few statements from you should spice it up, if you don't mind.” “No, not at all!” Nick pulled over a chair and sat down next to him. They worked on the text and Nick was very happy that his lover was such a talented writer. “Alright, that should do it”, Arthur finally concluded. “Together with the photos I took it should be enough to make this look like the most smashing happening ever.” “Oh, Arthur!” Nick fell into his arms. “You're a life saviour, literally!” He ruffled and kissed the pretty black hair. Arthur answered with pulling him down for a deeper kiss. After that, Arthur collected the sheets. “I have to hand this in now.” Nick followed him to the door and blew kisses when he walked away. Arthur shyly waved. He was both embarrassed and flattered. Nick seemed to fully accept him now and didn't hide his affection.

Nick watched Arthur until he disappeared behind a block of houses. Then he stood in the corridor, not knowing what to do with himself when suddenly he heard a noise in the kitchen. He hesitated, not eager to have another fight with one of his friends. On the other hand, he wanted to know what they thought about Arthur and if they were okay with him moving in. If not, he had to convince them. So he went into the kitchen and was surprised by finding a woman in a black and white dress. “Sally?” Sally was huffing and puffing as if she ran all the way to here. “Hey, how're you doing? I haven't heard from you since...” He stopped. Oh... “Hi, Nick. I'm sorry for not coming by sooner. I really forgot the time while I was working on some... new specials. How are you doing?” “Great! Actually, I should tell you something...uh...it's nothing personal...” Sally's heart sunk. Fantastic! Now he'd tell her that he didn't want her around anymore and if she wanted help she better asked her other special friends... “I stopped taking party favors.” Sally needed a moment to process this. “Really?”, she then blurted out, relieved. “Yeah, I'm sorry....I really loved your stuff, but hey, the band is here, perhaps they'd like something...” He left the kitchen and Sally hurried after him. “Wait, Nick, I'm not here for party favors.” “No?” Nick eyed her. Then he came closer. “What else would you want from the Lightbearer?” Sally ran a finger along his arm. “I miss a song...It was so special to me but I can't find it anymore...It's the Unicorn Song. It's not on the market anymore but I thought you might still have a record.” Nick smiled. “Baby, who needs a record?” He began to sing the song to her and started to dance with her around the room. She joined his singing and danced with him until both broke out in laughter. Sally applauded him and he made an elegant bow. “This is even better than the original! What do you think? Fancy joining the band?” “Oh, no, rather not, I sound like a dying cat.” “But a cute dying cat.” She laughed and gasped. “Please, do you have a record of this? I really need this song.” “No problem. I think it's in my lair.”

They went into the dressing room that gave Nick a rather weird feeling in the stomach. Only a day and a few ours ago, everything had been still okay. With a fake smile, he opened the entrance to his lair. “Ladie's first.” They wandered along, passing by the massive statues of himself. He tried not to look at the spot where he had sat and cried. He found the record amongst other old records from his past. “There it is.” Suddenly, it was very precious to him, too. Morrie was on it. That was why he hesitated to hand it over. “Thank you so much, Nick! You don't know how much this means to me!” Sally looked at the record as if it was the most precious thing in the world. It comforted Nick. At least Morrie was in good hands. They way she looked made him ask: “If you need anything else...” She fumbled with her dress, as if she didn't know what to say, thinking. “You don't happen to have cod liver oil somewhere?” “Cod liver oil?” Nick had forgotten that stuff existed. “What do you need that for?” “It's for...a new formula...It's the last ingredient I need...and it looks like it's sold out in every store...” Her eyes rested on him. “Well, I don't remember having it but I don't mind looking. After all, I have all sorts of substances.”  He winked and she brightened up. Sally didn't believe he had cod liver oil, but by now, she was clutching at every straw she could find. First, they examined the bar in the lair but there was no oil. Next, they turned his kitchen upside down. Despite the gravity of the situation, Sally couldn't help but joke around with Nick during their search. Nick's kitchen was full of clobber that didn't belong there...or in any decent household in general. It was during another laughing fit that suddenly Arthur Hastings entered the scene, looking at her and Nick in disbelief.

“Arthur”, both Nick and Sally said at the same time and they made an effort to enlarge the distance between each other. “Look who's here”, Nick added brightly. “I see...”, Arthur replied less happily. “Hi, Sally.” “Hi, Arthur...Nick is helping me to get...uh...an ingredient...” “Yeah, she needs cod liver oil. You don't happen to have some in your stash?” “Cod liver oil? No, I don't think anybody has...” Sally's face fell. “What are you up to?” Arthur eyed her. Sally crossed her arms behind her back. “I...would you believe me if I told you that this is very important to me?” “Perhaps”, Arthur shrugged. “I don't know.” Sally then leaned against the counter, eyeing the floor tiles. “I actually know who has cod liver oil”, she confessed.” “Great, Let's go there then!” “It's in the Haworth Labs...and I'm like...persona non grata there...” “Everyone is”, Arthur protested. “It's insane to even go near there without permission!” “You could go in disguise....but I can't show my face around there, they'll recognise me anyway...” “Well, that's...bad for you...”, Arthur said, not liking this conversation one bit.

“You think one could get in with a press pass?”, Nick continued to make it worse for Arthur. “Yeah..., that would work.” Sally lightened up. “And you'd need someone who's good with words.” She darted a glance at Arthur. “Hey! Hey, stop, everyone calm down!” Arthur held up his hands. “I know what you're implying, but no one of us will set foot into Haworth Labs! It's fucking suicide!” “Arthur”, Nick stepped forward. “We're her friends.” “You're also her...friend?” He turned to Sally. “Who's not your friend? Don't you know someone who's fitting better for this kind of mission? A soldier maybe, or a martial arts professional?” “Well, Arthur, you're quite the good fighter”, Nick countered. “You really want to send me there?” “Not alone, dummy! I'll come with you.” “You? Nick, you can't hurt a fly! And anyway, what would be your disguise? You're not a reporter!” “But I have a press pass!” “What? Why?” “I...well, borrowed it from one of your colleagues I guess. I figured it's useful to have one.” Arthur stared at Nick. “You'd still have to defend yourself.” “Don't you remember the headboy? I can help myself just fine.” “That was mere luck!” “That and my strong arms! Anyway, do you think there are actual fighters in the lab? They're only scientists! We sneak in, grab the oil and get out without anyone noticing us! It's gonna be fun!” Also Sally began to look surprised, but she beamed at Nick and then turned back to Arthur, who's level of despair increased.

“You watched too many movies! In reality, nothing works out the way you think!” “That's why you'll figure out the plan, because you have all the experience and I'll do what you say.” Arthur looked at him helplessly. “Please, Arthur”, Sally stepped in. “I'll pay you back. I can get you that letter of transit.” “I already have that.” “Really?” Sally eyed the floor again. Arthur now felt sorry for her. Nick seemed to feel so, too. “Why can't we do this for her? We are her friends.” “We're not her only friends, trust me.” “But she asked us!” “No, you! I came here by accident.” “Right, and I even owe her one, for everything she did for me. If you don't want to come with me, I'll go alone!” Nick crossed his arms. “If you want to kill yourself, go on.” “Arthur, please!” Nick made puppy eyes. Also Sally. Arthur felt cornered. “Fine!”, he blurted out. “But if anything goes wrong, we'll escape, cod liver oil or not!” “Thank you”, Sally said and her fingers touched his arm. Arthur's gloomy look rested at her and she let go.

When Nick went out of the kitchen later, he ran into Virgil again, who wanted to talk to him. Nick wasn't very keen on hearing more accusations, but he went along. In his room, Virgil shut the door and then turned to Nick. “Could you...give me one of your Joy pills?” “What do you need it for?” Nick didn't like the idea of giving even one of them away. Virgil scratched his neck. “Well...I don't...feel alright...Your Joy seems to make you happier then the regular Joy, so I thought...I could borrow one just this once...” Promptly, seeing Virgil sad made him feel sorry and it won against his suspicion. “Hey, no problem”, he said and held out a handful of pills to him. “There you go. I want my dear manager to be happy again.” Virgil opened his hand and Nick let the black pills fall into it. “I forgot you miss Morrie too...I'm so selfish.” “Sssh”, Virgil held a finger close to Nick's lips. “You're upset too. Don't beat yourself up about it.” Nick cracked him a thankful smile. “Get well, Virgil...if you need more, just ask me...” Virgil returned the smile and opened his arms. Nick didn't hesitate to dash into them.

[empty-dream]

Just watched 13 Reasons Why S4

Ended up making a full blown commentary per episode because this is finally the last season and I���ve been enjoying this mess since S1. I even forgot that it was released until a friend brought it up to me. So in short,

Ep1

OKAY WHO DIES AGAIN HUH??

Clay, narrating: *I'm good at hiding shits so my parents don't notice at all." His parents: *concernedly looking at him pale and mushing food on the dining table*

The concequences of investigating murder cases and creating conspiracies instead of studying your ass off because it's a damn school really caught up huh.

Charlie holy shit I love you he's so chill and good.

It's been years I still can't believe Justin is really adopted by the Jensens. Funny that now the table is reversed, with Justin finally actually doing better and taking care of the increasingly-ill Clay.

SCOTT!! OH MY GOD! SCOTT REED!! OH MY FUCKING GOD!! AAAAAAAAAAAAA HOLY SHIIITTTTTTTTT AAAAAAAAA!!!

Wow my headcanon is approved, he already graduated by S3. No reason he didn't hang out with the gang after all the shits in S2 if he was no longer around in the first place.

He's still so nice even in Clay's trippy nightmare. Is that what Clay remembers about him? Well not really surprising, considering Scott actually was worried about him in S2.

Good god finally Clay meets a therapist- Wait a minute that's the guy from CSI:NY?!?! Isn't Clay just gonna get clobbered instead.

Okay I knew they are really close and I do adore their relationship so much but HOLY SHIT THEY ACTUALLY GO AT IT WITH ALEX AND ZACH???

Alex: *panicking over the kiss* Zach: Ayy don't worry let's just continue perhaps-suicidally hanging out on dangerous rooftops that you were almost fall to your death from. Alex: ????

Ep2

That narration of Clay ranting about college applications. I'll drink to that bruh.

Ya I too make my applications and other supposedly important matters at 3AM instead of any other more sensible time.

Oh my fucking god that is the creepiest smile I've ever see.

I feel like as Justin gets better and better with his life, Clay goes worse.

Justin is so excited about going to college! You deserve the future man. 

The old-time stoners and drunkards are rehabbed or dead. Enter Zach.

Winston: *eyes and ears up to your shit 24/7*

Nobody likes Tyler in S1 but now everybody likes him.

Okay. Cops doing shit jobs at protecting. This feels too real with this situation right now.

Clay's adventure to put the trash into the trash bin.

Omg they got the paint to the lab this is going real CSI.

Idk about u but at this point I don't exactly want to pay attention to Jessica/Justin problems anymore.

I know Zach and Clay don't get along and that's why I need their adventure together.

Clay drunk-puking on Justin. Well well well how the turntables.

The return of Monet!!

"I have 2.8. If I work hard, I'll get 2.9" Winston omg same.

Tht held gaze between Alex and Winston.. Is this slow burn fanfiction???????

Yes Mr. CSI it will definitely get worse.

I know writing about your feelings can make you feel better but probably not in your college essay form.

Ep3

I'm starting to think Clay is the one who dies in the end? Idk tho.

I guess the toll of busting ass trying to save everyone by yourself is catastrophically high, huh, Clay? Funny that he now goes from 100 in S3 to 0 in here and that's actually realistic.

Alex and Winston are really pining each other with Zach in the background lmao.

"You don't wanna go on the Valentine Dance with me? Even as friends?" Well sometimes there are moments when you just don't go back to being friends. It's an actual normal thing.

And besides the last time Alex goes with Jess for something she wanna do, he ends up murdering somebody. So.

"Hey Zach. Hey punch me. Hey you pussy now? Hey hey. Bitch." *poke* *poke* *poke*

No Zach he's trying to save all of your asses. You can't just say that.

Charlie is really just there trying to do his best in this shitshow and like Justin I wanna laugh but also am proud.

Everyone: *being paranoid and unto each other* Alex and Winston: *having the date of their life*

I wish everyone doesn't have this level of trust issues but then again we won't have a shitstorm drama like this.

When did this become "what is love?" philosophy class?

"You know love but you love so fiercely and sometimes it hurts."Wow Mr. CSI you hit the mark.

How many parties can the Liberty High hold in a year?

"You go with Charlie to get back to Justin, right?" Wow Diego you HIT the mark.

I still have problems with Ani as a character, but I do like her casual banters with Clay.

You know, with all these trust issues, I'm surprised nobody actually tries to peek on other's phone. Like, I know that's low. But, you know, faster solution. And better than having mass hallucinations.

Oh God the football team really is a bunch of jerks. Good fucking thing Scott is outta here.

Alex and Winston almost die like couples in a cheap slasher movie.

"Fuck Love." Clay Jensen, 2019 (according to the movie timeline)

Ep4

Why is Charlie talking? Why is he wearing the football jersey? Who on earth dies?? Is it Zach? Justin? Somebody else from the football team? But the content of your speech man...

Ah yeah. Clay did survive a great big deal of many ugly shits. Single-handedly thanks to adrenaline, mostly.

Jess got a point tho. Ani could have followed Clay to stop him, by herself or with the gang. What did she do? She spied on Winston and Alex, and then went back to the dance. So much for handling anything themselves.

Or maybe, the gang shouldn't have let Ani and Clay take care of it themselves.

Does anybody in this show ever figure out Clay has dead people hallucinations?

Domestic Jensen family is my everything.

Charlie really out there bribing Zach with his homemade cookies I-

Ah yeah, I kinda forgot that in reality Alex and Winston have a really difficult situation. With Bryce and Monty stuff.

"Looking back on your time at Liberty, do you have any regrets?" Really? Isn't that all they have?

"Who do you trust most in your life and why?" Everybody: *immediately side-eyeing each other*

Clay c'mon wtf Justin is really just worried sick and trying to help you. Aaand he's gone.

Jess you don't put your hands into something without checking it first...

Why would you only send 2 adults to supervise 30-50 kids on a camping wildlife trip? They wouldn't be able to do shit.

"I thought you were a football player!" "I AM a football player! And so are YOU!" Gold.

Dream!Monty and Dream!Clay really sit like that and I almost laugh were it not for the fact that I do that too. It's strange to see that for once, they talk normally, heart-to-heart, without the usual snickering, chiding, all that venom.

Oh shit they really make Monty and Clay mirror each other like that. They both protect people they love but have tendencies to snap, one way or another.

Zach, dude, I know you've been a real good friend. But Alex almost died. Twice. Because of your drunken ways. And you laughed. Didn't you spend an entire season trying hard to not let him die again? What's wrong with you?

When did this become a horror movie?

The Standalls :((

CHARLIE MY MAN WITH HIS COOKIES. And incidentally, a wild Zach appears.

"So are we gonna fall apart or trust each other now!" Justin my man.

Clay dude that would have been an amazing entrance were it not for the fact you looked insane.

I can't fucking believe they just go normally at campfire like that. Two people almost died. Several got beaten. What the fuck.

Does it come from the bottom of your heart or it doubles as a threat, Clay?

Alex you had us at the first half not gonna lie.

GR A NO LA CA MP C O OKIES? ??

Wait. So who has been fucking around with the football team? Who moved Clay?? Huh??

Ep5

GUYS THERE IS A THING CALLED GPS ON THE PHONE?? What are you? 3?

Justin finally breaking down after 5 episodes being the most decent and healthy person around. Well Charlie is too but he's new, so.

Finally an obligatory meeting at Monet.

CYRUS AND THE PUNK GANG!!! God I love you guys where have you been. And you guys are computer geeks?!?!?! Perfect.

My question exactly, Clay. Good replies tho, Cy.

I'm still thinking how for a nerd, Clay knows A LOT of people and knows who to ask what.

"How am I even friends with you?" Ya Alex that's my question too. How are you suddenly bff with Zach? I don't remember you two being close in S1?

Hm. If you aren't holding his family at stake, there is no way Tony would even think to rat out.

Mr. CSI starts going CSI on Clay.

I almost forgot Charlie's last name is St. George. The cast goes by Charlie mostly so.

Justin really shows up at the party with the angry mom pose and disappointed look at Clay. The turntable, people. Flynn's voice got raspy.

Oh no no Clay you don't go there. Please don't split my Jensen-Foley brothers like that. Meanwhile the punk gang be like just watching there.

C O O KI E S??? Goddamn Charlie do you bring cookies everywhere you go??

Charlie my boy you T_T I was kinda suprised that the cookie baking actually had a sad backstory.

Clay-Zach bonding that I fucking wish for oh yeah. I definitely didn't expect it with piano and drunk singing tho.

While Clay is having the time of his life, Tony is seeing life flashes in his eyes.

Yassss he winssss!!!!

Caleb's expression when the sherrif hugs him lmfao

Nice try Sherrif but Tony knows your tricks.

"What of any of this is okay?" Wow things you'd never hear Justin says in S1.

Meanwhile, Charlie and Alex are high on weed cookies as fuck. Their conversation is the most interesting thing I've seen beside the Scott cameo till now.

The look on Justin's face when Clay pushes him :((

MY DUDES HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN ABOUT JEFF'S DEATH? WHAT HE WAS ACCUSED FOR?! You do not, under any circumstances, drive drunk.

Ep6

Clay be spitting truth.

They really be discussing Clay's chronic hero syndrome huh.

Okay. Operation Clay-Zach failed.

Weren't Zach all fuck it all yeah! kinda guy? Guess when you are the one who faces death it's not that fun anymore huh.

"One Clay Jensen is enough" Jess truth.

Do Alex and Charlie really study Spanish in front of Tony who is not helping at all? That would be embarrassing lmao.

Clay: Fuck off. Hallucination!Monty: *sits next to him*

Gotta hand it to Timothy Granaderos. He could go venomous to puppy eyed in 1 second. Amazing.

Man. School shootings are fucked up. There are many things I wonder about mankind and one of them is why is school shooting even possible?

Hallucination!Bryce: Hi I’m sorry I’m late. I hear this is time for Clay’s dead people hallucination party.

"Are you a hero or a martyr?" Wow they really throw the question.

And here is Clay sitting under the desk between his two most hated dead people hallucinations whispering moral dilemmas to him.

Meanwhile Winston and Zach got high.

Charlie helping Alex to breath.

The talk with Estella and Tyler.

"No offense, you are cool, but I don't wanna die with you." Zach chill lmao.

Are.. Are you sure outing that to Winston is a good call, Zach? For a guy who was super paranoid that his gang would narc him, he sure is loose mouthed himself.

I like how everyone from Tyler to Zach to Winston, admits that Alex is a really kind guy.

Wow Tony did you really expect anyone could do anything in that situation, in fucking Evergreen situation, for that matter?

Charlie is a great friend wow.

Cl-CLAY DON'T GO OUT that is EXACTLY what you are NOT supposed to do!!!

Goddamnit Clay. Holy shit Clay. 

Dylan Minnette really worked hard in this scene.

.......... WAIT A MINUTE IT'S NOW ACTUALLY CHARLIE ALEX????? Tony be just walking in.

Ep7

Clay really got into a psych ward. Talk about darkest hour. And it’s only ep 6?

Wow Ty that's some brave lines.

Which hallucination-induced person is Clay talking to before Ani gets there?

Ok that therapy session made me tear up.

These kids are having college interviews at the worst time possible. They are all fucking breaking down one way or another.

And Charlie just, really never gives up on Alex huh.

What's most important to Clay is his friends. Real quick to answer that question huh.

God Justin lashing out at the Jensens. It's the first time he does it and it hurts.

Zach holy fuck. I appreciate you didn't out it but holy fuck you didn't have to do that are you trying to die

Clay-Tony combo is back baby I miss them so much. Although perhaps Tony you would mind a bit about Clay's health because clearly he was out of it.

This is so short. I too really don't like application essays and interviews and the inevitable revisit of the sadder parts of my life because of them.

Ep8

When did this become sci-fi apocalyptic story?

God I miss the time when Clay's dreams are just Inception-styled trippy shit with Scott randomly says hello and gets him water.

Okay. Everyone's got their own way to cope with existential and moral crisis huh.

You know what, I would like one movie out of this sci-fi dream.

I knew it Tyler was a bait to smoke out illegal gun dealers. Is that... An okay thing to do for a high schooler? Sounds fucked up, all things considered.

Yaaay Justin's got the college! I'm super happy!

Wow Estella good question.

Wow Tyler good statement. If they trust each other a bit more, everything would have been a bit better.

Ah shit. Justin relapses again.

Does Tony need to be pummelled first before he finally goes all off to finish his opponent or what?

Is this going Big Brother Is Watching

What the fuck. That locker fight scene is disgusting.

Jess and Clay might throw shades at each other but together they share one brain cell.

"I think it's a walkout, Sir" Tyler lmao

Wow Zach and Alex heart-to-heart.

Cyrus really steps on some pedestal to make his point.

Aaand Zach and Alex really go all out on "doing it right" huh.

They really have students vs cops riot at this time. Talk about timing.

It's nice to see the punk gang enjoying the fighting again.

Dude what happens if you don't have anything on your bag tho.

Aaaah the punk gang with Tyler again!!

"Why are you with me and not with Charlie?" Zach ouch that hurts.

Zach no no no Zach get out of there too Zach pls

Clay really becomes 2nd in command to Jess huh.

Charlie tries to save Clay but gets whacked on the head instead. 

Tony you came back!! Oh so that college scout was.. Oh.

Oh shit Clay. Oh. Shit. I should have realized that. Goddamn.

Ep9

"I like sleep." Charlie me too. 

God Alex and Charlie literally sleep together jaldjwaownaljewoalsj that some cute shit.

Wow Clay really takes Mr. CSI's advice to round up the gang and confesses. That's a step.

Charlie sometimes has a good idea, huh.

The Jensens meeting is probably the reason why the idea of parenthood scares me.

Also Clay and Justin really put the practice of "tell the parents the less-harsh-but-still-harsh truth, then ask them to get prom back" by the book. And it's awkward.

Aww Charlie coming out to his dad and the response he gets... When you put the rich fams like Dempseys, Walkers and Saint Georges together, the last one is really the only healthy one huh.

Way to go Jess!

Ah I forgot Alex has an older brother.

Aaaahhh Charlie has dinner with the Standalls! Their reaction is so sweet!

"Does he make you happy?" "Yeah. A lot." AHDKWJWOAKDUWLAOEL I mean after everything that has happened to Alex, man I am so happy he can say that with a fond smile.

WHAT THE FUCK HAHAHAHHA CHARLIE WHAT THE FUCK HOLY SHIT LMFAO I THOUGHT THIS WAS JUST AN TRIPPY ANIMATED IMAGINATION THING and Alex is so done with his extra shit.

Wow Ani you do karaoke good, asking Jess out even better.

OH MY GOD IT ESCALATED. Also Alex is right that one is creepy Charlie.

I thought by special doughnut Caleb means some diet-related stuff fit to Tony's menu for fighting. Why didn't I expect a literal Will You Go To Prom doughnuts?

CHARLIE PLEASE STOP AHAHAHAHA you dumb rich kid where did you get all those lamps and prop candles.

"Would you love me any less?" Aww Clay knows Justin loves him.

"You three all look adorable" Ya Jess, same.

Tony really out there doing the "I'm here because he's here" to Caleb.

Clay, Alex, and Charlie be like judging Zach hard.

Oh right that one kid from Cyrus's gang is gay and he brought his boyfriend!

Zach: You two sitting here like it's a funeral. Also Zach: *proceeds to continue sitting as well*

"We deserve to live." Finally something from Zach's mouth that I can agree for this season.

I love that Tony and Caleb are such good friends to Clay.

And now it's Winston turn for dead people hallucination.

..... The door to the other side again.. :'''((

CHARLIE AND ALEX WON THE PROM KINGS AAAAAAHHHHHH I mean with all those extra efforts, it'd be hard to not to. And there goes Alex finally giving in to dance.

I don't like Luke the football guy when he's the enemy but I like him when he's a friend. He's a hype man lmao.

Alex I'm so happy for you man. I'm glad you are finally happy. My heart was tight at the dance part .

Everyone: *dances* Clay: *sits there, monologuing philosophically*

I like that Clay and Ani finally being honest that they don't fit each other romantically. As romance goes there is not much romantic tension between them. And they have way too many flawed traits that when paired, would turn the relationship sour and possibly toxic in the end.

Justin do u like to show up and make everyone step aside for you or what.

I like that Clay was just watching from a distance. Then at last minute decided to join the crowd with his mother, whom he had a few trust issues with in all seasons.

Charlie: "Foundry's gay?!" Alex: "Mind's blown" Me: Same.

There has been nothing wrong going on in one episode, aside from the Zach one that's timely stopped by Charlie and Alex. I'm suspicious.

Ah. Yes. Of course.

Oh my god Justin's the one dead huh?

Ep10

Oh thank God he hasn't died. Yet.

Oh God Justin no. No no no.

Get your shit together Zach. Even Charlie tells you that.

No no no not like this not after everything oh god.

Somebody would you actually please run after Clay too.

Oh my god Clay.

Oh my god Alex you. Even when he admits it to Winston, he still covers for Jess. I- oh god.

It's been only 15 minutes and it hurts.

Charlie and Alex, the moms of the group.

You know, for a guy who says he doesn't love Justin, Alex gives a lot of shit about him. I guess you can still be around people you don't like?

I know the kiss is huge news Charlie but that's not the issue here lmao.

Zach: *hugs Clay* Clay: ????? Alex and Charlie: ?????? Zach: *pats Tyler's head* *leans on Clay*

The Padillas :''')

Clay Jensen. Class speaker. Wow.

Yeah Mr. CSI's voice is really calm, rather chilling, actually.

"You've looked at death too many times for a young person." Damn right Mr. Jensen.

Ah so that's the reason why Zach stole that letter. Makes sense, emotionally.

You know, I did say Idc anymore about Justin/Jessica problems but when it gets to this point, I can't not care.

So many people come to the hospital...

Clay and Justin's talk. I'm sorry I can't hold it in anymore. I'm fucking sobbing at this moment.

He's dead. He's dead. He's dead just like his mom. But he died not in the same way. He died holding his bro's hand. He died surrounded by his family. He died with people who loved him around.

"After everything, this is how it ends." Fucck

DID HE HAVE TO DIE??? DID JUSTIN FOLEY-JENSEN HAVE TO DIE?? Did you really have to put yet another sucker punch in the last episode of the season?? Yeah I know real kids and people do die from AIDS but really? After a whole season of Clay screaming kids wants to live to the point he lost his mind???

I spent the entire funeral screen crying. I couldn't even scream again when Scott is present in the funeral. I know he'd be there but god I can't right now.

Mr. CSI sure knows super effective ways to make Clay react.

"If Justin's dead, the none of the rest of it matters. " Clay..

He opens up.

Oh yeah I forgot Charlie is a junior.

AAAA COURTNEY AND RYAN ARE HERE!!! I MISS YOU GUYS!!!!!

SCOTTTTT!!!!!! And CHLOE TOO!! It’s nice that they come together. But they aren’t like, together, right? I mean if he is her boyfriend she would say his name right away to Zach instead of a mere ‘would you like to meet him? He’s outside.’

These 4 are such good friends to attend their friends’ graduation ceremony.

The punk guys in toga are so... Refreshing to look. Such hype men.

"It's easy to hate. It's easy to fear. It's goddamn hard to love. But it's not optional. It's essential." Jessica Davis, everybody.

Jeff, Hannah and Justin really died in the span of 2 years. Add to that is Bryce and Monty, whose deaths left uncountable traumas on top of existing traumas. Yeah. It was hellish time.

Scott’s proud small smile when Clay gives his speech. Im love.

"Choose to live. Even on the worst day, life is a pretty spectacular thing." Clay Jensen, everybody.

Ma boi Zach really teared up at Clay's speech. 

Luke and one of the punk kids talking about some geek thing I am not familiar with I-

“No offense Luke. You’ve got great arm but you haven’t been known for your brain.” PETER That BURNS LMAO

Poor Winston just being alone. OH HELLO RYAN YOU ARE FAST.

Zach is gonna study music! Nice foreshadowing since he plays a lot of music this season.

Clay having a gratitude moment with his parents and Scott be like munching cupcakes in the background.

Oh god Hannah ...

Wow the old tape gang is here!! The nostalgia hurts.

They bury the tapes on the same hill again asdfwosaiofai.

Kinda salty Sheri and Scott aren’t here. But then again I guess back then Scott was just helping Clay and co when he could and mostly minding his own business. HOWEVER isn’t Sheri like in the tape and pretty prominent too :(( Like she was really cool with Clay (despite the whole guilt over Jeff), tried to make amends and really helped with the polaroid cases.

Also you can't just insert Scott in Clay's dream and then not have them interact in the end. The dream was such a perfect bait. Like we know at least they apparently get along well.

Everything in Jessica’s final conversation with her Bryce hallucination. Everything in it.

Ryan: “Gordon Lightfoot?” Ha Ryan you miss a whole lot of drama.

Fuck I'm tearing up again at Justin's essay. He deadass makes an entire essay about Clay and how he is his savior I- 

Oh my god they end it exactly like S1 with Tony and Clay riding away. They are really each other’s ride or die.

That’s it. It’s over. It’s been a long trainwreck. So the 2019 class graduates, so does Justin, they are doing uni right now and keeping in touch with everyone. Bye.

[universal-kitty]

   Harvest Moon & Story of Seasons: To the Ones I’ve Loved (and Have Crushed On, In Some Form or Another)

   This will be under the cut, because there are a LOT of games to address!

Cliff: More Friends of Mineral Town/DS Cute

One of my lovetime faves from the series! I related to him, what with us both being shy and needing help a lot from the people around us. Look at how cute he is when he blushes!! Whenever I play DS Cute, he’s always my first option.

(He also likes grapes. Always a good choice.)

Gray: More Friends of Mineral Town/DS Cute

I...have complicated feelings for Gray, honestly. On one hand, he’s never stood out too much to me, for some reason. He’s a fun enough character- a gruff grandson of the local blacksmith, who softens up over your relationship with him- but he never caught my eye as someone I’d wish to chase down as much as, say, Cliff.

But at the same time, I have many fond memories of calling him “Uma Boy” (because of his hat) and it’s cute?? It has “childhood friends to lovers” vibes that still makes me hesitate when I want to say I- supposedly- have no interest in him...

Karen: Friends of Mineral Town/HM DS

While I prefer her art design to this one (the one with her two-toned hair), I adore this bachorlette regardless! A part of it her design, but the other part of it her assertive nature... After all, when I’m not looking to grow together with someone, I’m looking for someone who will help me come out of my shell! (Even if I must be dragged out, which Karen would certainly do.)

Marlin: DS Cute

Gosh... I remember overlooking a lot of bachelors back in the day. I was admittedly kinda shallow as a kid, so I easily looked over plenty of fine guys in favor of the “prettier” ones...ignoring my vague interest in the girls. However, in my endless attempts to see all heart events (cheat codes, babey!)....I ended up really liking Marlin. More than I thought I would.

He’s sickly, but determined to make it on his own. Hating that he’s babied, but acknowledging the fact that being sick is kinda scary for the family who looks after him, his elder sister, Vesta (owner of a popular farm in Forget-Me-Not Valley), and their hired help, Celia.

He blushes cute, is cute, and though I never married him in game, I did consider it. He’s doing his best and is so damn supportive...

Celia: HM DS

Speaking of Celia-!! Talk about one of my earlier girl-crushes! I had feelings for her that I could never pin down, because I didn’t hate her or anything, but I didn’t quite....friend-like her, either. Apparently, it’s because I’m panromantic af. Who would’ve guessed?!

Anyways. She’s cute, oblivious like me, and just as hardworking as Vesta, with all the kindness to look after Marlin w/o taking away his agency and wanting to help others.... Basically, I’m saying that if I F/O any one of these two, the other is coming with. Farming power throuple.

Flora: HM DS

(Belated sidenote that HM DS and DS Cute are the same game, but Different Gender. Natsume was slow on that one for a long while.)

Flora was yet another one of those ladies that I liked, but didn’t know it was because I was actually p gay. Whoops! Anyways, you see this lovely lass working on site with Carter (an older bachelor, for those who have a Type for older men). They’ve been working on this mine site, because...I think there’s some archeological finds down there? It’s been a long time since I played, so I don’t remember much!

....However, strong woman in a tank top and shorts make me a happy, fluster gay and her hair looking as fluffy as it does only intensifies it. (Ah, to lovingly brush off the dust and mud from her face from a long day at work... Clean her glasses for her while she cleans up... [dreamy sigh])

Skye: DS Cute

(oh god, I wrote his name as Skype accidentally, oH NO) Another bachelor I really liked during the early days....though for a long time, it was a toss up on if I Liked him or liked him [to pair with an OC]. While I did eventually pair him with an OC (Claire, the blonde MC option for DS Cute), there’s still a fondness in my heart for him...

And a plot twist, now... His “chick beam” ain’t gonna work on someone who’s not a girl~!

Muffy: HM DS

She’s just....cute. And hardworking. Flirty. The girl at the bar not only helping serve up drinks (to the best of her abilities; she’s learning), but a fun time! Definitely a bit of the stereotypical femme, but good gosh, I’d never want her any other way. Literally the only problem I’d have is I get uncomfortable around drunk people (past issues, fear of potential addictive personality, and drunk ppl are usually Loud People).

Otherwise, I’d love to be supportive of Muffy, her dreams, and how damn cute she looks!! (And relate to fears of getting our hearts broken, but oooohhh it’s got fic potential, that does.)

Keira: HM DS

This lovely lady is not only one of the early-day, special bachelorettes, but mute, as well! Her voice was taken away by the Witch Princess and (with no in game way to get it back for her) she communicates by writing on a board.

....Basically, I want to learn sign language with her and create a peaceful house with her and maybe a bunch of cats. Purrhaps.

Jamie: Magical Melody

(I was no longer able to get sprites/icons from this point forward, sorry!!) This game. Is so difficult...and go figure the one I like the best is the hardest possible spouse to woo! Complete the game, ship out at least one of EVERY crop, have owned one of every animal (at some point), and etc. Oh. My goddess. THE AMOUNT OF WORK TO MARRY SOMEONE YOU CAN’T EVEN KEEP!!!!

....Yeah, uh. All that work and the game resets. No post-marriage bliss for the PC and Jamie. (Who is apparently genderfluid.) I.....augh. In the end, it’s not even their nearly-toxic, tsundere personality that drives me up the wall.... It’s the fact that I can’t marry them and have it stay that way unless I want to write a bunch of fanfiction about it. :/

Meanies. Making me write out all this stuff myself...

Ray: Magical Melody

I feel sorry to say it, but I will: When I learned the game wouldn’t let the player marry Jamie permanently, I sought out someone else...and found comfort in Ray. He’s a well-known fisher and- apparently- has a timeslot on the TV for talking about fishing, too.

It’s a very fish-based lifestyle, but I guess that’s why I play as a farmer, right~? We can bring some variety in to the meal table! (Also, he’s a shy guy. What a cutie~)

Chase: Animal Parade

The reason I got into playing this game....and then everything else solidified my reasons to play forevermore! And to this day, Animal Parade is my favorite HM/SoS game of all time. (Literally the only thing that could’ve made it more perfect would be changing hairstyles/colors... Oh, and gay marriage. Gimme that too, pls.)

ANYWAYS, this asshole is tsundere as hell and a prickly pear, but.... If you can fight past it to befriend him, he’s pretty fun and....I guess dedicated to his work, is the best way I can phrase it. He’s still very much not too “soft” even after marriage (though he can be pretty damn cute), but... Basically, imagine Gordon Ramsey in a dating sim, complete with a redesign. Pretty accurate description of Chase.

I ship him more w/ an OC I have than myself, buuuut he’s still precious to me. In a dorky, tsundere way. (Also, I think about the OC I ship him with all the time... That whole save file was me being dedicated to marrying this man, from the name of the farm to the crops I sold. Goodness!)

Wizard: Animal Parade

The husband. Of all time. Not just for his looks, but also his sweet, quiet, gentle personality. Wizard (who’s real name is not revealed until you marry him) speaks in many ellipses.....some longer...than others.... But he’s also a stargazer. Oh, and implied to be long-lived. Y’know. Things to break your heart with.

I simply cannot put into words how much I adore him. I originally played this game to marry Chase (as I mentioned above), but it was Wizard who stole my heart. He’s been on my F/O list ever since and it’s there he’ll stay!

Harvest King: Animal Parade

One who actually used to be on my F/O list, but I removed him because I thought feelings had faded.....haha, fool. Nobody escapes the king. (Or, well, Harvest God, but y’know. Translation avoiding mentions of “god” and all.)

Honestly, I didn’t know how to feel about him aside from “I like his design” for a long while. He’s got a lot of elements that are aesthetically pleasing to me, but w/o good characterization to back him up... What’s left? (Plus, him not living at home with the PC kinda sucked. Was being a single parent really gonna be okay with me...?)

What ended up breaking my heart and reviving it all at once was his 20 heart line. “After you are gone… I shall love what you loved… I shall sing the songs that you sang.”

He is immortal. He must stay atop the mountain, only able to watch...sneak away, perhaps, when he can. He sees the inevitability of the PC’s death...and fuck. It hurts in the most bittersweet way. To imagine him, alone, years upon thousands of years after they are gone.....and yet, remember them so well. Perhaps still distantly watch over what becomes of his family line...

To love this man is to experience the love and pain of mortal/immortal couples, and- truly- know what the phrase means: “To love and have lost is better than to never love at all.”

Harvest Goddess: Animal Parade

There are many incarnations of the Goddess throughout the HM/SoS series, but this one from AP is a forever fave from me. Her design is gorgeous on so many levels (the looping braid, the ombre in her hair color, her outfit, the wing-like extensions on her back, the large hoop bracelets, etc), her face looks so kind and.......breathtaking beyond words--

And much like Wizard and Harvest King before her, she has a name she can only share with you after marriage. And having that detail be a part of her marriage ceremony is what hits a little harder, I feel. It feels so much more personal to have a name that isn’t just “Harvest Goddess” to call her. (I’m pretty sure some of the other games have done this, too? But again, I personally prefer this iteration!)

....If I ever were to ship with her, I honestly feel like I’d have to do an OT3 w/ Harvest King. He’s a prickly bastard and Harvest Goddess here would likely roll her eyes at him many a time, but... Considering their understanding and eventual love of mortal life, I’d say they could reach an agreement someday.

Toby: Animal Parade

Gosh. Another character I didn’t think much of until later... I wanted to do an LP of Animal Parade and- for the occasion- got obsessed with a new OC to focus on; I named her Elise and framed everything after her around musicians and songs. (Because her name was a reference to Fur Elise.) Of course, I then had to think of who she’d marry....

Toby was not only an option for her, but quickly caught my interest as easily as he caught fish. Though it might’ve helped that he reminded me of another, old anime crush!

Anyways, much like he appears, Toby is a laid back young man. He spends his days happily enjoying his hobby- fishing (he isn’t employed, despite his family owning a business)- and soaking up nature. His heart events reflect this, musing about the tranquility of nature and enjoying the silence and relaxation of fishing. (There’s also a few occasions where he opens his eyes... The color of them is SO pretty!)

And if you marry him? Traditional Japanese wedding attire. He looks so handsome in it~!

Candace: Animal Parade

I just....really like shy girls. And Candace especially makes me feel SO MANY warm fuzzies. Has high social anxiety, but prefers her time be spent in her family’s shop, Sonata Tailoring. She’s a talented worker, and with her grandmother’s help and sister’s guidance, it’s become quite the fashion hotspot! (Well.... Perhaps it’ll do far better after the PC helps heal up the island some more, y’know? The place isn’t doing so hot without help from the Harvest Sprites!)

ALSO, I really, really love her big hair and outfit... Her big braids look so soft and she looks incredibly cozy in her cardigan... Honestly, the cardigan, button up shirt, and skirt alone work together to put together the image of someone shy, yet warm in both personality and in being! (...But I bet her fingers get cold... Gee, suppose I could do something about that...?)

Precious. 100/10, would love to kiss her cheek softly and make her blush while snow falls outside, but we’re in my warm home with a big puppy and the fireplace going.

Vaughn: Island of Happiness/Sunshine Islands

Heehee, tiny. Anyways, meet cowboy husband! Fond of farm animals, his work (delivering farm animals to the island)....and that’s about it. Not really too thrilled about other people, but his whole arc is about warming up to you, anyways, so. It’s one of those, fksjfkls.

He’s REALLY cute, though.... I wish I had more memories w/ him, but I lost the OG file where I married him and we had a kid, so. Heck. :)

William Terry Louis Andrew Carrick Jonathan Dredge Hams Redding Rodger Southwark Alnwick Plymouth Junior Regison III: Sunshine Islands

Yes. Yes, I did need to write out his full name. I married this man and if I have to process that this is my husband’s full name, you do, too. (Seriously, why did they make his name so long?!) This man’s long name aside...

Not only is he your typical rich boy (complete with Big Boat), but he’s also....a prince! Bet you woulda never seen that coming... (And yes, he does have a white horse that he rides around occasionally.) I know I’m roasting him, here, but he deserves it. A little bit. Maybe. Totally not because I can still feel the distant effects of this man flustering me in the past...

(He’s so charming and he has some misguided moments, but goodness, he is just Pure of Heart, Dumb of Ass. I love him.)

Lily: Sunshine Islands

Visiting treasure hunter, adorkable, and with a way of finding her next great adventure. She’s so lively! And lovely! Maybe she should look into a mirror and find out the great treasure of all is herself!!!

Okay, that was pretty cheesy.

Regardless, she’s a delight, I love her character, and any jealousy I might’ve had towards her in the past? Gone for deep feelings of, “Let me love you and let’s create the greatest treasure collection of all~!”

Angelo: Grand Bazaar

I remember Angelo not quite being my first choice when I got Grand Bazaar. He seemed adorable, and having another artist around is always a plus, but... I simply wasn’t sure if I should go through with it. Would he impress me that much?

...In the end, he did. I remember being with my cousins when I stumbled into his final heart event, freaking out and hurrying to write it down! (I had a habit of writing down the dialogue to every heart event I witnessed. I have some of them still, to this day!)

He’s far more of a well-rounded artist than I am, but I think that’s just another thing to love about him. Well, that, and a difficulty handling people when he needs them to stop! (It’s relatable, is what I mean; telling people off- even if you really need to- is hard! Especially when it’s a kid!) He’s just....a ton of fun at the end of the day. And that fluffy hair...... You know I love it~!

Emiko: Grand Bazaar

I never got to meet Emiko, to my memory. I didn’t play Grand Bazaar a lot, nor for too long, as the learning curve for the bazaar was steep. (I wasn’t much one for learning recipes, and then they wanted me to learn how to peddle my wares?! And sometimes, it went by so fast!!! It was super overwhelming...) However, she’s a special bachelorette, so getting to meet her at all would’ve been a surprise/struggle for the me who fought trying to learn the bazaar alone...

Looking on her here and now... She. Is. Adorable. Hard to woo, but a secret shrine-area behind the waterfall? The last heart event is letting her see the world for herself...? I love that so much. Getting to re-experience the world through a new view is something I treasure dearly, and Emiko is just that...along with being super adorable. I harp on it because it’s true!!

Maybe someday, if I try the game again with more success... I’ll play as a guy just to court Emiko.

Cam: Tale of Two Towns

Literally the reason I bought this game in the first place, LMAO! He looked really cute and hearing that he worked at a flower shop? How could I ever resist?! The scene was set up for adorableness and potential romance (based around flowers) and so I was eagerly swept away~!

And he does live up to that sweet, charming air...while also being a bit social anxious; how relatable!

Kana: Tale of Two Towns

I haven’t played this game in forever, but if there was anything to ever remember about it..... Kana is a himbo. This man works with horses, so he is strong. Respects women. His dummy part kicks in because this man rarely thinks of anything else except horses (we stan this man and his hyperfixation). You can befriend him with gifts of horse treats.

Marrying this man is marrying him AND getting a free horse-sister out of it (her name is Hayate) and with arms like that? What a dream come true, on all sides.

Nori: Tale of Two Towns

Local seamstress and assistant to her grandfather at his seed shop. Honestly... She kinda reminds me of myself. Although while I’ve quieted down in some ways, I’ve stayed lively in others! I mostly just need friends around to bring my energy up, instead of producing it fresh, myself, ehehe.

But seriously... Her kindness goes above and beyond, perfectionist anxiety is relatable, and it just...sounds nice to put together a life with her. Helping others, helping each other, helping ourselves. Wow.

Reina: Tale of Two Towns

The botanist who- much like someone else- hyperfixates on her work until the world around her is white noise. While it is a shame to feel like you’re not being listened to and your S/O is lost in her work... Honestly, the thought of learning about plants from her has me losing it. Also, a home filled with perfectly cared-for plants? MAJOR serotonin.

It’s like.....the ideal cottagecore couple, just with more farming involved. (Personally, for me, the image of cottagecore has always been small, personal gardens and not the sprawling estate of land-for-crops (and animals!) that HM puts out.) One of us will be making cute journals...or maybe it’s both of us? She does aesthetic research journals and I do cute, personal ones? With poems and such?

UGH. Just call me a simp and get it over with.

Sanjay: A New Beginning

Do I even have to say it? How fast I fell for this man? Because I shouldn’t. I’m incredibly predictable with my tastes and they will likely never change.

Anywho. Butler to Amir (another potential bachelor), but all I wanted was this soft-hearted, gentle man who looks out for everyone, is incredibly kind and friendly, and loves tea a whole bunch. His long hair, put into a braid.... [sighs dreamily] How ever am I going to cope...?

I never did finish ANB, but I want to! Because this man is SO HANDSOME and I wanna put a ring on it. (Sorry, Amir! You might need to employ someone else! Thanks, bye!)

Inari: Trio of Towns

This one came from a recommendation, one I wasn’t at all expecting...and now I’m “stuck” with this one. And don’t want them to let go.

They remind me of two previous spouses already on the list: Harvest King/Goddess and Jamie. The latter for their gender being undefined until marriage (where the game will then either dress Inari up in masculine marriage clothes or feminine marriage clothes, to be the opposite gender to the PC). The former checks out in that- like them and many other special candidates- Inari will not live at home with the player. It breaks my heart, but the reward itself is seeing this lovely fox deity learn how to love, to be willing to put their heart on the line, and even have a child.

I couldn’t be happier to be introduced to this game in such a way. Consider my first save slot dedicated to you, darling kitsune~! (And a spot for you on the F/O list sometime soon, too!)

Yuzuki: Trio of Towns

“I won’t fall in love with another bachelor,” I lied, lyingly. “I will just be in love with Inari. Nobody else.” A fool, I was. Predictable, as all times before. I read a little too much into a character....and suddenly, a proposal comb is being slapped into my hand. Dammit!

Being the fan-favorite occasionally helps my interest in certain characters, but what always gets me in the end...is that personality. Oh, and does Yuzuki deliver... Not only is he a kind, supportive man with his own business, but said business is making hairpins! His grandmother usually helps model them, but more and more during your romancing does your PC model for him, instead. (Literally the first piece you model he made SPECIFICALLY with you in mind, oh my god.)

But wait! There’s more! Being a model that knocks him breathless...and shows a surprising bit of ego. (Not a bad thing, but definitely not a vice I was expecting from him!) So many cute lines. Goodness.

....I admittedly just watched the heart/flower events, so I’m SOFT.

[chaniters]

Masquerade

The next part of @kruk-art‘s Awan Cormac fic.  Writing the final parts of this finally!

Infiltrating GeniTech’s party, the rangers attempt to change the board’s mind about the riot, but things on the inside aren’t as calm as they initially seem. 

Spoilers ahead for Rebirth, as usual. 

__________________________________

You glance nervously to your left, as a whole platoon of soldiers clad in articulated carapace armors scrambles through the corridors ahead of you.

In your mind, GeniTech’s Arcology is now the Trojan fortification, the rioters are the greek, and the lot of you are a an improvised rebellious third party refusing to let history repeat itself, hidden inside the wooden horse Ortega asked you to build. All you can do is hope it won’t get burnt before crossing the gate.  

“You’re clear.” the guard announces. “Excuse me for the delay, we didn’t think anyone would be joining this late… especially with what’s happening…”

Ortega watches him without a word, before putting his mask back on. 

“...Enjoy the party” the guard states drily, opening the gate. 

All of you walk past, putting your masks back on, not stopping until the elevator’s doors close. It quickly fires upwards, taking you to the upper floor, where GeniTech’s Halloween celebration takes place. 

“Well done everyone,” Ortega says when it seems no guards are listening. 

Elyise disabled the dampeners, Steel used your scrambler to deactivate their retinal scan and you made them think you were legitimate party guests and that everything was in order. Anathema added fake zippers and other details to your suits so they have a Halloween-costume flair to them.   

This would have been pretty standard infiltration were you still at the farm, but it’s blowing your mind for completely different reasons.  Most humans wouldn’t know what to say to their creator if that even existed. That’s no dilemma for you, though.  The farm might have assembled you, but GeniTech came up with the very idea of you. What would you say to them, the people who invented you? What would you even…-

“Be on alert everyone,” you say coming back to earth. “Steel, will use his scanners to find board members. Elyise will deactivate the scramblers in the area one at a time. The rest, distract them with conversation until Ortega can get into position, and then…” you go on explaining. 

You suggested using your powers to change the Boards mind and let the people take refuge in the Arcology, but, it was Ortega who came up with this infernal plan. You have to admit it was a really good one. You still suggested a ton of changes needed for it to actually work, and the Marshall ended up putting you in charge in return. Steel’s glare made It’s painfully obvious everyone now knows you’ve got more experience with covert operations than any of them suspected, a point you had been trying to conceal, but that can’t be helped. 

“We’re here. Remember, mingle and wait for Steel’s word. Ready, Marshall?” you ask looking to Ortega, who gives a quick nod, giving this operation the go signal.

___________________________________

“...We appreciate power

I'll evade the human race, putting makeup on my face…”

You being you, the lyrics are frankly disturbing. At least that’s all you can think as you turn your back on the live band, broadcast via a hologram on the stage.

You take a drink from a passing waiter and walk up to the glass wall. The sight is magnificent from atop the central spire of the arcology, even obscured as it is now, possibly to diminish the sight of the fires and the approaching riot.  As Ortega Explained, Halloween has a different meaning for the genecorps. They created superheroes and their worship. These parties are an occasion to dress up as their creations, bask in their glory, and the profits they bring. There are posters of all of GeniTechs’ sponsored heroes on the walls. Even with the dampeners online, you can almost feel the gigantic egos of everyone inside.

It’s easy to understand why won’t they just call off the party from up here. This whole building is a pharaonic monument to their vanity and pride, and they won’t let Psychopathor, the public or anyone else get in their way. They own the west coast and will prove their power to anyone who dares interfere. If there has to be a war, they have the guns, soldiers and the technology to win it. They will put the rabble back in their place, or at least that’s what they think will happen. 

These people are loaded to a degree you hadn’t even considered could exist.  Their impossibly expensive costumes are sometimes better than those worn by some actual heroes you’ve met. There is an Owl walking by that has a reactive armor piece that the original could never afford. You saw someone wearing your own hero persona in a skintight armored nanomesh that could have taken bullets as if they were candy. She scoffed at your own, by comparison, shoddy suit, leaving you with all manner of questions. 

Are you the knockoff here?!

“Big party, huh?” someone says, holding a drink next to you. “First time to an event like this”

You turn to see The Void, drinking a colored shot next to you, only his lips visible with the mask partially pulled up.

“You too?” you say trying to strike a conversation, as you were taught to do. “I must confess, I’ve never seen a party like this before.”  

“Well, I plan to see many more like this my friend,” he says with a mischievous soft smile. “Many, many more”

As he says that, you notice many things happening at once.

First, you hear Steel on your left ear, confirming a board member is in your vicinity, which means you should pull over. Before you manage a full step back from the glass wall and this man talking to you, you can feel your thoughts relaxing and the dampeners going down. 

You expand your mind, ready to home in the GeniTech executive like a hornet… but instead realizing the man beside you is the real-

“Nath?!” you exclaim before bitting your tongue. 

“Awan?” he says spilling his drink, glowing eyes on his mask fixated onto you in shock. 

Neither of you even think, farm training actings on its own. Your hand reaches forward, trying to bend his arm backward, but knowing you’re better at judo he spins faster to avoid your grab. You took your chance and failed, and there’s no way to avoid the incoming kick that pushes you deeper into the crowd of fancy rich assholes playing armored heroes and villains. 

A false Green Blast and Ophidian both curse ruining their looks, and by the time you get free of them, The Void has banished among the other costumes. 

“Sidestep! Sidestep, come in?!” Steel’s voice in your ear becomes audible again. “We’ve got the executive! Hurry up”

“I… I just saw The Void,” you say 

“What?!” Ortega’s voice floods the channel. “Mierda, who invited that asshole?”

“ I don’t know… He was just standing there and…”

The music goes on.

“Sidestep, are you ok? You’re looking drowsy” Ortega’s question lingers in your ears.  

The room seems to be spinning with all these insane people’s minds clashing against your weak shields. You hold on to a tall table for a moment, trying to get the world back into focus. 

“I’m ok. Void distracted me, and you know I have to prepare around crowds. These people’s egos are immense, taking it all in after the dampeners went off is too much… and the music’s not helping either.”

“Awan, can you still do this?” he asks

“Yes.” you say straightening up. “I’m ok. Just needed a moment, I’m fine now.” 

“Ok… well then I say we go as planned... Everyone keep watch for The Void. We don’t know what’s he’s doing here and…” 

The music, lights, and everything seems to go off at once, along with his communication. 

Shit.

You’re not caught unaware this time and immediately switch to night vision. All the partygoers seem to be expecting something to happen. Maybe some sort of surprise?

“Use the secondary channel!” you hear Ortega’s voice again, and you quickly adjust, as everyone on the team asks what’s going on.

“Maybe it’s a surprise?” Sunstream asks “I hear these parties can go wild…”

“I don’t think so, this is all too much of a coincidence…” Sentinel says “Something is wrong, I can feel it and...”

The lights go back on, the crowd cheering as Reaper himself is now on stage, wearing his dark cloak, hood and trademark glowing spectral scythe in his left hand. Everybody loves a real legend like him, standing taller than life. 

Still, the cheers die off rather quickly, as they follow his right arm, noticing that he is strangling GeniTech’s CEO with his skeletal fingers while his white skull cackles in a decidedly macabre and less than jovial tone. The scream of pain, the skin wrinkling, the hair going white, turning into a husk, a skeleton, and then finally breaking to pieces and disintegrating… It all seems far too realistic. A few people on the front row cough as they are bathed in handfuls of the floating dust, and everyone’s deathly silent by then.

“Sentinel dear, do you ever get tired of being so fucking right?” Elyise asks tiredly.  

___________________________________________________

My Fanfics: https://chaniters.tumblr.com/post/181692759294/my-fanfiction-for-fallen-hero

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction using characters and the setting of the Fallen Hero: Rebirth and upcoming Fallen Hero: Retribution games written by Malin Riden. I do not claim ownership of any characters from the Fallen Hero wold. These stories are a work of my imagination, and I do not ascribe them to the official story canon. These works are intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by the author. I am not profiting financially from the creation of these stories, and thank the author for her wonderful game/s, without which these works would not exist.

The song is We Appreciate Power by Grimes, which of course I do not own.

[eryiss]

Oneshot: The Life of His Deskmate

Summary: Laxus Dreyar: Reporter for Fairy Tail and member of an elite group of investigative journalists: The Raijinshuu. When trying to get evidence to bring down a criminal family, he finds himself at the wrong end of a gun and is saved by someone he didn’t believe existed. A vigilante who is closer to Laxus than he could ever imagine. His deskmate: Freed Justine. [Fraxus Oneshot | 22.6K Words]

This story was inspired by the tumblr user @aphtoris, who was very kind to let me write this based off their post. Please check out their blog for some other headcanons and ideas, both for Fairy Tail and some other fanbases you might know.

You can read it on Fanfiction, Archive of our Own, or under the cut. I hope you all enjoy it!

The Life of His Deskmate

Friday, July 19th, 2019, Late Night

The first time Laxus laid eyes on Magnolia's supposed superhero, he had been somewhat spectacle of his existence. He had heard the rumours – everybody had – but nobody could get a good picture or even give a consistent description, so it was hard to see the story as anything other than, well, a story.

It becomes harder to deny a stories existence when confronted with it face to face, though.

Their meeting occurred by happenstance. Being an investigative reporter forced Laxus into situations that could put him at risk, something he had long since accepted. He and his team – named the Raijinshuu to only themselves – had become known for publishing scathing exposés that revealed the illegal activities of important people and companies throughout the company. Doing this meant that, from time to time, they needed to put themselves in a very real firing line. This was one such time.

They had received multiple anonymous tips against the Oración Seis family. Weapons dealing, high levels of drug trafficking, and god knows what else. He and his team had almost got enough to create a full story but knew that the family had enough influence in the city to refute any claims against them without irrefutable evidence being shown. Evidence that Laxus needed to get.

He hadn't made his findings known to anyone other than his team, meaning it was practically impossible for members of the family to know he was looking into them. Or that he existed at all; they all seemed to have the 'it won't happen to me' arrogance.

This gave Laxus the ability to sit in the same bar as one of the family members – Racer – without being noticed. Laxus wouldn't say that the man was the weak link in the family, but he was the most easily riled up and quick to run his mouth. Any time the family had gotten in trouble before, it was usually because he had let something out after spewing a stream of bullshit and something serious had snuck its way in. Nothing overly serious before, maybe something a little controversial, but their illegal activities were never revealed.

This was something Laxus intended to change. He hoped that he could watch the guy plough himself with alcohol, introduce himself and create a drunken bond, and then subtly probe him until he revealed something important. It wasn't the most moral kind of journalism, admittedly, but illegal weapon dealings weren't moral either. Laxus wouldn't lose sleep.

"Another vodka, darling," Laxus heard Racer demand of the obviously annoyed bartender.

The blonde wasn't yet ready to strike yet. It was barely eleven and, after snooping on the man's Twitter account for half an hour, it was obvious that he was the type of guy that would stay until the early hours of the morning drinking. Logic dictates that the longer the drinks, the drunker he gets and the more likely it'll be for him to reveal something. All Laxus needed to do was wait.

As he did so, he heard the small nagging doubt playing in the back of his mind. The voice that told him maybe setting a trap for a known affiliate of an arm dealer and criminal organisation wasn't smart. That he would have a weapon, and this could all go bad very quick. He shut that voice out.

In his work, Laxus was insistent that he did the best he possibly could. At the start, this was because he felt that he hadn't earned his position at the newspaper, as his grandfather owned the company and really had given him the job. Once he felt he had got his place deservedly, he felt a sense of obligation to continue doing the work. There was a lot of shit happening and not many people could find out who was doing it and to what extent. Laxus could, so he should.

God, that sounded so patronising every time he thought about it. The whole 'greater good' thing didn't completely suit him.

Still, that was why he was there. It was plainly obvious that this family were knowingly breaking the law in a way that could and did kill people, and Laxus needed to let people know. They could only publish this once and if the Oración Seis found a loophole, their work would be made useless. That was why he was in the damn bar, ignoring the voice that told him there was a better way to do this.

A voice that sounded like his damn photographer, Freed.

The cautiousness that Freed was taking with this story was unusual. Freed hadn't been scared of anything they'd tackled since being partnered together – and if he had, he hid it damn well. But recently, he was advising Laxus, Bickslow and Evergreen to be more cautious.

In fact, he'd been acting different for a little while now. His punctuality had slipped, not to the extent that he could be in trouble, but seeing the man come late three times in a week when it hadn't happened before was an odd occurrence. Laxus had wanted to broach the topic with his friend a few times, but had always been distracted by the story. Still, he was probably seeing an issue where there wasn't one; being a journalist made you more inclined to pessimism and distrust. More so when Laxus had started to consider maybe changing his relationship with Freed to something more-

Shit.

Having let his eyes stray from Racer's place at the bar, he only just managed to see him walking towards the door to the establishment. Laxus allowed his eyebrows to tighten slightly; from what he knew of the man, on his nights out he would pick a bar, drain it of all its vodka and call it a night. That certainly wouldn't happen this early in the night.

Before moving, Laxus let his eyes stray to the table the man had just left. He had been the only one who had left, meaning the group itself hadn't become tired of this bar and wanted to leave, and Racer constantly boasted about being the life of the party on his social media. So him leaving the group went against everything that he had found out about the man. Perhaps against his better judgement, Laxus stood up from the table he sat at, placed down the glass of scotch he had been nursing, and walked towards the exit of the bar.

After leaving, he looked down the semi-crowded streets of Magnolia. It took him a few moments of looking over the heads of people to find his target; no member of the Oración Seis could blend into a crowd, thankfully. He watched as Racer turned into an alley, and the blonde found his curiosity peak.

He quickly pushed his way though the crowds and towards the alleyway that Racer had retreated into. When he turned the corner, he saw that Racer was leaning against a wall, having walked past a dumpster and seemingly on his phone. Laxus approached slowly, unable to deny he was enjoying this.

'Come on, bastard.' Laxus thought to himself as he pulled out his voice recorder. 'Give me something.'

Crouching behind the dumpster, Laxus tried to remain as invisible as possible. He couldn't hear what he was saying, and even if his recorder could pick it up, Laxus needed to know now so that he could know if he had enough that he could leave. Against all hygienic logic, he leant forward and rested his head against the dumpster, he could just make out what he was saying.

"Yeah, I'll be there on time," He sounded annoyed. "Just trust me for once, fucks sake Cobra."

Laxus' eyes widened a little. Cobra was the name of one of his brothers, and the tone in which he was speaking sounded suggested that, whatever they're talking about, it was something important. The fact he needed to go into some crappy, unoccupied alleyway to have this conversation made it seem even more suspicious.

Racer shifted his position slightly, making it harder to Laxus to hear him again. The blonde shifted his position again, in an attempt to counter it. His eyes widened slightly as he felt his foot come into contact with something. The clanking of a bottle against concreate came seconds after.

Fuck.

A moment of silence occurred, and Laxus winced in anticipation, willing Racer to continue talking. That didn't happen, however, and a moment later the metal dumpster was shoved towards him, hitting him directly on the head with a large amount of force. Laxus was pushed back and let out a small exclamation of pain, fully giving out his position to the criminal who shared the alleyway with him.

The moment he heard footsteps nearing him, he slid the recorder into his back pocket. He needed to record this and, if Racer saw that he had a recorder, he would either destroy it or make sure not to say anything incriminating. This could be his last chance to get these bastard, he couldn't fuck it up.

But the second he saw Racer, his priorities changed completely. He was holding a gun, aiming it directly at Laxus, and the sneer on his face told Laxus that it wasn't just for show. The blonde felt his breath hitch slightly. Sure, he had been in dangerous situations before, but never had he had a gun pointed at him by a dangerous man who would almost defiantly pull the trigger if even slightly antagonised.

"Up," Racer demanded, his voice stern. "Now."

Laxus did as he was told, standing slowly and placing his hands in the air. He tried not to be annoyed by the smirk on the bastards face, and kept his own expressions neutral. The fact he hadn't been shot yet meant there was a chance of him getting out of this unscathed. He just needed to be careful.

"Walk," Racer said, motioning to where he had just been standing with his head. Laxus slowly did so, knowing that Racer was doing this so no random passer-by could see the gun.

The moment Laxus was standing with his back against the wall, his lower half covered by the dumpster, Jet stood close and pushed the gun into his stomach. Laxus tensed as he felt the weapon pressing against him, though managed to keep eye contact with the man holding him there. He needed to fund a way out of this, but Racer seemed to be somewhat of a professional at this. Still, some kind of an opening would present itself, he just needed to wait until that happened.

"Empty your pockets," Racer pushed the gun further against Laxus' stomach. The blonde moved slowly, removing his keys, wallet and phone from his front pocket. They were all tossed to the side without much care. "Don't fuck me around, blondie. Whatever the hell was in your back pocket, give it to me."

So he had seen it, fuck. Laxus slowly pulled the recorder out from his back pocket and handed it to Racer, who actually fucking laughed. Instead of tossing it to the side like he had with everything else, he dropped it in front of them both. He pushed the gun against Laxus further and grinned. He then raised his foot and crushed the device completely.

"Whoops," He spoke with arrogance. "How clumsy of me."

Laxus noticed that, as he bragged, the pushing of the gun against his stomach became looser. He glanced down for a second to see that his finger wasn't resting against the trigger anymore. This could be the only opening he got.

He quickly pushed forward, shocking the man enough for Laxus to barge his shoulder into his chest. Getting the gun away from Racer was the main priority, so he grabbed the man's wrist while slamming his back against the man's torso, pushing back and haphazardly pinning him against the wall of the alley. He tried to pry the gun from the man's hand, but the bastard seemed to had a grip of steel.

Knowing that it wouldn't be long until Racer managed to catch up in the fight, Laxus started to slam his elbow into the other man's stomach repeatedly, still holding the man's wrist so that at least he couldn't aim the weapon.

During the inelegant wrestling, Laxus was unaware that Racer had managed to place his finger onto the trigger of the gun again. He pulled it without care for where it was aiming, and the deafeningly loud ringing sound filled the alleyway and made Laxus stumble slightly; fuck that was so much louder than he could have expected. Racer seemed shocked by this too, as his grip on the weapon loosened slightly. The blonde lurched forward and grabbed it, prying the mans hands off it and tossing it into the dumpster; if Racer attempted to get it back, he would have to leave himself vulnerable while doing so.

Now without the weapon being part of the fight, Laxus was given the ability to step back and catch his breath. He raised his fists in a somewhat defensive position. He didn't get into fights often and wouldn't consider himself an expert, but Racer shouldn't be difficult to overpower now.

"Ain't as big without the gun, huh?" Laxus grinned a little.

"You think you can push me around," Racer snarled, face angered at the removal of his weapon. "I will fucking ruin you if you so much as touch me."

Perhaps running on adrenaline and being blinded to good sense, but the threat fell on deaf ears. Laxus launched himself forward and planted his fist into the man's cheek, the feeling of his knuckles against jawbone both satisfying and painful. Perhaps the punch was somewhat therapeutic, given his in-depth knowledge on practically all the horrendous things that this family had done or had been directly responsible for.

He went to send another punch flying through the air, but found his arm restrained part way through the attack. He looked around to see a large man had grabbed him, one of the same men that had been sitting with Racer. Either the length of the wait or the gunshot must have alerted his group to what was happening.

Before Laxus could react further, another arm wrapped around him in restraint. He tried to pull against it but the grip was harsh and unwavering, leaving him no wiggle room to escape. He looked towards Racer to see that he was smugly walking towards him. Bastard.

"Knife," The criminal demanded to one of his underlings. "Now."

Although he couldn't see it, Laxus assumed that one of the group had pulled out a knife that he had concealed on his person, and handed it to Racer. Laxus looked up to see that, indeed, Racer had taken a knife and was now brandishing it. The knife was nasty looking too, serrated and bouncing back the blight from the nearby streetlamp. The expression on Racer's face told Laxus that he was no longer willing to show mercy. He should have run while he had the chance.

"I assume you're a reporter," Racer said as he walked forward, resting the tip of the knife against his finger and twirling it. "I wonder if your colleagues will find it hard. Writing about your death, I mean. It'll make quite the story for your company."

With every step, Laxus found his heartbeat increase and his fear get larger. Now with what he estimated was four people holding him back, and an aggressive criminal advancing on him, the blonde realised that he should have listened to the voice in his head, and Freed earlier in the day, and should have thought about other ways to get the confession. Not that regret was doing much to help him.

"It's a shame you had to sacrifice yourself for it to happen," Racer taunted, grabbing the knife properly now. "Don't worry, I'll make it fa-"

Racer's words were cut off without warning, a rush of darkness seemingly streaming down from above and landing directly onto the criminal. Laxus watched with furrowed eyebrows as he saw that a man had landed onto Racer from above, assumedly having jumped from one of the buildings. There was silence for a moment as both Laxus and the criminals tried to assess what had actually just happened to the leader of the group.

Now standing before them was the supposed vigilante of Magnolia. Wearing a long, deep red coat and black mask, with vibrant green and black hair raised slightly. He was taller than most, sporting an obviously athletic physique and what seemed to be a well-crafted, perhaps handsome jawline; Laxus assumed that the rest of the man's face would be the same. Though his eyes were covered, his expression was obviously stern and serious, and Laxus found solace in this.

He had been saved. By someone who, until this point, he had surmised as a myth.

The vigilante didn't pay any attention to either Laxus nor the men holding him, probably seeing Racer as the main threat. He brought his hand to the criminals neck, and Laxus could do nothing but watch as the very same hand mutated, became covered in thick oily fur and adorned claws. He lifted Racer off the ground with this new claw, growled at him wordlessly and threw him to the side.

This action was seemingly enough to snap the men holding him out of their trance. Two sets of hands left him and two men walked towards the masked man. He turned to them, face still enigmatic, and brought his hands to a fighting position. Only one of his hands had changed form, it seemed.

While Laxus' fight with Racer had been sloppy and born from necessity, the hero's movements were fluid, smooth and almost elegant. They were too fast for Laxus to see anything with full certainty, but he could see the hero juggling the fight with both men with apparent ease, as if the fight had been choreographed in advance and they were all executing some violent dance that they all knew by heart. It was practically hypnotic.

After being pushed back into the wall by the hero, one of Racer's men pulled out a similar knife from a pocket and charged towards the vigilante. Seeing this, the hero raised his untransformed hand and placed it onto the man's chest. Laxus watched as the hero's eyes glowered purple for a moment and shapes formed on the criminal's chest. A moment later, the man began to roar in pain and scratch the shapes on his chest, as if desperately trying to peel them off of his body. Laxus watched with wide eyes, not sure what was happening.

With one of the two attacking men now seemingly incapacitated, the hero turned his attention to the other. He grabbed him by the scruff of his collar, now using his demonic hand, and raised him into the air. He slammed him down hard, his head hitting the side of the dumpster with a nauseating clank.

"Racer," A voice yelled from behind Laxus.

The blonde felt the remaining hands that restrained him disappear. He looked over his shoulder to see the two unharmed men run towards their boss, help him up and run to a car that had parked with the doors open beside the alleyway. The scrambled into the vehicle quickly, the tires screeching on the road the moment the door was closed, the men quickly driving off into the distance. Laxus found himself relaxing slightly, looking towards the vigilante as he caught his breath.

"Shit," He heard the vigilante mutter. His voice was slightly echoed and distorted, as if he had changed his voice on a computer.

He looked over his shoulder towards the two men that had attacked him. One was staggering to his feet, blood dripping from his head where it had hit the dumpster; shit, Laxus only just realised the man's skull had dented the damn metal. The other man had fallen to his knees, now screaming.

The vigilante raised his untransformed hands, and his eyes glowed purple again. Walls of the same shape-like letters occurred, this time forming completely around the two men. They seemed to create a translucent wall around them, a theory which was confirmed when bleeding man tried to charge at the hero with his knife but was stopped by the glowing letters. Laxus wordlessly watched as the hero raised a finger to his ear and started to speak.

"Sixty-eight street alleyway. Two men. Both contained, one concussed. Also a witness, he may be shaken up. Be quick." The hero spoke, assumedly into an earpiece.

Laxus watched as the hero started to walk down the alleyway, towards where the car had sped off from. He looked down at the tire tracks that had formed, only to see them disappear a little way down the road. The car itself had also gone, leaving no sign as to where they had ended up. The vigilante looked towards Laxus.

"The police are coming; they'll want a statement. Stay until they dismiss you," He demanded of Laxus, who finally found it in himself to speak.

"Sure. Erm, thanks for, well… thanks," He blundered slightly, looking at the man.

The transformation had gone now, and Laxus was afforded a better look at the man. The mask, though doing a shockingly good job at making him unidentifiable, showed clearly that he had chiselled facial features. He sweated slightly, though his pale skin wasn't overly reddened by the activity. His left eye glowed purple slightly and he seemed to be analysing him. All in all, he was pretty good looking.

"The leader of that group is an influential criminal," The hero said, walking back into the alley. Laxus couldn't help but follow him. "You shouldn't have attacked him. He would have killed you without me being there."

"Yeah, I know," Laxus muttered slightly. "I didn't wanna attack him. Bastard pulled a gun on me after he found me recording him. Trying to get him to confess on tape."

"So you knew he was dangerous, and you thought it was wise to follow him into a secluded alley unarmed and in the middle of the night," The hero asked as he placed his hand on the wall he had created. The letters on the roaring man's chest disappeared. "To know that much about him, you must be smart. Why do something so remarkably stupid?"

"'Cause if I got a confession, I could publish and stop their bullshit," Laxus explained, looking at the two contained men with confusion.

"I suppose that's justifiable," The vigilante sighed. "Don't make a habit of it, Mr Dreyar."

Laxus nodded, but stopped himself half way. He frowned and looked towards the hero as he walked down the alley. "How do you know my name?"

The vigilante didn't stop walking, but he did look over his shoulder with what seemed to be a smile on his face. "I'm an avid reader of your work, Mr Dreyar. I'm sure I'll enjoy your story on the Oración Seis when it's done. If you make sure you live long enough to publish it, of course."

The blonde could do nothing as the man before him disintegrated into the same lettering that contained the two criminals. Almost the exact moment the man was gone, a police car stopped at the end of the alley again and two police officers left the vehicle, looking towards the contained men and then Laxus himself. As they approached him, Laxus finally caught up with the reality of what just happened, and only one word could surmise his feelings.

"Fuck."

-~~~-

Saturday July 20th, 2019, Mid Morning.

Freed walked into the lobby of Fairy Tail News with a thermos of coffee in one hand, and a half eaten bagel in the other. He awkwardly placed his pass against the scanning pad that granted his access further than the reception desk, and took another bite of his breakfast, fighting back a yawn as he waited at the elevator with a few colleagues he couldn't identify by name; the Raijinshuu often kept to themselves in work.

As he stepped into the thankfully uncrowded elevator, he leant against the cool metal and willed it to wake him up somewhat. Though he had good reason to be tired, he would rather it not affect his productivity in the work that actually allowed him money.

In reality, his new found pseudo-occupation as vigilante hadn't affected his body clock all too dramatically. Whereas previously he had retired for the night around one in the morning most of the time, he now slept at four. He would now wake up at eight and rush his morning routine to get to work at nine, whereas previously he would wake at six and slowly make his way through his activities; meaning he only lost one hour of sleep. The time spent on the streets also did the job of his late afternoon workout, meaning the time lost in the morning could be recuperated by no longer going to the gym. So, he hadn't so much as gained morning tiredness than shunted it forward so that it occurred at work.

That didn't make it any less obnoxious to be professional when he first sits as his desk, however.

When the elevator arrives at his floor, he leaves and slowly walks to his office. He only speaks to Mirajane and Levy, both of who he is sociable with as they had previously had desks either side of him before his promotion. He then walked into the Raijinshuu's secluded office space, sat himself at his desk and allowed himself some time to relax.

He was the first to be there, as usual. Bickslow and Evergreen would come later, having a later start to the day but also a later end. Laxus should be here but, as his punctuality would always act in direct coloration to his mood, so he would almost never arrive at nine exactly. This would either mean he had been in an hour earlier than needed and had always started his work, or would be late and they would later receive a visit from the blonde's grandfather. To his credit though, the time spent working overtime always made up for his lateness in the end.

This worked well for Freed as well, as whenever Laxus was late it allowed Freed a few moments of respite before the working day truly began.

Although technically he was only the photographer for the group, he did a lot more for the group. Not only would he take and prepare the photographs so they could be used, he would also read through all proposed stories both for structural and story issues; the serious nature of many of the stories they covered meant his subjective critique was just as needed as the editors objective one.

Lazily sipping his coffee as he slid his camera's SD card into his computer, Freed began to think back over the previous night. Particularly, his alter-ego's first encounter with Laxus. The same Laxus who sat directly opposite him.

Although Laxus was an excellent reporter who could easily pick out something a regular person would miss, he doubted Laxus knew it was him who had been his saviour. The biggest consistence between Freed and his vigilante self was his hair, which he doubted Laxus would have picked up on. Whereas the alter-ego had bright green hair with black streaks throughout that hung loose, Freed's normal hair was considerably more muted in it's green colour as well as tied up high in a pony tail. That, combined with the mask, change of eye colour, costume, and the absurdity that someone you know well could hide that he has demonic powers should keep his identity secret enough.

This was also the reason Freed, as his alter-ego, had mentioned reading Laxus' stories. If Laxus were to consider Freed being the vigilante, he would assume that Freed would cut off any connection to knowing him. doing the opposite would lead Laxus to confusion and would hopefully make him second-guess his conclusion.

Freed didn't know if his spells could alter someone's memory. And if they could, he didn't know if he could morally use it on someone he knew.

He had closed his eyes while thinking and let out a small laugh when he opened them again. As the Raijinshuu could take months for their exposé, they also needed to write fluff and filler stories under pseudonyms, hence why his computer was filled with images of a pug on a small trampoline because she had won a local competition. The contrast between his nights and his morning were so large that it could only be surmised by a laugh.

Mindlessly scrolling through the pictures he had taken the day before, in hopes of finding one that could be easily proportioned into the required size while not lacking quality, he heard the door to their office open. He looked over his shoulder to see it was Laxus.

"Good morning," He greeted, eyes scanning the other man slightly as he walked towards him.

"Morning," Laxus mumbled, running a hand over his face and collapsing into the chair seated opposite Freed.

He seemed better rested than Freed was, even if he was being more dramatic about it that Freed. He did have slight bags under his eyes and what seemed to be a nasty bruise forming under his right eye. Although it looked painful, it would at least be useful to Freed as it could give him a way into bringing up the subject of what happened last night, as well as chastising him for his stupidity with both of his personas. He wondered if Laxus was more likely to listen to him than the vigilante version of himself.

But he could broach that topic later, it was early in the morning and both men clearly hadn't yet awoken fully. So Freed simply frowned at the bruise as if confused as to why he had acquired it, before going back to browsing pictures and drinking his coffee.

Every few moments, he would glance up at Laxus. Unless Racer and his little gang had done anything to the blonde's torso, the only injury that Laxus had received was the bruise. He hadn't limped either last night or this morning, and although Laxus was the type to put himself in danger for his work, he also wasn't stubborn enough to deny the need for a doctor whenever it arose. So the fact he was here, and the only mark of an injury was a superficial bruise, meant that Freed had managed to keep his friend relatively safe the night before.

His being in the same area as Laxus wasn't entirely coincidental. Laxus had mentioned wanting to get the confession from Racer that night, so Freed had made sure to stay relatively near the bar Racer could often be found at.

He hadn't planned on prioritising Laxus throughout the night. Since he had begun his vigilante work, he had manged to work out a pretty effective system in finding crimes in action; a mixture of local news alerts as well as having hacked into a police radio system that played into an earpiece in his right ear; by the end of the first week he managed to drown out all unneeded words as well as understand many of the police terminology. If something had happened in the city unrelated to Laxus, he would have dealt with that rather than staying near Laxus. But, as the main issue of the night was the gunshot of Racer and Laxus' fight, he hadn't needed to worry.

Another yawn split apart Freed's lips as he placed the now empty thermos of coffee onto the desk, and Laxus chuckled slightly at it.

"Late night?" The blonde asked, cracking his back slightly as he adjusted his chair, so it was leaning back slightly. Freed know from experience that this meant he was working on a filler story, as when he worked on something, he was passionate about his posture would be better.

"Not intentionally," Freed lied, finally deciding on a picture and opening it in Photoshop. "Apparently I'm unable to see the difference between caffeinated and decaffeinated coffee."

"Maybe that'll be our next story once we finish with these bastards," Laxus joked, spinning in his chair as he procrastinated writing the award-winning dog story. "Famous journalist credited with taking down notorious crime family faces shame and public scrutiny as it's revealed, he can't fucking read a coffee can."

"And that, Laxus," Freed chuckled slightly. "Is why I don't let you write the headlines."

"What was wrong with it?" Laxus laughed, still not yet writing.

"Three things," Freed leant forward, a smirk playing on his lips. "One, it's so long that you'd have to write it in a small font for it to fit onto a page. Two, you should never give away the entire headline in the story, that's just standard. Three, do you really think your grandfather would allow the word 'fucking' on the front page of his newspaper?"

"Good points. You sure it's not just because you get paid for writing the headlines?" Laxus taunted slightly. Freed simply chuckled in response. "You think you're front page news, huh?"

"As if I'd accept anything less."

Laxus chuckled and, finally, started to type on his keyboard. Freed decided to leave him to it; even when doing something he wasn't passionate about, Laxus could get into a rhythm of writing and do a full draft within an hour if he wasn't interrupted. But if he was interrupted while writing a story he wasn't interested in; it was a battle to get him to start again. He could be something of a child at times.

Freed did everything needed on the picture to make it presentable, before opening one of the drafts that Evergreen had sent him. He had chosen her work to start on as she was more likely to self-edit as she went, rather than Laxus and Bickslow who could get caught in the moment of writing and make mistakes without realising it. They all had instances of being guilty of this, but Ever did it the least, meaning editing her work was the easiest thing for his half awake morning brain.

"So," Freed spoke as he formatted Ever's work, finding himself unable to stop himself. "Are you going to tell me what happened?"

"What happened when?" Laxus asked over the sound of his quick typing.

"Whenever you got the bruise," Freed glanced over the top of his monitor to see Laxus pull out his phone and assess his reflection; he must have not noticed it before. "And if you try to tell me that you fell on something, or walked into an open door, I will take it as a personal insult against my intelligence and I won't be happy."

Laxus stopped for a moment, obviously thinking. Freed had to wonder if Laxus was considering lying about what he was doing, or considering lying about meeting the vigilante that he had previously denied existing.

"Went to a bar," Laxus spoke eventually. "Got a little drunk, some bastard was making too much noise. Went into an alley and, well, you can guess."

Ah. So he wasn't actually going to lie, but he would conveniently leave out all the aspects of his night that would tell Freed he did something stupid and put himself in danger. Freed had heard stories of how Laxus had acted as a child, none all that complimentary. If he could lie as smoothly as he just had, he could imagine the trouble he could have given his grandfather while going through his rebellious phase. Freed might be able to laugh, if Laxus wasn't hiding the fact that he nearly got both stabbed and shot the night before.

"Well obviously you're lying or not telling me everything," Freed muttered, and saw Laxus frown at him in a silent question as to how he knew this. "If that's what happened, you wouldn't be proud of it and would lie. The fact that you're telling me that, it means that something worse happened. So, again, what happened?"

"I trailed Racer," Laxus sighed. "Went to a bar, wanted him to confess. He left for an alley, I followed him, things went bad for a while but I'm fine."

"Bad how?" Freed sighed.

"There was a gun. And a knife."

"For god's sake Laxus," Freed groaned, reigniting the frustrations he felt when he first saw what had happened to Laxus the night before. "I told you multiple times that, before we try and get them to confess face to face, we should explore all other options. And if we do need to act like that, at the very least make your intentions clear."

Freed knew that he was perhaps being more cautious that he would have been before he began his vigilante work. Perhaps it was because he was becoming more aware of how bad the people they were investigating truly could be, and perhaps it was a slight amount of arrogance because he knew that he could handle himself in these situations but, as nobody else had the abilities that he had, other people could not. Either way, what happened the night before gave clear evidence as to why caution was sometimes good.

He wouldn't continue complaining about it. Although it could have ended up incredibly badly, he only ended the night with a bruise and it might have shaken him up enough so that he might show more caution than he had before.

Laxus also seemed to be happy with the conversation ending, so they both went back to their respective work. Freed started to make the small adjustments on the story Ever had sent him, while Laxus continued writing the story again. Admittedly, it was slightly funny to see the large man pouting slightly at his desk, made even more funny when he realised that he was a well-respected journalist writing a story about a dog bouncing on a trampoline.

"I need a walk," Laxus suddenly proclaimed after his stream of typing died down. "You wanna blow off for half an hour? Say we don't have any good pics of the dog and we need some more?"

"Sure," Freed smiled a little. "Though, again, I must say I'm offended that you think anyone would believe I can take a picture that isn't perfect."

Laxus chuckled, standing up and slinging his coat over his shoulders. He picked up his bottle of water as Freed placed the camera back into its bag, which was then slung over his shoulder as to make the lie more believable. They walked to the elevator side by side, again Freed greeted his previous desk mates as he passed them; though he did resist the urge to kick Mirajane's chair as her eyes flickered between the two men suggestively. She had some form of invested interest between whatever relationship the two men had together.

"So," Laxus said as he pushed the button to call the elevator. "Since I can't do any work tonight, you mind if I come over for some company? I'll bring pizza though, ain't a freeloader. I'd invite you to mine but you've seen my place."

Freed chuckled, a little weakly, at the expense of Laxus' crappy studio apartment that he could defiantly improve on and not become financially unstable. It was a running joke between the Raijinshuu that Laxus' apartment wasn't anywhere near as good as it should be, given the money he earns and the position he had at the company, meaning he would have to laugh at the self-deprecating joke to not seem odd.

But in truth, the innocent question was concerning to Freed. Since he had begun his vigilante work, he hadn't really had to balance his social and alter-ego life much. Even on the nights he had decided not to take to the streets, he had the ability to change his mind if something had happened.

Hypothetically, if Laxus were to come to Freed's apartment and something were to happen in the city, he would either have to sit through it and do nothing, or he would have to reveal that he had been the one to save Laxus the night before as well as being the costumed hero that had been protecting Magnolia as of late. And although Freed had realised that being a hero wasn't exactly as presented in comic books, and Laxus wasn't suddenly going to be suspended above boiling oil as leverage against him, Laxus knowing about his alter-ego would defiantly open a can of worms that Freed wasn't yet ready for.

Though, Freed had figured out a way to put people to sleep. It might not be the most ethical thing to do, but he could use that spell on Laxus if the situation required. He could be subtle with his casting, and he would enjoy spending time with Laxus out of work.

"Sounds good," He finally spoke as the elevator doors opened. "Make sure the pizza's got chorizo on it."

"As if I could forget," Laxus grinned as they entered the elevator. "The high standards of Freed Justine are imprinted on my mind. Wouldn't want to wake up the spoiled rich kid inside, you've been keeping him contained for so long there must be one hell of a tantrum building up."

"And smart-ass comments like that are what might finally bring it to the surface."

Hearing Laxus chuckle, Freed decided that he had made the right decision. Sure, if the worse were to happen then it might be a little difficult to pull of perfectly, but having a lazy night with the other man in his company was worth the risk. He could do this.

-~~~-

Saturday July 20th, 2019, Late Night.

Laxus slowly rolled his neck back as he pushed further into Freed's sofa. The thing was more comfortable than his bed, and the blonde found it hard to resist the screaming urge that told him he should sleep; he had been more shaken from the previous night's activities, so sleep had been spotty and uneven at best. He was more than willing to make up for that, but he had invited himself into Freed's apartment, falling asleep after doing that would just be rude.

And, of course, he wanted to keep an eye on Freed.

He liked to think he knew his photographer well, and he could notice when things weren't right with him. So to see Freed acting tired at his desk over the last month or so, along with a whole assortment of other small shifts in how he acted, it made Laxus worry. Perhaps unnecessarily but being aware of that didn't make him worry any less.

This was why Laxus had invited himself into Freed's apartment for the night; so he could either put his worries to rests and confirm that nothing was wrong with Freed, or at least have full confirmation that he wasn't over thinking so he could try and help his friend. Spending time at work had allowed Freed to keep Laxus pretty much at arms length, but spending time with him in his apartment would allow the man to let his guard down. Also, Laxus enjoyed the company of his friend, and spending a night with him was considerably nicer than what he had done the night before.

Having been at Freed's apartment for over an hour, nothing was overly concerning. Freed still cleaned the place to a near obsessive degree, he hasn't been overworking himself at home in any obvious way, and he hadn't seemed overly stressed or antsy as they had eaten. All in all, Freed seemed pretty much the same as usual.

'Thank god.'

He knew that he had probably been overthinking. It was something he was prone to doing, more so with Freed. He didn't feel protective over the other man – not really – but he did pay more attention to his friend than he did with anyone else in his team. The reason for this was also obvious to him.

Although he couldn't accurately define it, he knew he had some kind of feelings for the man. It had happened almost instantaneously; he was working on his first expose and needed a photographer to help get some incriminating pictures of a celebrity. Most people working for the newspaper had denied his request, being involved in a case against someone with such a large social influence could be career suicide, but Freed hadn't batted an eyelid. In fact, he had shown so much confidence in his work that his actual reply was 'as long as you don't get in my way, of course.' That cocky, fearless attitude combined with the good looks of the man, it was natural for Laxus to feel that way.

As time went by, Laxus started to call on Freed as his photographer before anyone else. They soon became partners, and got to know each other better. Freed was actually pretty funny, with a sharp wit and almost nihilistic sense of humour. The closer he got to Freed, the more parts of the man he found he liked. So of course he found himself feeling some kind of romantic feelings to the man.

He'd say he had a crush, but he was a twenty-three-year-old man. Not a six-year-old.

The issue with feeling like that was his lack of ability to talk about it. He wasn't a romantic person, and talking about his emotions had never been something he was confident in doing. So even if he could gather the courage to perhaps bring it up, he would stumble over his words and make an ass out of himself. Not to mention risking his friendship with the man. God; he really did sound like an angsty teenager when he started to think about it.

"You seem very lost in thought," Freed said as he returned from his kitchen, holding out two opened beers and handing one to Laxus. "Anything on your mind."

Damn, he really needed to stop his mind from wondering to such a degree. For someone who's career it was to look into the small things that people tried to hide and come to conclusions based off it, he wasn't great at keeping his emotions hidden behind a mask.

"Just thinking about what happened last night," He lied, although that had been something that had been toying on his thoughts for a multitude of reasons.

He hadn't realised it at the time, perhaps too high on adrenaline, but the previous night was insane. He had been held at gunpoint by an apparently murderous member of a soon-to-be notorious crime family, who he then beat up until he required his cronies to restrain him. He then was going to be stabbed by the damn guy, only for him to be saved by someone who's exitance he had doubted. A man who could apparently perform spells, transform his hand into some kind of monstrous claw, as well as teleport. And the guy apparently knew his work?

Everything was fucking insane! Laxus had woken up thinking he had experienced some kind of fever dream.

"I know it isn't something you want to re-live, but I'm happy to listen if you do want to get it off your chest," Freed offered.

"You wouldn't believe me," Laxus chuckled, bringing the beer to his lips and taking a sip.

"Try me."

Laxus thought for a moment. He supposed that Freed, being a reported, had to have at least a partially open mind. And the stories of the vigilante were getting more popular, so it would seem as though Laxus was just making up bullshit.

"Fine," He eventually said, an almost challenging smirk on his face. If Freed was willing to believe anything, Laxus certainly had a story to test that claim. "Last night, I was saved by the superhero guy."

Although he didn't look at Freed, Laxus could imagine his expression. Restrained shock that would probably turn into amusement at the fact Laxus was backtracking on something that he had been steadfast against existing. The moment he heard a soft chuckle, he knew that his assessment of Freed's reaction was right; of course the guy would enjoy Laxus changing his mind on something that he had previously would have argued passionate against.

"Okay," Freed said after a few moments. "Explain, so I can pinpoint the moment you hit your head and started becoming delusional."

"You know it's that kinda attitude that gets a guy kicked out of another guys apartment." Laxus chuckled, not actually offended.

"You going to kick me out of my own apartment?" Freed raised an eyebrow.

"Guess not. But I can storm out and slam the door pretty fucking hard," Laxus grinned, sipping at the drink he nursed in his hands. "Piss off all your neighbours, get you kicked out. And when you come to my place 'cause you're homeless, then I'll kick your ass to the kerb."

Freed laughed at the comment, also drinking his beer as he mindlessly scrolled through his Netflix to put on something that would entertain them both. Having this slightly flirtatious conversation with Freed, it left all his doubts about his friend in the back of his mind. He was just thankful that he could accredit the slight redness of his cheeks onto the beer he was drinking, because the gentle brushing of their shoulders along with the pleasant, easy conversation between them was something that was defiantly causing a blush to form.

"So," Freed spoke again. "What happened."

"Pretty much what I said before," Laxus shifted so that he was looking at Freed, also so that their knees didn't touch as that was just too much for a slightly drunk man to handle. "Was gonna try and get Racer to make some kind of confession when he was drunk. He left the bar earlier than I thought he would, so I followed him into an alley."

"Always a wise choice with a weapons dealer."

"Fuck off," Laxus laughed, smile remaining on his face. "So yeah, followed him. Fucked up a little and he found me recording him, so he pulled a gun on me, made me crush the recorder – I need a new one, by the way – and started to threaten me."

The fact he was recounting this story in such a comical way seemed odd even to Laxus, but he couldn't feel any different. He expected that, if his life had ever been in danger like it had been, it would affect him more. And yes, sleep had been difficult and many of his dreams had been filled with gunshots and sharp knives, but it wasn't as if he couldn't close his eyes without having flashbacks. Either he was unusual, or fiction liked to glamorise the effects of a traumatic to a pretty dramatic degree.

"Managed to knock the gun out," The blonde continued. "Got in a few punches; damn satisfying. Then his bastard minions got involved and held me down. Racer pulled out a knife, was gonna stab me, then the guy drops from the sky, kicks the fucker and beats the hell out of him and two of his bastards."

"He just happened to be there?" Freed asked.

"Gun went off when I was getting it off Racer, guess he must have heard it," Laxus shrugged, brining the beer to his lips. "He didn't just fight them, though. He had all these spells and crap. Like, he made walls and he got a claw and… yeah, I sound like an idiot, don't I?"

"Not at all," Freed said, his voice sounding amused. "Your stories pretty consistent with everyone else Bickslow talked to. Maybe he can interview you next."

Laxus groaned in slight embarrassment. He had first found out about the vigilante from Bickslow, who pitched the story to Laxus. After hearing this, Laxus had made a pretty big show about how they shouldn't waste time following some non-existent superhero while they had a case as serious as the Oración Seis to deal with. He still maintained that was a logical stance to take, but he also knew Bickslow would rip the hell out of him when Freed inevitably told him.

"So, you've got a first person recount of him," Freed continued. "What was he like?"

"Honestly, pretty hot," Laxus laughed, the alcohol in his system loosening his barriers. "Good body, handsome, cocky. Probably good in bed."

He let out a laugh at his own words. The laugh was partially because the vigilante was the closest thing to a superhero that reality had to offer and, after being saved by him, Laxus had admitted to finding him hot like he was a damsel in distress in a comic book. He also laughed because everything he had admitted to liking about the vigilante, he could also say about Freed. Other than the good in bed thing, because he had to remain somewhat professional with the guy and thinking about how he would be between the sheets was a dangerous thing to do.

Thankfully, the awkward confession of attraction towards the vigilante isn't lingered on. Freed lets out a small laugh, though it had a slightly different lilt than his normal laugh. Either he was overthinking things again, or his drunken mind way playing tricks on him.

"So that solidifies your type then, doesn't it Laxus," Freed grinned. "Almost entirely unattainable, and possibly fictional. You don't make life easy for yourself, do you?"

The irony of Freed's words were not lost on Laxus; the object of any real desires was truly unattainable, but certainly not fictional. The blonde slowly turned his head away from the TV and towards Freed. The light from the TV shone onto his face, highlighting his near impossible mixture of fragility and ruggedness that made up his features. That, combined with the sharp, annoyingly beckoning lips, made Laxus realise just how uneasy he had made his life for himself. There Freed was, always both so close and so out of reach.

The silence seemed them turned suddenly deafening as Freed looked away from the TV also, and directly into Laxus' eyes. The closeness of the two men became clear, and Laxus was now incredibly aware of their shoulders resting against each other, and how his knee knocked against Freed's.

Shit.

He sat still for a moment, almost as if he didn't want to spook the man. Freed's eyes scanned Laxus' face, analysing him with a slightly soft expression. Laxus made sure that, when his eyes eventually rested again, he was ready to greet them. They both leant forward slightly, Laxus leaning down while Freed jutted his chin upwards slightly. Laxus felt his breath hitch as a hand softly landed on his lower thigh; Freed's hand.

Perhaps not so out of reach.

They both slowly leant forward further. Their foreheads gently connected as they moved their lips closer. Laxus felt the soft exhales of Freed's breaths tickle his lips in an almost cruel taunt as he made the final move to bring him into a kiss.

And, in a cruel act of fate, Freed's phone lit up and blurted loudly from the coffee table.

They pulled apart suddenly, the slightly drunken spell cast on each other breaking as they pulled away. Laxus recognised the blaring alarm coming from Freed's phone to be that of the Fairy Tail app's news alert; though why he had to have it that loud was unknown to Laxus. Or why he had to have the damn thing at all, for that matter, as they both worked for the damn newspaper and would figure out what had happened pretty soon without an obnoxious push notification. More so when they were just about to fucking kiss!

"You really need it that fucking loud?" He demanded, a scowl on his face that he couldn't bother to hide.

"Sorry, my phone needs to be updated. Volume keeps changing without me wanting it to," Freed explained, and Laxus hoped the hint of annoyance in the other man's voice wasn't just wishful thinking. The other man picked his phone from the table and read the notification. "Damn."

"What's up?" Laxus asked, mainly out of obligation. What he really wanted to do was smash the offending phone and demand they continue their previous actions.

"A fire," Freed explained, standing up and walking to his window. Even from where Laxus was sitting, he could see smoke rising across the sky. "Kitchen fire, at the Blue Pegasus Hotel, apparently."

Despite his annoyance at the situation, he knew it was superficial in comparison to what had caused it. Having a fire at an office would be bad, but a hotel was awful. It would be heavily populated in the night and, given the extent of the smoke covering the city, a hell of a lot of people might be hurt. He immediately thought about how his work would be tomorrow; being a journalist the day after a cataclysm was the most sobering thing Laxus had been through. He could only hope that the people inside could be helped before the fire could get too bad.

A small part of his mind wondered if the vigilante from the night before would be helping.

"Jesus, most people would be asleep by now," Freed commented, looking towards his clock. It was one in the morning.

"Yeah," Laxus agreed soberly. "Still, as shit as it is, all we can do it let the professionals do what they can and help as many people as possible."

"I suppose," Freed sighed, walking back to the coffee table. He picked up the two bottles of beer and walked towards the kitchen, though lingered directly behind the sofa as he passed it. "Do you want to stay here tonight? No point in walking home this late."

"You don't mind?" Laxus looked over his shoulder towards Freed.

"Not at all."

Laxus was about to thank his host, when the other man placed both hands on his shoulders. He opened his mouth to ask what was happening – as well as ignoring the hopeful thought that Freed would lean down and finish what they had started before – but he felt a sudden wave of tiredness overthrow him. His muscles relaxed within an instant, his mind quickly calming to a point of near unconsciousness. It was unnatural, but he felt the tiredness too overwhelming to care.

Lacking the willpower to question what was happening, Laxus allowed his eyes to close. His head fell against the back of Freed's sofa, resting his blurring gaze on Freed's bedroom door.

And although his sight was hazy and oppressed, a moment before the sleep could take him completely, he could almost be sure he saw Freed pick up a coat from the back of his door and adorn it.

A coat exactly the same shade as the one the vigilante had worn the night before.

Huh.

-~~~-

Monday August 5th, 2019, Late Evening.

There was something about doing this that made Freed feel alive.

An adrenaline rush would course itself through his veins every time he placed the mask against his face. He would teleport himself onto a random rooftop, loving over the well illuminated city of Magnolia, and something would just ignite inside of him. A passion, a sense of duty, a roaring voice that said that this town was his domain and it was his privilege to protect its residents as best he possibly could.

He would jump from rooftop to rooftop, his wings making previously unthinkable distances to cross seem like a simple step. He would check the most popular spots for mugging and criminal dealings, stop them if he saw them, and return back to patrolling the next part of the city.

If he were to say he didn't enjoy his vigilante work, he would be lying.

Perhaps he was just imagining it, but he felt his presence in the city had some kind of effect on the amount of crime in the city. There was no great supervillain, nobody with a vendetta against him as far as he knew, so he had the ability to tackle the smaller crimes that, at least in fiction, were hardly mentioned. So, after being beaten up by someone with abilities that can only be described as magical, Freed liked to think that the backstreet muggers and drug dealers would think that the risk wasn't worth it. Or maybe it was arrogance mixed with the thrill of what he was doing becoming more regular; but Freed liked to think he had an impact.

With every day that went by, he felt himself getting better at vigilante work. His sleep schedule was finally starting to adjust to his new hours, so he wasn't all but dead to the world when he came into work. The sense of obligation was also lessening; he could only help the people he could find, and if a crime happened without him knowing, he shouldn't feel guilty.

He had also started to map out how the city's criminals worked. There were certain days in which the standard crimes of mugging, drug dealings and vandalism were less consistent, mainly mid-week when there were less people on the streets to be the victims. On these days, Freed often shortened his patrol time so that he could catch up on the sleep that his body still demanded. He also knew some of the worst spots for crimes that occurred often, such as the central square being a hellscape of pick-pockets picking on drunk people. All in all, he was starting to get a streamlined routine going and a sense of regularity back into his life.

But over the last week or two, he had found himself on the streets at the night more than needed.

It was a distraction, stopping him from confronting the reality that he and Laxus had almost kissed; that they would have kissed if it weren't for his news alerts. Laxus was one of the few men that Freed had actually considered a relationship with, and there was a very good chance that their almost kiss would have stopped that from actually happening.

When it was happening, Freed's mind had been in a rush. A fire was happening, and people likely would be trapped in a place where only Freed could save them. He needed to prioritise them, so he put Laxus into a sleep spell as soon as possible and teleported away within the minute.

After saving everyone he could, Freed was given time to think.

He had walked home rather than teleporting, his mind fully engrossed in the memories of the near-kiss he shared with Laxus. They had both been drinking, so Freed couldn't be sure if Laxus' leaning in was fuelled by the beer running through his veins, or if there had been some genuine form of attraction to him.

At least he could be sure that Laxus was attracted to his vigilante self. That was something Freed had found himself chuckling at.

When he had returned to his apartment, his mind was still plagued by the nights events were going to affect his relationship with Laxus; something made harder when he remembered that the very same blonde was sleeping on his sofa. He had placed his friend on his bed, made the sofa up for himself and forced himself not to think about it for the night.

It was something he had been doing for nearly two weeks now. Hence, why he was on patrol on a lazy Wednesday night. A distraction.

He felt he had justification for needing a distraction, though. Because, it was clear to Freed that Laxus remembered at least the kiss they almost shared, as there had been a slightly shift in how they acted around each other. He wasn't shunned exactly, and it wasn't as if there was a lingering secret that needed to be revealed, but it just felt different. Like they were both keeping each other at arm's length so that they don't need to discuss what had happened. A task made difficult when they work directly opposite one another and are practically partners in what they do.

Freed can't blame Laxus for this, as he knew he was doing the same. It was more convenient to pretend nothing had happened, so that's what he was doing.

Which was fine. It was working fine.

With a burst of enthusiasm, Freed ran towards the edge of the building he stood on. He pushed off from the edge of the structure and propelled himself into the dark sky, purple translucent wings forming behind his and allowing him to fly throughout the city.

Soaring through the brisk summer air, he made sure not to disrupt the people below as made his way to the western end of the city. Although it was the more affluent part of the town, it also had considerably more crime. Freed suspected that, as the people who were targeted had more money, the criminals would think they would be more willing to give it up. Sound logic, and at least with the criminals focusing on this part of the city it meant less muggings would happen without Freed knowing about it.

However, there was of course another reason for his focus in this area. Laxus had found out earlier in the day that Angel, a member of the Oración Seis family, had just started to become involved with the family's dealings. Laxus had been excited, knowing that out of all the family members, she was least likely to know his face. Meaning he could still get his confession from a member of the family.

And of course, as Laxus always seemed to act on instinct, it would only be so long before he put his plan into action.

It wasn't hard to find that Angel was staying in the penthouse suite of a luxury hotel in this area of the city, and it was even easier to find out she was in the hotel's bar every night drinking. Knowing Laxus as well as he did, Freed realised that he would try to flirt his way into her apartment, overwhelm her with compliments after she had gotten drunk enough to make her more likely to reveal some secrets, and probe her as subtly as he could until he got what he wanted. It was a plan that had worked before, but Freed doubted Laxus would just get slung onto the streets in a state of undress if it went wrong. Angel was someone to be feared, and Laxus' excitement might have clouded that from him.

He was keeping Laxus at arm's length, but still cared for him a great deal. And if Laxus couldn't execute his plan perfectly, he might need the vigilante to save him.

Instead of landing on the luxury building itself, he settled for perching on the fire escape of the building that sat opposite. He could clearly see the penthouse suite, the only place violence could occur without being caught by the copious amounts of security cameras that covered both in and around the hotel.

Time passed slowly as he waited to see if something had happened. The vigilante wasn't proud of it, but he had checked in on Laxus' apartment before he left and found out that the blonde wasn't there. He knew the other man well enough to know he wasn't going to be social when he was so close to finalising a story that had been plaguing his mind for such a long time, so he would defiantly be there. Freed just needed to wait and see if something was going to happen.

"Perhaps I should get an eyepiece," He spoke to himself, something he found himself doing more often now. "Shouldn't be hard to hack into hotel security."

After ten or so minutes of leaning against the uncomfortable metal railings of the fire escape, Freed found himself bored out of his mind. He sprouted his wings again and started to fly around the area, looking out for any crimes in progress that he could stop, or any recognisable faces that he could pay a visit to before they could hold someone at gunpoint and scare them half to death. He found none, which was perhaps for the best as his eyes continuously strayed towards the window of the penthouse suite. So far, the lights in the room hadn't been turned on.

He waited around for nearly an hour before something had happened – waiting was also a larger part of doing vigilante work that fiction failed to tell you about – and the lights to the hotel suite turned on. He landed on a nearby building and looked through the window, eyes narrowing slightly to get a better view.

There was Laxus. With a gun pressed into his back. Of course.

Jumping into action, Freed knew that if Angel was willing to shoot Laxus even his teleportation wouldn't be fast enough to stop her. He flew forward as fast as he could towards the window, eyes trained on the gun. It was the same type the family sold; meaning he knew the metal the casing was made out of. Within in instant, runes plastered themselves across the walls of the suite she was in, heating up that exact metal to a boiling point. He smirked when he saw Angel suddenly throw the gun to the side.

Knowing that he couldn't teleport while using his wings – it was too draining on him – he decided to hold back on entering the room. Instead, he waited and hoped that Laxus would take the chance given to him to get the hell out of there.

Mercifully, the moment the gun was thrown to the side Laxus barged Angel out of the way and ran for the door. Freed let out a breath that he was holding, only to hold it again when Angel ran towards a wall mounted tablet. She pushed a button just before Laxus could reach the door, and when the blonde pulled on it for it to be opened, Freed could only watch as he struggled it. He assumed that this was some kind of security system, disallowing Laxus his exit.

Freed took in a short breath, wondering what his options were. The gun was still untouchable, unless Angel wanted a pretty bad burn, so that was one positive. The new issue was, the woman now had a knife; apparently Laxus was making a habit of nearly getting shot and then nearly getting stabbed.

He needed to act fast.

The windows were going to be unbreakable if the hotel's security was this good, and even if Freed cancelled his flight and teleported before he hit the ground, momentum was carried, and he would be at the very least winded beyond use. For now, all Freed could do was watch and help in any way he could from outside using his runes.

Although he couldn't make out their words, Freed could guess that she was threatening him. He slowly put his hands up and walked towards her, his face somehow restraining what was obviously fear. The vigilante kept in line with the two, watching as she rested the knife against Laxus' chest.

They walked slowly to the large balcony of the suite, which allowed Freed the ability to get closer and intervene if needed. But he needed to be careful, if he flew in now there was a chance that Angel would force the knife into Laxus' chest, either out of panic or out of spite. He flew a little closer, keeping himself low enough so that neither would be able to see. Although his own sight was hindered, he could at least hear what they were saying now.

"So," Angel spoke with a sickly-sweet tone. "Now I don't want to explain why there's blood all over my apartment, dear stud of a reporter. It would be much easier if you just, well… suicide is so common now, maybe we can pretend you're another statistic."

"You think I'm gonna make this easier for you, bitch?" Laxus spat, and Freed felt his jaw clench. Why did he have to make things hard for himself?

"Now Mr Dreyar, I wouldn't annoy me if I were you. You've such a handsome face, I wouldn't want to mess it up myself," Angels threat was obvious, and Freed could just about see her dragging the knife across his cheek. "And, look at it this way. You might land on a balcony and just get mangled and live. If I use my toy, that won't happen."

'Okay.' Freed thought to himself. 'This could be worse.'

"I hope you don't mind, I'll be telling the reporter you broke down crying and confessed to being washed up and an alcoholic," Angel continued. "Up on the edge. Now."

Although Freed couldn't be sure of what was going through Laxus' mind, he knew the man would be scared. He calmed his own breathing and closed his eyes, focusing on the sound of Laxus climbing onto the edge of the building. He was about two feet to the left of Freed, which was good. Slowly, trying not to scare the man, he flew directly to where Laxus was standing, still keeping out of sight of Angel as he hovered in place.

Laxus was looking down, slightly unsteady because of the wind. The moment he saw Freed, it was obvious a look of relief filled him entirely. Freed offered him a small smile that he hoped would comfort the man, before forcing eye contact between them both.

"I will save you," He mouthed clearly, words sincere. "I promise."

Laxus managed a small, weary nod. At the same moment, Angel seemed to be getting impatient and slammed her hands into the small of his back in a vicious push. Laxus lost his footing and stumbled forward, over the edge of the building and towards the ground below. The speed of the action shocked Freed, and he quickly watched as the man flew past him.

Freed dove down, managing to move faster than the falling figure of his friend. He managed to wrap his arms around the blonde's. He had to fall alongside him for a short while before he could start to carry him back and start flying how he normally would.

The blonde was shaking, Freed had never seen him so vulnerable.

He placed him on one of the vacant hotel balconies, making sure he was safely sitting. It took a few moments before Laxus could open his eyes and when he was sure that he wasn't falling, he offered Freed a weak smile. The vigilante returned it, placing a comforting hand on the man's shoulder and casting a calming spell on him.

"I'll be back in a moment," He said, using the same runes to change his voice that he had used before, only speaking softer. "I'll help you down, I just need to deal with her, first."

After Laxus gave him a small nod, Freed flew up from the balcony and back up towards the penthouse. Angel had looked over the edge of the balcony, assuredly because she hadn't heard a crashing sound, and Freed got great amounts of satisfaction at seeing her eyes widen as he slowly, threateningly raised himself so that he was eye level with the witch of a woman. His wings were spread wide, his hair rising as power coursed through it, and for the first time he felt himself fighting off his demonic form rather him calling it fourth.

This was the most angry he had been as a vigilante.

"Agony," He casted, the words forming on her stomach in the runic language he had grown to control. She doubled over, clutching at the words causing her pain. "Look at me," He demanded, Angel ignoring her. "Look at me!" He roared.

The woman slowly looked towards Freed, the pain evident in her eyes. He had no sympathy for her; not only had she tried to kill the man Freed care for more than most, her enthusiasm to become part of her families business told her she had no morals. If she wasn't willing to show mercy to others, she shouldn't expect it given to her.

"Tell your stupid little family, and whatever little minions you manage to brainwash, that man is protected," He demanded. "And his protection has more power than your darkest thoughts could imagine."

He turned his back on the woman and flew back down towards Laxus, knowing that the spell would wear off eventually. If his treatment of Racer and his men hadn't been enough to ward them off hurting Laxus, leaving her in pain for around an hour or so would make it clear that he was one of few people that were off limits.

Landing on the balcony, he felt his anger dissipating. He cancelled the spell that he had placed on Laxus, knowing that he had already calmed down to a degree where he wouldn't be hysterical. He wasn't shaking any more, and just seemed to be looking at his hands.

"Sorry for leaving you here," He apologised, his warped voice sounding odd when speaking so calmly. "So, Mr Dreyar, are you going to become my first regular customer."

"You got a problem with that," Laxus grinned a little. Freed assumed he was performing. "Thought I was a pretty good victim."

"I never said anything on the contrary. You make a very good damsel in distress," He made sure to put emphasis on the damsel part, knowing it would annoy his colleague. "Although I would rather you just be a damsel, as I'd rather you not keep having to remove you from the distress."

"Ain't a damsel," Laxus protested, pouting slightly. Freed laughed at this, and Laxus joined in. "Sorry for putting you out of the way."

"It was no bother," Freed sighed, sitting on the chair opposite Laxus. "You know that family is dangerous. Why keep putting yourself in situations like this?"

"No fucker else will. If we go to the police, they'll say I'm talking out of my ass. If I can get a confession, all the shit they're doing might stop," Laxus sighed slightly, leaning back in his chair. "Or at least it'll make them pay attention."

Freed thought for a moment. Both his vigilante persona and his actual self could see the logic in this, and knowing Laxus as well as he did, he knew that Laxus would cling to that logic until he either got a confession that couldn't be denied, or he died trying. Something that was becoming more and more likely the more he dealt with the Oración Seis. And, given the distance that was forming between Freed and Laxus, it was possible that Freed might not know the next time Laxus would get himself held at gunpoint.

"What exactly do you need from them?" He asked, though knew the answer.

"Footage of them confessing to doing all the illegal shit. Weapons trading, drug trafficking and pretty much everything you can think of. Need to make sure people know it's them without a doubt, and then I'll leave 'em alone."

"I'll get it for you," Freed said, voice stern. Laxus looked up, face shocked and confused. "Give me two weeks, I'll get an irrefutable confession, I'll get it to you. My condition, don't put yourself in danger until at least the two weeks are over."

"Seriously?" Laxus asked, voice shocked. Freed nodded. "Yeah, sure. You think you can do that?"

"What good am I if I can't stop the villains of this city?"

They both laughed with each other, and Freed couldn't help but be reminded how this easy conversation was lacking normally. He could no longer talk to Laxus in this way when he wasn't adorning his costume, and that left a small amount of dull hollowness. He half hoped that a reminder of what he was missing would give him the kick to bring their friendship back to what it had once been. But he knew it wouldn't happen.

As he opened his mouth to speak, a light turned on. The light of the room that was connected to the balcony they were sitting on. He had forgotten that someone would actually be sleeping in that room and, by the look of Laxus' face, he had forgotten also.

"We should probably leave," Laxus chuckled, eyeing the curtained doors. "You can take me down, right."

"Of course," Freed said with a small smirk, before lifting Laxus up bridal style. Laxus gave him a half glare as the wings spouted from his back. "What, how else do you expect a hero to lift his damsel in distress to safety."

"Bastard."

Freed watched as Laxus laughed in his arms, and he slowly started to move his wings to bring them into the air. Bringing him down was a pretty smooth process, he had gotten a lot of practice doing the same thing while attending to the victims of the fire at Blue Pegasus hotel. It took less than a minute to bring Laxus back down to the ground, which was enough time to allow him to come to a conclusion that he was certain of.

He missed Laxus' company. A lot.

-~~~-

Thursday August 15th, 2019, Late Afternoon.

A loud groan left Laxus' lips as he leant back in his desk chair, running a hand over his face.

He was exhausted, brain hardly functioning as he looked at the monitor before him, which seemed to be more a blurry mass of black and white rather than a page of text that he had just written. He had been in work nearly an hour before his shift and started and should have left over two hours ago. But, despite the voice telling him to go home and relax for the night, he was still sat at his office as the sun started to fall.

It had nearly been two weeks since he had been saved by the Vigilante for the second time, and the man had promised to get evidence against the Oración Seis that would finish his story. When he had returned home that night, he found himself questioning why he had happily given such an important task to a stranger, but there was a level of trust he had for the man that he couldn't explain.

Maybe because he had saved Laxus' life twice.

But as the days had passed after the deal had been struck, Laxus had heard nothing. He felt useless, depending on someone he hardly knew to do something so important. He was going to keep to his side of the deal and leave the Oración Seis, and instead had put his focus onto finishing a pile of fluff stories that he had been putting off. That was why he had been doing so much overtime work, so if the Vigilante couldn't end up getting the evidence, Laxus would have enough stories to publish immediately so he could make up for lost time in his investigation.

Also, because, every time he was left to his thoughts, he found himself feeling nauseous at the idea he might have missed his chance entirely with Freed and ruined their friendship.

What the hell had he been thinking? It wasn't as if he had drunk to the point where he had lost all sense, so why had he thought trying to kiss Freed was a good idea. Their friendship had been solid, and one of the better things in Laxus' life, and although he had some kind of feelings for the other man, he wouldn't be heartbroken if they never started to date. But now, not only was that seemingly off the cards, but also their friendship had been damaged to the point where they couldn't act normal around each other.

It was bullshit. As was the fact he was acting like an angsty fucking teenager.

For god's sake, less than a month ago he had nearly fallen to his death and yet his mind was always occupied by Freed; was he so co-dependant? No, that wasn't it. But he and Freed had instantly clicked when they had met and, after their partnership had started, they had been there for each other indefinitely. And now, they felt just like colleagues. It was shit, but Laxus knew he couldn't complain unless he tried to fix the situations.

But what was he meant to do? Laxus couldn't talk to people, he's always been socially shit. And whenever a friendship had been damaged before, he hadn't cared enough to fix it. But he couldn't imagine living without Freed, so something needed to happen. Maybe he was hoping Freed would take the first step, but he was just as stubborn as Laxus.

So for now, he would just distract himself by diving into work.

He lifted his mug of coffee to his lips and drained it, leaning forward and narrowing his eyes at the monitor, hoping that the blurriness of his eyes would lessen slightly. It half worked, at least he could half read what was written, which was all he needed to finish this story and end his work for the night.

Minimising the text document, he opened his email and started to scroll through his imbox. Freed had finished working on the image for his story, so Laxus thought that, if nothing else, he should format the file before leaving.

After he found the email containing the image needed, he leant against his hand and allowed a yawn to split apart his lips. This was probably the latest he had worked since becoming part of the Raijinshuu and sitting alone in the office for such a long time was starting to weigh on him. Still, if the Vigilante didn't manage to get a confession from the family, he needed all the time he could to work on them again. More so now, considering the family would definitely know him now, so regular confession baiting couldn't be done anymore.

That's what he kept telling himself as he sat back, pulled out his phone and opened his music app, fully intending to procrastinate.

This continued for a short while, as Laxus fell into the trap of mindlessly browsing through all his social media, until Laxus' computer monitor lit up alongside the sound of his email chime coming from the speaker. He leant forward, knowing that only his team and bosses would email his work address, and that never happened at such a late time. So, whoever was emailing him, probably had something urgent to say.

After scrolling to the top of his inbox, he sat up straight. The sender's address was simply 'UnregisteredA' and it was accompanied with the subject line: Needed Evidence.

It was pretty obvious that the email was from the Vigilante, but he still couldn't trust the stranger entirely. He opened it to see that it only contained a video file alongside the short message of “I’m sure that this will be enough for your story. V”. Assuming the V stood for vigilante, Laxus felt a small bubble of excitement from in his stomach as he brought his mouse to the video filed and started to play it.

The video was a little shaky and seemed to be from some kind of bodycam. In the middle of the image was Midnight, Cobra and Racer; three unmistakable members of the Oración Seis, the most recognisable members too. Holy shit, if there was anything close to a confession on this, they wouldn't be able to deny it at all.

Looking at the greater picture of the video, Laxus felt himself getting more excited. They were in a warehouse, surrounded by large crates and containers. The family members hadn't yet noticed the Vigilante yet, and they had just opened one of the many crates that surrounded them. When Cobra pulled out the contents of the crate, Laxus was gifted an unhindered view of a weapon. A gun that was no where near being legal, and now Laxus had footage of the most famous member of the family inspecting it like an expert.

"You sure we can't jack up the price?" Racer asks, and Laxus felt his grin getting wider. "Feel like we could get more."

"I agree," Midnight continued, also picking up a gun. "We have a good product; we deserve a good price."

"Neither of you know what the hell you're talking about," Cobra hissed slightly, placing the gun back into the crate. "Our clients are volatile, we discussed a price and we will stick to it. Besides, if we become civil then this can become a more regular deal. That's when we start getting the price we need."

Laxus leant back in his chair, laughing slightly at the footage before him. In the act. The vigilante had just given him a recording of them in the fucking act! There was no way in hell that they could deny their actions once this went public; discussing business deals, holding the weapons, talking about how this wasn't an individual event. All he needed to do was publish this and their crappy little business was going to fall and crumble.

The blonde continued watching the footage, and grinned as he saw all three criminals turn when the Vigilante made his presence knows. They all looked at the camera with wide eyes, and damn Laxus wanted to make it the background of his computer.

A moment later, all three men had picked up guns and were aiming at the Vigilante. From the odd camera angle, Laxus could make out the Vigilante raising his hand and forming a barrier made out of the same energy that had captured the men when they first met. He Vigilante stormed forward towards the three criminals, and Laxus saw that both of his hands had turned into the demonic form as he got closer. It was then that the camera cut off.

As much as Laxus would have wanted to see the vigilante beat the shit out of the bastards – because he really did – he was still elated with the results. This was perfect.

He leant forward and quickly opened the reply window to the email, unable to stop his face splitting gin. He knew that it wasn't likely that the Vigilante would reply to anything he sent, but the brilliance of the evidence he had gotten deserved at least a thank you.

To: UnregisteredA

Holy shit man, this is brilliant. There's no way these assholes are gonna be able to get out of it once I publish it. Thank you so much.

He watched the footage a few more times, revelling in it. He and his team had spent months trying to get enough on these bastards to bring them down, and now he had it. Gift wrapped by the hero that had saved him, no less. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins and he had to fight the temptation to work on integrating the footage into the main story immediately. But he couldn't, as incriminating the evidence was, he still needed to get this right or his professionalism might be called into question.

The Raijinshuu would work in it tomorrow. Fuck, it had been so long since they had been in this position, taking down someone so large. The buzz that'd be in the office in the morning, the determination they would all share, the expression that would paint itself onto Freed's face when he found out. It was all making Laxus' stomach flip in anticipation.

Just as he felt his mood drop slightly at the last though, his email chime rang out again.

From: UnregisteredA

It was my pleasure. I apologise for the footage cutting off so suddenly, I only just realised the extent of what they were doing and I let my anger get the better of me. The camera broke half way through the fight.

Laxus grinned, looking at the email with a slightly disbelieving expression. Not only had the guy given him the smoking gun to the story, but he had also replied to his email in a somewhat conversational way. The blonde knew that this was something that couldn't happen all the time; to have the email of a vigilante at all was unheard of, but to catch the most famous vigilante in recent history in a conversational mood was something he couldn't waste.

To: UnregisteredA

Don't apologise, I got what I needed. You must have gotten pretty into it for the camera to break though.

The reply was almost instant.

From: UnregisteredA

You must remember that I have the ability to transform parts of my body into a demonic form. For the first time, I fully transformed my entire body. The camera was thrown to the floor and smashed, though the footage obviously was intact.

To: UnregisteredA

So you can go full demon? That's pretty badass. Wish I could have seen you beat the hell out of them. Thanks for the footage though. Maybe you can show me your demon side next time you need to save me.

Laxus types with a smile, absently noting that having a conversation with the vigilante had the same easy, free-flowing feeling that he felt when he talked with Freed. Well, at least before the awkwardness of the kiss that had almost happened between them. Now, whenever they spoke, it was always forced and seemed to Laxus as if they were doing it out of obligation. He missed being able to speak to his friends like this, there was something calming about it.

From: UnregisteredA

I'd rather you not get involved in criminals at all. But I suppose, if I had to save you, I could show off a little. For such a pretty damsel.

Laxus rolled his eyes, though felt a smirk roll onto his features. The taunting cocky attitude reminded him of two things. One, why he first found the guy to be hot in the first place. And two, Freed. He tried to focus on the former point, because thinking about Freed would remind him how messed up their relationship had become as of late. He needed to distract himself from that, and right now he had a perfect way to do it.

To: UnregisteredA

I'm honoured and insulted. Demon you better be worth it.

To: UnregisteredA

So, I know it's a little odd to ask, given how we met, and we've only actually seen each other twice, but d'you mind if we keep talking? Been going through a little shit and you remind me of a guy who I kinda fucked up with. A distraction would be nice.

The moment he pressed sent in his second email, he felt nauseous. He probably shouldn't have half-vented his feelings about Freed to a guy who he barely knew, and then openly admit he wanted to form a relationship with the vigilante simply as a distraction, but he was desperate. He missed speaking to Freed like this and found himself craving it, and although it wasn't exactly the same as it was with Freed, this was a close second.

He was just about to log off and forget his stupid suggestion, when his email tone went off again. He looked down and found himself smiling at the response he had gotten.

From: UnregisteredA

That would be nice. A distraction would be good for me too.

-~~~-

Saturday September 7th, 2019, Early Evening.

"Incoming call from Laxus: Persona."

The female voice of his earpiece spoke robotically into his ear, informing him that Laxus had called him; or, more accurately, he had called his vigilante persona. It was becoming a regular occurrence and as Freed raised his hand to his ear and activated his voice changing runes, he felt a small smile paint itself onto his face.

After speaking with Laxus through email for about a week, the blonde had asked for the Vigilante's phone number. Freed hadn't replied immediately, knowing Laxus would recognise his actual phone number immediately but also not wanting to risk stopping his new form of communication with Laxus. He had pulled out his old phone that he had yet to dispose of, brought a cheap contract that gave him unlimited calls, and given that number to Laxus. He transferred all calls from Laxus into his normal phone and could now take any calls from the blonde while on patrol. Balancing himself on the edge of the building he stood on, he took the call.

"Mr Dreyar," He spoke in his demonic tone. "A pleasure to hear your voice again."

He heard a small laugh come through his ear as he looked down the alleyways under him. He had heard through his police radio hack that drug dealers had been frequenting this backstreet, and that they were dealing exclusively with a drug that the police called Spitfire. He hadn't been able to fully understand how bad this drug was, but they were treating it with the same gravitas as Crack, so he would try and stop the dealers whenever possible.

"Nice to hear your echoed bullshit voice," Laxus chuckled, and Freed felt his smile grow. "You ever gonna let me know anything about you?"

Freed let out a small laugh; Laxus had asked a pretty loaded question without realising it. "Maybe one day."

He watched with narrowed eyes as a young man came down the alleyway and rested against the streetlamp placed there. He was wearing a baseball cap and a large coat despite the pretty warm weather, so it was a pretty good guess that he was the drug dealer the police wanted. He would keep watch for now, not wanting to act before he could be sure.

"Look forward to that day," Laxus' voice was slightly tinny through his earpiece. "You on patrol?"

"Of course," Freed nodded, despite being on a call with the man. He would only answer the phone in his vigilante persona when on patrol, just in case Laxus decided to make him his next story and wanted to track his phone. "And you?"

"At home," Laxus said, and Freed thought he heard a yawn somewhere between the words. "Just had a pizza. Highlight of my day."

Frowning a little, Freed looked up from the potential drug dealer. Laxus wasn't one to be openly forlorn, but his relationship with Freed's vigilante self allowed Laxus to be more open about how he was feeling. He suspected that, as they didn't exactly know each other personally, Laxus felt as though he could be open about his feelings as they weren't close enough for repercussions to happen. If Laxus didn't have to face his emotions directly, then he forget that he had allowed himself to be so vulnerable.

Still, the two men had been working in the office throughout the day. They had already released the Oración Seis story over two weeks ago and had been dealing with interview requests from other media outlets since. The media frenzy was dying down, meaning they had been given time to catch up on their normal work.

But the issue that made Freed pause was that Laxus hadn't shown any negativity while he worked.

In fact, he still seemed to be riding off the high of his report. The Oración Seis had been pretty much obliterated, as were their clients, and the police were investigating pretty much everything the family had done in the last ten years. The Raijinshuu had been given a large amount of credit for shining a light onto this issue, the video that Freed had taken had gone viral, and all four of them had gained a pretty big career boost. Laxus seemed to enjoy everything that had happened, so to hear him acting like he was concerned Freed.

"Is something wrong?" He asked, looking back down to the alleyway. "You usually sound as joyful as a kid in a candy store."

"Asshole," Laxus chuckled a little at the sarcasm. "And I don't know. Just feel a little crap right now?"

"Did something happen?" Freed found himself asking before he could stop himself.

"Nothing big or anything, just kind of a rough day at work?"

Freed frowned, either Laxus was lying or he was considerably better at hiding his emotions that Freed had given him credit for. He tried to shake off the feeling that he had missed something bothering Laxus by glaring down at the alleyway again, watching as someone also covered completely walked down. Perhaps focusing on the potential drug dealing would make him feel less responsible for Laxus' mood.

This was something that immediately was disproven when the newcomer to the alley walked straight past the supposed drug dealer and to the other side of the building. So there went the distraction then.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He offered, keeping his eyes down.

"You some kind of therapist now?" Laxus joked slightly.

"How do you know that isn't what I do as a day job?" Freed retorted with a grin.

"Good point," Laxus sounded as though he was smiling as he spoke. "It wasn't like anything bad happened, not really. It's just, I don't know… you know when we started emailing and I said I needed to distract myself from something. I'm starting to think that maybe I shouldn't have stayed distracted for so long, 'cause it ain't fun."

"I thought you enjoyed your work."

Freed knew that his statement was weak and unhelpful, but he felt a certain level of guilt. Assuming he was right in his guess Laxus wanted a distraction from the deterioration of their relationship, it felt as though he was spying on his friend.

"It ain't the job," Laxus seemed to sigh. "The guy who sits across from me, basically my partner. I've kinda wanted, I don't know, just something to happen with him. And it nearly did, and then it didn't, and we haven't been talked about it since it nearly happened. And that just feels shit."

The tone in which Laxus was speaking told Freed that this was something that he had wanted to get off his chest for quite some time, and Freed couldn't say he didn't feel the same way.

"And the worse thing is, it just feels weird around him now," Laxus continued. "Like, I used to be closer to him than anyone else, and now it feels like we have to avoid talking about anything serious just in case we start talking about the time I nearly kissed the fucker. So it's just, one stupid misjudged thing I did when I was kinda drunk and I pushed him away. And now it's gone on for so fucking long that it'll be more awkward if we do talk about it now. And it just hit me today how shit it all feels."

"What happened today?"

He wasn't proud of himself for asking, but Freed couldn't help himself. Although he missed the easy conversation that occurred between him and Laxus, he also had felt the absence of their serious conversations. He had never been altogether confident in his emotions, and Freed had often had to help him when he was vulnerable.

The issue now was that Laxus was vulnerable because of him. He could either help him without Laxus knowing it was him or leave him in the state of emotional hell. It was the sadness in Laxus' voice that made Freed's choice for him.

"I just looked at him and though, holy shit," Laxus confessed. "He was just so… fucking perfect. Like, a guy can be handsome or hot or whatever, and you can appreciate it then move on. Like, I know you're pretty good looking, but knowing that isn't gonna change my life. But with him, when I was looking at him, he just personified everything. He was handsome, sexy, beautiful, soft, rugged, intimidating and inviting and fucking everything. It's like, I had the gold standard of men and I fucked it up."

"You can't be sure of that," Freed spoke softly. "Maybe the reason he hasn't addressed the issue is the same reason you haven't. Maybe he just doesn't know how."

"Well, the bastards just as stubborn as me. Pretty big achievement," Laxus laughed, and Freed found himself joining in on it. "But in that moment, I just wanted to scream that we need to cut the bullshit, we should be together. You ever felt like that?"

"Yes," Freed admitted, blushing slightly. Even if he only said one word, it was the first time he had outwardly admitted his feelings for the blonde. "I guess I do."

"You got any ideas on what the hell we should do about it?" Laxus asked, and Freed almost laughed at just how appropriate the use of the word 'we' was in the situation. He didn't laugh though, instead he ran a hand through his hair as he sat back on the top of the roof.

"We should do what men like us should always do, I suppose," Freed sighed. "Get over our damn selves and follow our instincts."

"Yeah," Laxus said, and Freed could guess he nodded slightly. "Yeah, I think I might have needed to hear someone tell me that. Thanks. You don't mind if leave ya right now, do ya? I'm gonna go, do it now before I lose the balls. Thanks man."

The line went dead before Freed could reply, and a swirl of emotions filled the vigilante's stomach. The main question attacking his mind was if he had the right to give any suggestions to Laxus, but he had tried to be as ambiguous in his advice as he could. He didn't directly say for Laxus to ask him out – if that was what he was going to do – as he had just said for the man to follow his instincts. And he hadn't lead him to that conclusion, all he did was ask the questions that would allow Laxus to get his troubles off his mind.

And what was he meant to do? Laxus was a closed book, and if Freed hadn't shown him sympathy and a listening ear in that moment, the blonde would have closed up even more than normal. He was clearly hurting, so cutting himself off from his emotions entirely would be the worse thing to do.

'Shit.' Freed thought as he looked down. The dealer was gone.

"Incoming call from Laxus Dreyar."

The sudden voice in his ear informing him that Laxus was calling him, rather than his vigilante persona, made Freed jolt where he sat. As he dispelled the runes on his arm that changed his voice, he realised that they hadn't called each other since before their almost kiss. It wasn't like it was a regular occurrence before, but he found himself engulfed in a comforting sense of familiarity at the fact it was happening again.

"Laxus," He greeted in his actual voice after accepting the call. "Is something wrong."

"No," Laxus said. "Well, yeah actually. I'm sick of avoiding it. We nearly kissed, it happened. And honestly, I want to kiss you. A hell of a lot. And every fucking time I see you, there's something that screams at me to kiss you. I wish I had that night, I wish I had the day after, and I've been wishing I had ever since. And that's it.

"So, I know we've got this party to celebrate the article, and I know you ain't a big party guy, but if you want then maybe we can go together. If you don't want to, then obviously that's fine, but I'd really fucking love it you could be my date. So, yeah. Balls in your court now."

Freed paused, unable to stop himself from smiling. He had always suspected Laxus was putting on a slight act with his vigilante self, like he was showing his better side. But this was the true Laxus: a slightly socially awkward man that, although he might not be the most in tune with his emotions, he had the courage to stick to his convictions and put himself out there no matter the risk it had to him. This was the man he had fallen for.

"It would be my honour," Freed replied.

As Laxus fumbled through an expression of gratitude accompanied with a lot of unneeded profanity – something that made Freed wish this was happening face to face, as Laxus would be incredibly endearing to look at – the vigilante made a promise to himself. He'd been lying to the blonde for too long. If they were to have a relationship, Laxus needed to know who he was.

On the night of their date, he would have to reveal himself as Magnolia's vigilante.

-~~~-

Friday September 13th, 2019, Early Evening.

"Hey, sorry I'm a little late. There was a little- holy shit."

Laxus was standing at Freed's door as he cut himself off, resisting the urge to let his mouth fall agape. Looking up at Freed, he felt his breath hitch and his heart swell. He was dressed in a dark blue suit, his hair tied low in a style that Laxus had never seen, and his face blessed with the softest of smiles as he looked up towards Laxus. The blonde found himself unable to point out a single flaw on the man before him, not that he was going to try to.

He must have been quiet for too long, because Freed raised an eyebrow and his smile took on an amused quality. Laxus felt himself blushing slightly as he shook his head, trying to remove himself from the trance that Freed had put him in.

"Sorry. You look great, that's all," He mumbled, leaning forward and pressing his lips to Freed's cheek. Only after did he realise what he had done, and blushed again. "Sorry, you don't mind do you?"

"No, it was good," Freed smiled, Laxus' hear swelling. "And you look good too."

"Thanks," Laxus smiled.

He found it hard to believe that he looked good when compared to the man before him. Laxus himself was also dressed in a suit, white with golden trimmings and a black shirt beneath it. He knew he looked good in his formal attire, but Freed seemed like he belonged in the clothes he wore, and damn did he look good. The blonde now kicked himself for missing all the company dinners that Freed had attended, as each dinner would have given Laxus the chance to see Freed looking as handsome as he was in that moment.

Though, Laxus suspected Freed would look good in anything he wore.

The photographer stepped from the threshold of his apartment and locked the door behind him. Laxus smiled as they walked down the hallways of Freed's building and towards the elevator. They didn't hold hands, nor did they link arms, but the occasional brushings of elbows and knuckles was enough to make Laxus giddy.

After he had taken the leap and asked Freed onto this date, with help from the Vigilante, it seemed as though his relationship with Freed had become something more normal again. They could speak together with ease, were happy to go on assignments together whereas before they would have been somewhat hesitant, and Laxus found himself enjoying his work a hell of a lot more than he when they had been awkward around each other. The only difference was an added subtle flirtation between them; something that didn't go missed by Bickslow and Evergreen.

Bickslow hadn't been subtle with his 'at last' attitude when they had confessed that they would be going to the party as each other's date.

As they entered the elevator, Laxus found himself amused by his own awkwardness. The odd flirtatious comment or teasing had been easy during their work hours, but now they were faced with the actual date he was acting clumsy around Freed. It was fine to be nervous about this though, it meant he was taking their date seriously.

"Did you manage to talk your grandfather out of making you give a speech?" Freed asked, making Laxus groan.

"He said he wouldn't," The blonde spoke with a small pout. "But he had this fucking look on his face. Think he's just gonna make me do it anyway and told me he wouldn't so I wont plan it out and I'll make an ass outta myself."

"He wouldn't do that," At Freed's words, Laxus looked towards him with a raised eyebrow. He still looked beautiful. "Point taken. If he does, we'll just dig up some blackmail on him."

Laxus grinned, biting his tongue slightly as he fought the temptation to explain that the mischievous side of the photographer was one of the things he loved about the man. As socially awkward as he may be, even he knew that the word love shouldn't be said on the first date; not even if it was contained to a single attribute of the man. Or, more specifically, multiple attributes of the man that covered pretty much everything about him.

So avoiding the subject of love was for the best.

A soft, easy atmosphere now forming around them both, they left the apartment building and walked towards the limousine that had been organised for them both; the Raijinshuu were the guests of honour, after all. The car was meant for all four of the team, but Ever and Bickslow had sacrificed their seats so that Freed and Laxus could spend some of their night alone.

As they walked to the car, Laxus found his mind wonder slightly to the Vigilante. He couldn't be sure if this date would even be happening if the man hadn't told him to stop putting the conversation off.

It was odd. The moment he had asked Freed on the date, he not only felt a sense of relief from finally talking his relationship further with Freed, he also seemed to lack the sense of dependence of the vigilante that he had grown accustomed to. The phone calls that, at that point, had occurred at least every other day now didn't happen, and the last time he had contacted the Vigilante was because he wanted to thank the man a final time. That had happened over a week ago.

Somehow, it felt as though the vigilante was some kind of imaginary friend. Now that he had finished with his issues with Freed, he didn't need the vigilante anymore.

"You okay?" Laxus looked up at Freed's voice, seeing the photographer holding open the car door.

"Yeah, sorry. Lost in thought," He sent an appeasing grin to the man as he closed the distance between them both, climbing into the vehicle as Freed held the door for him. When Freed sat beside him, the blonde smirked. "So you're gonna be a gentleman tonight, then?"

"Somebody has to be," Freed smirked. "And I can't imagine a ruffian such as yourself being able to step up in that regard."

As Laxus opened his mouth to retort the obvious teasing, he felt his right hand be lifted up slightly by his date and soft cold lips press themselves against his knuckled. The blonde paused where he sat, slowly looking down to see the eyes of his date that were somehow both angelic and demonic at the same time.

The feeling of Freed's lips against his skin had sent a shiver around Laxus' body, and Freed clearly knew it. he was just glad that the teasing expression on the photographer's face became nothing more, because hearing a joke at his expense from his date may shut him down entirely.

Driving to the company building where the party was happening didn't take long, or at least it didn't seem like a long time as once the conversation started up again it didn't stop. Laxus found himself incredibly glad that he could be like this with Freed again, his distraction in the Vigilante having made him forgot just how much a hole had been created when Freed wasn't fully in his life. Being able to enjoy the man's company so openly, it was perfect, and the idea that they could become more intimate without losing that friendship sent electricity through Laxus' body. It was a thrilling possibility, and one Laxus was determined to make real.

When they arrived outside of the office, Laxus made sure to get out of the car first and hold the door open for Freed. The photographer may have been joking before, but Laxus would be damned if he let the man think he was right. Freed simply chuckled and smiled at his actions.

"The perfect gentleman," He assured Laxus, who smirked at the idiocy of his actions and the fact that Freed was willing to play along.

Entering the building, they saw that the desks of the ground floor had been removed and replaced to make the room look as though it was a ballroom. Given that it had been a fully functioning news room earlier in the day, the change was shocking and impressive. Laxus and Freed both walked in side by side, the soft music of the jazz band setting a pleasant atmosphere as they looked around their colleagues.

Some people acknowledged them, some people congratulated them on their article and the effect it was having, and some people didn't notice them. In Laxus' mind, this was a victory. He would much rather have this kind of reception than some cringe inducing applause as they came in; and he suspected Freed felt the same way.

"Thank you asking me to come here," Freed spoke almost softly. "I know I would have been here anyway, but it feels better being here with you, rather than just alongside you. If truth be told, I missed you. And I'm glad we're trying this."

Laxus felt his heart swell slightly at the confession. "I'm glad too."

With a small burst of courage given to him by Freed's words, Laxus leant down slightly and pressed his lips against Freed's. It was a split-second kiss, chaste and innocent, but it sent a flurry of passion throughout the blonde's body that made him crave for more. Despite it being a cliché, he felt like he had been struck like lighting in the few short moments their lips had touched.

When he pulled back, both he and Freed were blushing. It was subtle, but the redness of the other mans cheeks made Laxus smile softly. He could only hope that he was see that slightly dazed expression on Freed's face again after being the cause of it.

"Wow," Laxus whispered, smiling. "Pretty fucking good."

"Yeah," Freed agreed, also smiling. "We should make a habit of doing that."

Laxus laughed, nodding slightly as he stood up straight again. He found his eyes couldn't leave Freed as they both calmed slightly, standing in the middle of the room. Freed must have got control over his blush before Laxus could – the blonde could still feel his cheeks burning – and he let out a small laugh.

"I'll get us some drinks," Freed offered, Laxus nodding. As Freed walked Laxus, he placed a hand on his arm and Laxus' skin tingled despite the two layers of clothing. He frowned slightly as Freed spoke again. "Good luck."

The blonde frowned at Freed's words, and pivoted so he could look to whatever Freed was speaking of. He let out a slightly defeated laugh as he saw exactly what Freed was wishing him luck over; Mirajane was walking towards him with quite possibly the largest smile on her face humanly possible. She was known to be a pretty big gossip and, as they hadn't been secretive about their kiss, it was obvious that Mirajane had seen it and had a lot of questions. And Freed had left Laxus to her mercy bastard.

He would have done the same thing, though. The guy was perfect for him.

The moment Mirajane had closed the distance between them both, the questions started to come. When had it happened? Was this a date? Was this their first date? Had they secretly been together for years and was that why Freed had denied her offers to set them up? Laxus would have to ask Freed about that last one later, but he couldn't do it when the barrage of questions continued. How she managed to speak so much without losing her breath astounded Laxus.

Although he tried to answer as many questions as he could, it was hard to remember all he had asked. Still, she seemed too preoccupied by the fact that he and Freed were on a date to care all that much that he had missed out some of her questions.

As she calmed herself slightly, Laxus allowed his gaze to drift slightly. Freed had picked up two glasses of what Laxus assumed was champagne and was waiting by bar by himself. At first Laxus assumed he was waiting there just so he could avoid the force of nature and her endless questioning, but he could see that Freed's smile had slipped slightly and he looked almost panicked. Well, as panicked as a man so in control of his emotions could be. He excused himself form Mirajane before she could say anything and walked towards his date with a small expression of concern on his face.

"You okay?" He asked, Freed's head snapping up to him. "You look a little… on edge."

"I'm fine," He said, voice wavering slightly. That concerned Laxus. "Sorry, do you mind if we go to the office for a moment, I need to talk to you about something."

Laxus frowned, but nodded, and they both made their way to the staircase. The short walk to their private office filled Laxus with apprehension as to what had happened in the few moments that would make the usually unwavering man suddenly calm up and ask to speak in private. His immediate reaction was that maybe Freed had realised after the kiss that he didn't want anything romantic with him, and even though it was an unconfirmed thought it still hurt like a bitch.

When they entered the office, Freed pulled his desk chair out so that it was next to Laxus' desk, a silent invitation for the blonde to sit. The blonde did so, speaking before he could give Freed the chance to beat him to it.

"This isn't… you ain't gonna tell me you regret coming as my date, right?" Laxus asked, willing his voice not to break. Freed's head snapped up again, and he seemed shocked at the suggestion.

"No. Go no. Being here with you, its wonderful. In fact, it's practically the opposite," Freed assured Laxus, and the blonde felt his anxiety drop considerably. "When we kissed, it made me aware of how much I want something with you, and that I'd happily be with you for as long as possible. But if that's going to happen, I need to be honest with you in a way that I haven't been for a long time now."

Laxus didn't restrain his frown. Although to hear that Freed wanted to have an actual relationship with him was fantastic – it really was – the idea that Freed had been lying to him made him nervous. He couldn't think of anything his photographer could have bene lying about, certainly not something that would be so important that Freed would feel the need to confess it before he could have any kind of romance with him. The lack of knowing gave Laxus a sense of dread in his stomach, and he silently motioned for his date to continue, not yet trusting his voice.

"I'm not quite sure how to say it, so I think I'll just show you," When Freed spoke, his voice was almost cautious.

The photographer slowly removed his blazer and placed it on the back of his chair, then rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to reveal his left forearm. Although Laxus wanted to voice his confusion – there was nothing irregular about the part of his body he was showing – he trusted that this was something important enough for Freed to take seriously, so he kept his mouth shut.

Without either man speaking, glowing purple shapes appeared on Freed's skin. They were the same shapes that Laxus had come to relate to the vigilante. A moment later, his arms started to mutate exactly the same way the vigilante's did, and his hand turned to the exact same claw.

What the fuck?

He looked up to see that Freed's eyes were glowing a soft purple, which died down as the transformation ended. The expression Freed wore as he looked back up to Laxus – a look of reassignment, shown through a sad smile and accepting eyes – told Laxus everything he needed to know about what he had just seen.

Freed was the vigilante.

"Shit," He whispered, his mind racing as he caught up with all that would mean.

He hadn't been saved by a stranger; he had been saved by his best friend. The night of the fire he hadn't just misremembered Freed wearing a coat exactly the same that the vigilante had, he had actually seen him adorning the man's clothing. The easy conversation that he had shared with the vigilante hadn't just reminded him of the conversations he had with Freed, they were an extension to the conversations he could have with Freed.

"It was you?" He asked, looking towards Freed.

"Yes. I'm sorry," Freed's voice was soft, almost as if he were trying not to spook Laxus. "I know I shouldn't have kept it a secret from you, certainly not after we met one another while I was acting in that form. And I feel as though I have manipulated you into asking me coming here, and I do feel guilty about that."

It was now Laxus' turn to snap his head up. He hadn't considered the fact that Freed had some kind of influence on their date becoming a reality, and even now he thought about the possibility he couldn't say that the Vigilante – or Freed – had actually manipulated him in any way. It wasn't as if he had bene probing to get to the topic of his love life, and then demanded that he asked his photographer out. All he had done was say that Laxus should follow his instincts, and Laxus instincts were his and his alone.

"You didn't manipulate me," Laxus assured him. "Just gave me the kick in the ass I needed."

"Still," Freed's voice was still hesitant. "I did interfere while you didn't know who you were-"

"Freed, I wanted to ask you out the first time we worked together. I wanted to kiss you that night, and I still do," Laxus' voice was more certain that it had been before. "I'm shocked, and it's weird. Might take some time for me to get used to it, but I will. This is still a date, and I still want to be with you."

"Are you sure?" Freed asked, and Laxus nodded with a small smile.

"Definitely," Laxus assured him, and Freed smiled.

Laxus leant over and pressed another kiss onto the photographer's lips. The fire and electricity still filled him when their lips touched, and that was enough for him to be totally sure that this secret was nothing really, and that once he had gotten used to it, it would be like nothing had happened and their date could continue. He let his hand rest on the man's cheek in a small act of endearment, letting Freed know without a single doubt that he wasn't going to hold any grudge or anger about this.

But then, as he removed his hand from the man's soft skin, a thought occurred to him, and his cheeks suddenly burned a brilliant red.

"I said you were hot. I told you I thought the vigilante was hot a couple times. And I told the vigilante that I thought you were sexy," He said, his voice showing his embarrassment in the realisation. "And all the time, I was just talking about you."

"I'm afraid so," Freed said with a slight laugh. "Quite the ego boost, I must say."

"Fuck, you didn't need that," Laxus chuckled, running an embarrassed hand over his face as a groan left his lips. He let himself laugh though and looked towards his date again. "You asshole."

"I suppose so," Freed agreed. "Are you sure you're okay, I'd understand if you felt like you needed to think."

"I don't need time to think, Freed. I've been thinking for months now, and I'm fucking bored of it. You've always been the guy for him, and having you be the guy to save my life without me knowing isn't gonna change that," Laxus assured him, a grin forming on his lips. "Besides, who the hell else is the damsel in distress gonna fall for."

When Freed laughed at Laxus' joke, the blonde found his heart flutter again. The tension in the room that had occurred between the two of them had lessened now and for that, Laxus was thankful. The sound of Freed' genuine, unstrained laugh was something he often found himself craving and, due to its rarity, it was something he would always cherish.

He leant forward and pressed his lips against Freed's for a third time, becoming quickly addicted to it. This time, he lingered for a second and allowed himself to fully enjoy the sensation of Freed's cold, un-chapped lips against his own.

"But," He whispered as he pulled back. "Tell anyone I called myself a damsel in distress, I'm getting every embarrassing thing you've ever done on the front cover."

"Noted," Freed said with a laugh. "We should get back soon, though."

They both stood up and, as Freed went to walk to the door, Laxus grabbed his hand and pulled him back. He placed both hands on the man's waist and allowed their bodies to press against each other softly, staring at his date and hero in adoration. He slowly started to lean down again, intending to pull Freed into another kiss, this time something less than chaste. Just as their lips were going to push against each other, a loud knock came from the office door.

Laxus found himself cussing under his breath. Getting cut off before a kiss better not become a regular thing.

"You two better not be intending to spent the whole night in there," The voice was undeniably from Makarov, and it contained a teasing tone. "You might not be able to keep your hands off each other, but there's a crowd out there wanting a speech from the lead author of the most read story of the year."

"Fucking knew he would do that," Laxus hissed, only slightly wanting to throttle his grandfather. "Time to make a dick out of myself, I guess."

He tried to untangle himself from Freed but found himself still pushed against his date. He looked down at Freed with a soft, questioning look, to which Freed simply smiled in response. "If you think that it's your fate to fall for me, then it's my fate to keep my love safe, wouldn't you think?"

Before Laxus could reply, Freed leant upwards and pressed their lips together. They moved slowly, showing more passion than they had in the few instances that they had kissed before. Laxus wrapped his arms around Freed's waist closer as he slowly, tentatively licked the bottom of Freed's lips in a silent request for entrance. Freed's eagerness was obvious, as the next moment their kiss became more impassioned as their tongues batted against one another.

As they kissed, Laxus felt a tingling sensation overcome his body. It was unique, and as he opened his eyes, he saw that Freed was disintegrating into the purple shapes that his magic was made form. He then saw that he was doing the same things. His hero was saving him from embarrassment, it seemed.

Yeah, dating a vigilante who happened to be the love of his life was something he could get used to. definitely.

[thepatricktreestump]

Reinvent Love

~ a modern day Ryden fanfiction ~

A/N: Happy Pride Month. Here’s a gift from me to you.

               His face was different than I had initially remembered. It’s ridiculous to say, I mean, thousands of people have probably seen his face on billboards and on television screens and in advertisements and even commercials. He’s famous, worldwide rock singer, been on Broadway even, social media celebrity, and teenage heartthrob ever since he stepped on the scene. He was everything I could have been, and I was the one to throw it all away. He steps into the café in a button down dress shirt and that stupid smug smile on his face, cheery and handsome, going up to the counter and ordering a coffee. I didn’t expect to see him here. Ever since I had grown astray from the music business I had moved away to a small city, settled down in a simple apartment with my dogs and some friends, taken to studio work and low budget film productions, decided to find refuge and serenity in the gradual slow-down of my once ambitious and chaotic career. They had told me I had potential but I was too weak, too susceptible, too young. I had barely made it out of high school and I was doing interviews and playing shows across the country, signing my name on the possessions of kids half my age, plucking a bass guitar underneath the blinding stage lights. It was overwhelming. I’m almost glad I left.

               I hide behind my newspaper and try to pry my eyes off of him. I haven’t seen him in years, well, ever since the party. Fuck Adam Levine. I watch as he taps his foot on the floor, whistling a tune as he waits for his coffee, then chatting up the barista, a brunette girl with dazzling blue eyes. I thought he already had a wife. I snort, thinking that has never stopped him. He’s always been a charmer, a flirt, a goddamn beast of a man. He has gotten quite handsome, I do admit. Refined hair and shaven face, more toned, put together, sophisticated. I wonder how it feels to be the only one left. I only stayed for two albums then bailed, went onto create my own, then abandoned that too. I hate him for so many reasons. Maybe it’s because deep down inside I know I will never be as good as him. He’s always had the better voice, better image, better stage presence -it makes me bitter to reminisce. I take a sip of my own drink and then dip my head back down into the article I had been reading. Sure enough his name’s printed on the thing, nomination for a Tony award.

               He decides to sit right across from me three seats and two tables down, by the window, setting his coffee to rest and uncapping the lid, letting the steam waft up to let the drink cool. I’m careful to keep my face covered by the newspaper. Although, I doubt he would even recognize me. I’ve stopped shaving, let my hair grow out, gotten dagger earrings, and my face looks tired. I know because my ex-girlfriend had pointed all these things out to me once she dumped me, ranting on and on about how much I’ve stopped caring. She’s not wrong. I have. He takes a sip of his coffee and then pulls out his phone, swiping through what I assume is his social media feed. He has such a big ego sometimes I just want to slap him. He never used to be like this. He was quiet and shy and nervous, waiting for orders and fidgety, anxiety ridden and worry eyed, looking for direction and desperate for a chance to catch a break. He only ever wanted a way out, and he found it by joining us, abandoning his life for the road and the fame. It’s almost ironic he had stolen my dream from me, decided to take a leap of faith and slowly rise to the top. I remind myself that I’ve stopped caring. It’s easier to cope that way.

               I pretend to be interested in a sport’s column when his voice startles me. “Ryan?”

               I almost spill my coffee. I didn’t expect him to notice me, much less speak to me. “Uh hey,” I attempt to clear my throat, forcing a smile onto my face. It’s awkward. I’ve imagined this almost a thousand times even though I knew the likelihood of it ever happening would only be a thousand more. I guess I was wrong.

               “I hope you remember me,” he chuckles, inviting himself to sit down right across from me, one seat away. It makes my stomach sick.

               “How could I forget?” I try to widen my smile but it comes out misconstrued and broken. I decide to pick up my coffee cup and keep my lips occupied instead. It’s easier than having to carry on the conversation.

               “It’s been a couple years,” he shrugs, taking a sip himself. He’s definitely changed. I can sense it.

               “You know what they say,” I attempt to give a chuckle myself. “Time flies.”

               “I guess so,” he nods.

               “What are you doing here?” I finally ask, cutting to the chase. There’s no way he could be playing a show or doing an interview. This town is too small for that. I thought I had escaped him.

               “Looking for you,” he says it so casually you’d think he was speaking about the weather. I almost choke when I realize what he’s said. He’s playing me like a fiddle, I know it. It’s another one of his gimmicks. There’s no way he could’ve actually taken the time to track me down, pretend like he’s seeking me out. He would’ve called, would’ve sent a message, a text, something. Not this. This isn’t like him at all.

               “Right…” I draw out the word, nodding along. “And why might that be?”

               “I wanted to talk,” he replies.

               “Brendon,” just saying his name hurts. “You didn’t have to come all the way here to do that.”

               He makes eye contact with me and my stomach turns into knots. “We both know why I didn’t send a text,” he whispers in a low voice. Bad memories flood my mind. Fame had always left a sour aftertaste in my mouth. The over obsessive fans and catfish traps were only a reminder of my consequences of leaving. I wish I could erase my past.

               “Do you need someone for bass?” I raise an eyebrow. “I thought you found Nicole.”

               “You stay updated,” his lips curl up in a smile, surprised.

               “Word gets around,” I begin to play with the coffee stirrer poking out the top of my cup.

               “No, I don’t need a bassist,” he shakes his head. “But um, I do need you.”

               “Me?” I try to suppress a smile of my own. Why the hell would he be crawling back to me after all these years? And for what? I try to repress my excitement in order to curb the inevitable disappointment. It’s a technique I’ve been using for years in order to protect myself.

               He downs the rest of his coffee and then sighs, looking out the window for a moment, and then reattaching his gaze on me. “Mind taking this back to your place? I think it would be more preferable for us to discuss this matter elsewhere. Less open,” he decides.

               “Y-yeah,” I agree. I would hate for someone to see us here, together, sharing coffee, exchanging smiles. Rumors start without even a whisper, I can’t imagine a paparazzi photo or social media snapshot. It would be the end for me. For us.

               “Perfect,” he gets out of his seat, pushing the chair back as I do the same, then taking a moment to drink in my presence when I stand up. I don’t know what to think. “You know, I’ve missed you.”

               I pause, taking a breath, looking back at him. “Yeah,” I swallow hard. “I’ve missed you too.”

(continued...)    

           Elwood and Dottie are eager to see a guest at the door when we enter. I almost have to practically pry them off of Brendon they’re so excited to meet him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them this active before. Especially Elwood.

               “What are you doing hanging around that asshole of a director Daniel Adams?” is the first thing he asks when we sit down on the couch at my apartment.

               “I don’t know,” I narrow my eyes. “What are you doing hanging around that douchebag of a security guard Zack Cloud Hall?”

               “Touché,” he respectfully complies. “Guess we both have a tendency to follow dickheads.”

               “Like Shane?” I can’t help but bring up the past. It’s impossible around Brendon.

               “Yeah,” he gives a bitter laugh. “Like that motherfucker Shane.”

               “Hey, why would you meet me at the coffee shop like that?” I ask. “Someone could’ve seen us. There would’ve been drama.”

               “There’s always drama,” he sighs.

               “Not for me anymore,” I shake my head. “I’ve tried to escape it.”

               “It’s inevitable,” he stares around the room. “Nice place. You live alone?”

               “I have the dogs,” I reply. “They keep me company.”

               “Me too,” Brendon smiles.

               “Penny Lane and Bogart,” I point out.

               “You stay updated,” he repeats. I don’t respond. “Nice to know I’m not the only one.”

               “What about Sarah?” I snort. “That Katy Perry lookalike wife of yours.”

               “Ah,” he gives a nod before leaning back into the couch cushions. “Yes, Sarah.”

               “Yes Sarah?” I cock an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

               “Divorce would be bad for publicity,” he simply shrugs. “We decided to keep things low. She moved out a while ago.”

               “You wrote a whole fucking song for her dude,” I retort. “You fell in love with her. And you just let her walk out on you like that?”

               “She found someone else I guess,” he mutters.

               “Don’t we all,” I groan. “My girlfriend did the same.”

               “Sorry to hear that,” he says.

               “So what are you doing here? How did you find me?”

               “I know,” he apologizes. “I’m sorry about that. You’re right, I should’ve at least called or something.”

               “Nobody shows up around these parts. That’s why I decided to live here.”

               “I need you.”

               “You’ve said that before. For what?”

               “I’m caught in a slump, alright? Things have been tough. Ever since you and Jon left, really. Dallon helped me get by for the time being, but now he’s gone too. I’m working on this new album and the lyrics aren’t coming out right. I don’t know how you did it, Ry. I can’t seem to come up with anything.”

               “How the hell did you make Vices and Virtues then?”

               “I was just trying to copy what you did. Hell, I even took the entirety of Nearly Witches and threw it on there.”

               “I saw that.”

               “Come on. The Young Veins haven’t done anything in years.”

               “I still have gigs,” I argue.

               “What? Playing for your ex’s prom concert and acting as a corpse in a music video? Yeah, that’s a gig alright.”

               “Shut up. I left for a reason.”

               “Look, I need you. At least look over what I have, maybe give me some suggestions.”

               “I’m not rejoining the fucking band. This was your choice, your position, your situation, Bren. Not mine. I don’t owe anything to you. Dig some shit up from my old live journals if you’re really that desperate.”

               “I wouldn’t have come here if I wasn’t desperate.”

               “Obviously.”

               “Look,” Brendon takes a deep breath. “I haven’t seen you in years. I miss you. We used to work so well together. Sure, we had our moments, but look at what we had accomplished. We hit double platinum on an album we made fresh out of high school.”

               “That was in 2005.”

               “Come on. Help me out here.”

               “I don’t want to go back into the limelight. I’m off that shit. No more social media stuff, no more internet, no more fame.”

               “And you don’t need to have that. This can just be you and me.”

               “What do I get out of this? I already have a job.”

               “What? Composing singles you’ll never produce and starring in short films that only work off a low budget? Come on Ryan, I know you’re hurting too.”

               His words are caustic. “I’m fine with it,” I insist. “I’m happy where I am. I don’t need you.”

               “You don’t need me,” Brendon shakes his head. “Yeah. That’s why you left the band.”

               “You were the one who left me,” I remind. “You left me for Sarah and because of that I left you, then Dallon left you, and then even Sarah herself left you. Everyone left you Brendon. For a good reason, too.”

               “I still have Spencer,” Brendon tries to redeem himself, keep his head up high, save whatever dignity he might have left. “And Jake.”

               “Right, and you’re the only one left in the band,” I can’t help but laugh. “Goddammit Brendon, I’m not going to help you and your stupid pity party excuse of a music career.”

               “I’m the stupid pity party excuse of a music career,” he rolls his eyes. “Right, not you. Not at all you. It’s not like I made Broadway or top charts or Grammy nominations or anything.”

               “I’ll have you know I actually went to one of your sparkly gay Broadway shows, yeah. I saw you on stage in your underwear and those sparkly red thigh high boots singing your ass off. You know who I didn’t see there, though? Your fucking wife,” I spit. “Or Spencer or Jake for that matter.”

               “I sing better than you ever will and I make music better than you could ever imagine,” he argues. The tension in the room is unbearable. I want to punch him in the face.

               “There’s that goddamn awful ego of yours again,” I growl. “Just can never seem to control it, can you?”

               “Fucking forget I ever said anything,” Brendon shakes his head, getting up from the couch.

               “Oh I’ll never forget the day you came crawling back to me when everyone in your life finally abandoned you,” I give a bitter laugh. “Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

               “Ten percent,” he offers before he heads to the door. “Take it or leave it.” He rests his hand on the doorknob when I stop him.

               “Make it twenty,” I argue.

               “Deal,” he nods, turning back around with a smile. “I’ll be back for a beer tonight and we’ll discuss details.”

               “Where are you going now, dumbass?” I ask, confused.

               He’s out the door before I can get a response. Fuck him. Fuck Brendon Urie.

               Elwood and Dottie are staring at me as the silence fills the room. I have no idea what the fuck I’ve signed up for but it sounds like a nightmare. I contemplate withdrawing my offer. Like I said before, I don’t owe him shit. But I do miss him. A lot. I wonder how he’s doing, truly. Dottie hops up on my lap and nuzzles her head underneath my hand, begging for a good scratch. It must hurt, having everyone leave you behind, being lost, being scared. I secretly wonder who his wife left him for. I wonder why it took Dallon so long to leave. I wonder how the hell he even made it out alive.

               It’s a couple hours after he leaves when I decide to fix up a sandwich and turn on a rerun of a horror movie on the television while checking my emails and texts. There’s a couple offers, mostly small film projects and a couple asks for help around the studio, playing bass on a single for an upcoming album, some friends reaching out, potential tickets for a hockey game, animal shelters asking for donations. The usual. As much as I hate to admit it, Brendon was right. This was my life now, I was stuck within it, and things weren’t going to get much better than this unless I did something drastic about it. Adopting another dog or coming up with an annual elaborate Halloween costume wasn’t going to solve my problem this time. I had to get my life back together for real.

               I take a bite of my sandwich and look over my schedule. I have a couple shows to play, a business trip or two, and even a road trip with some friends. There’s filming dates and music video shootings, some Skype interviews, volunteer hours, but that’s all. I glance up at the gory scene on the screen, a monster chasing a bloody girl down a dark alley. I need a thrill in my life once again, a new taste, a little bit of a change up. Perhaps this could be good for me. After all, twenty percent is a lot of money, money that I need to pay the bills and keep up with my life. Probably enough and more.

               Unwillingly, I find myself going to my bookshelf and pulling out old notebooks and journals, searching for fragments of song lyrics and poetry. I find at least three spiral bound, two leather bound, and folders full of graphite scribbled loose leaf with refrains and choruses scrawled upon the lines. These dated back to when I had still been with Panic! and the boys, then The Young Veins, and even some projects I worked on with others. Most of them had never been used, much less seen by others. I always picked and chose what I wanted. Lyrics had always been a personal ordeal for me, speaking about mental health or alcoholism or sexual experiences or even marriage. Most of them weren’t meant for sharing.

               I find myself opening up to a page and my breath hitches. “If all our life is but a dream…” I whisper the beginning of the words and I can already feel the tears starting to form in my eyes. I would be lying if I said I didn’t miss what we once had. Northern Downpour was one of my favorite songs I had ever written, a time of my life where I could almost take the moment and put it in a picture frame, the haze of smoke still setting the stage, his lips so soft against mine, the band on break and reveling in our success of the past tour, everything almost perfect. It was bittersweet, and that was what that song had been for me, a bittersweet moment, the flavor of nostalgia, a vintage dream now turned old. I closed the notebooks around me and pushed them back on the shelf. This was no time to revisit the past. Things would never be the same as they had once been. I was a fool to ever think so.

               I’m in the middle of a shower when there’s a knock on my door and I curse. It’s probably him. “Coming!” I shout, but of course, that does me no good. He just keeps pounding on the door like the entitled asshole he is. I groan, trying to quickly dry off my hair before wrapping the towel around my waist and rushing to the door. I open it, and he’s there, sporting a leather jacket and ripped jeans, holding a couple beers.

               “Oh,” he’s surprised at my presence, and an uncomfortable silence blankets over us.

               “I uh, just got out of a shower, give me a second,” I stammer, trying to collect myself. I’m clinging onto the towel for dear life as I gesture him towards the sofa and then make my way back to the bathroom. Probably not the best way to present yourself to your old new business partner. I tell myself that there had never been any professional aspect here, that what we had always done was much more intimate, comfortable, casual. I shake my head and stare in the mirror as I slip a shirt over my body. Things weren’t like that anymore. This was a new beginning. What was done was done.

               I walk out fully clothed and pick up a beer as I sit beside him, popping it open and taking a sip, watching as Elwood plops down across the room from us and decides to take a nap. “I suppose you wouldn’t be so keen to moving out to Los Angeles again,” he clears his throat. “You’re much more comfortable working from here.”

               “Of course,” I narrow my eyes. “I still have other projects and responsibilities. I can’t abandon what I’ve already obligated myself to.”

               “I understand,” he nods. “I figured we could work through phone calls and emails. They are just lyrics after all.”

               “Just lyrics?” I poke fun at him. “Lyrics you can’t seem to come up with.”

               “Come on,” he sighs. “We both know you’re the poetic one out of the two of us. You always come up with such good little sayings and clever satirical spin offs. Don’t you remember all our old song titles and references? It was brilliant.”

               “I’ll give you my email,” I decide, opening up my laptop and scrolling through my browser. “I’m not on my phone that often.”

               “We have about a year until they’ll be itching for me to drop an album,” he informs. “I’m finishing up my tour now so responses might be slow, but after that, I’m down for meetings and revisions. If you want twenty percent like you say, I’m serious about this. You deserve credit as much as I do if you’re going to put in the work.”

               “I don’t want my name on anything,” I reassure. “I only want my cut.”

               “They’re going to know I’m not the one who wrote it,” Brendon insists. “You have a special signature when it comes to these kinds of things.”

               “I don’t want credit, I just want cash,” I restate. “That’s my offer.”

               “Alright,” he takes a swig of his beer and nods.

               “So how do you plan on going about all of this?” I laugh.

               “What do you mean?”

               “All of a sudden your songs go from being filled with catchy choruses about partying all night and living on top of the world to poetic tragedies and metaphoric romances?”

               “I’ll say I took a different approach with this album, tried to go back to my old roots.”

               “Right…” I rest the beer bottle on my leg and stare at my open laptop, possibilities floating through my mind. This was the last thing I had expected to happen today, or tomorrow, or for the rest of my life for that matter. I wasn’t exactly counting on Brendon showing his face around here, or speaking to me, much less wanting to collaborate once again. I’m almost excited.

               “So where do you want to start?” he wonders, and I can’t help but smile.

               It feels so good to talk to him again. To sit on the couch and crack open some beers and just be able to relax. I write and type out ideas and he grabs one of my guitars and starts strumming out melodies, tapping drum beats out on the coffee table, whistling possible interludes and introductions. It feels like old times, minus the marijuana. I ask him if he still smokes, and he says he does, and I tell him maybe he should bring some next time. We decide to make this next album a concept album, one that clashes together our differences, the quiet drawn back simplicity of my life and the boisterous chaotic business of his. It tells a story, these songs, outlining the idea of two worlds once pulled apart now combined, rediscovering the other, intertwining their different assets. Maybe I’ve had too many beers, but it seems a lot like a simile for our situation. I secretly wonder if he notices this too.

               Before we know it, it’s four in the morning and we’ve already outlined a concept for the album as well as a couple good lyric fragments for what could possibility be the first couple of singles. They’re mostly about the pain of rejection, and we share stories about the women we had once loved leaving us, telling us how we were never good enough for them, and using that to build off of. We actually have a lot in common, for how much we’ve both changed. I really have missed him. When we’ve finished all our beers and our voices have gone hoarse, my computer now dead and his fingers callused from playing the guitar strings, we doze off on the couch. It really is like it used to be, stuck on the tour bus with open computers and notebooks, in the early hours of the night, drunken and high, conceptualizing the next big idea. I can’t wait to see what he does with this.

               When I wake up, I’m startled to feel somebody beside me. Then I remember it’s him. He’s taken to sleeping on my legs, which are now definitely asleep. I have to stifle a laugh, his lips parted and messy hair proving quite adorable. I slowly inch my legs up off from his sleeping body and crawl out from the sofa, stretching and yawning. He doesn’t look like he’s going to be up anytime soon. I make my way to the kitchen, sunlight already filtering through the blinds, and decide to make breakfast. I turn up the heat on the griddle and break out some sausages and eggs, start up some toast, and brew fresh coffee. Dottie’s at my heels begging for a bit of bacon and of course I give in. I hear a groggy muffle of noise and poke my head into the living room and laugh at the sight of Brendon dragging himself up off of the couch. “Good morning,” I call out. “I made some breakfast. You can help yourself.”

               “Shit, I have a show tonight,” he groans, running a hand through his hair and staggering to the kitchen. “I’ve got to get a plane to Texas in the next couple hours.”

               “Don’t worry about it, it’s still before noon,” I reassure. “You’ve got time.”

               “Alright. And hey, uh… Sorry, I think I slept on top of you last night,” he apologizes awkwardly. “Totally unintentional, I probably had way too many beers.”

               “Not a problem at all,” I laugh it off. “Just like old times, right?”

               The broken smile he chisels out from between his teeth makes my heart hurt. “Yeah,” he nods, only making my heartstrings ache even more. “Just like old times.”

               We sit down and share coffee, working our way through plates of breakfast. He talks about how the tour’s been going and such, how he picks up interviews whenever he can, how long and boring the endless hours of traveling and waiting can be. “More time for you to email me and work on the new songs then,” I point out. He grins.

               Both of us promise to make this our secret. We’re not telling anyone, not his managers, not my friends, nobody. If word gets out, it would be a craze, rumors of a reunion, fans blowing it up into new conspiracies, and TMZ would probably be bursting through our doors to try and get some footage. We would keep our collaboration on the downlow, and if anyone would ask, we would simply deny. I give him a ride to the airport after breakfast and tell him to have a good trip and play a great show. We exchange numbers and then he says goodbye.

               The next couple of days are empty. He doesn’t respond to my email, or my three missed calls. I assume he must be busy and try not to take it personal. After all, he actually has a life. Unlike me. I take to going out for lunches and watching sports, playing video games on the couch or falling asleep to old reruns, walking the dogs or sending emails back and forth with my director. Brendon’s right about Daniel being a dick. Over the span of this week I truly realize just how much he treats the girls like shit, uses basically everybody, and couldn’t give a rat’s ass about fair payment. I make a mental promise to ditch him as soon as the money from this new project starts piling in and I’m able to support myself.

               My phone rings one day when I’m sifting through the letters that have come in through the mail and I can barely answer it fast enough. I pick it up and of course, it’s not who I hoped it would be. It’s Jeremy Burke, one of my friends. I groan. I was stupid to think it would actually be him. “How’s it going jackass?” I greet him when I pick up the call.

               “Hey,” he laughs at my greeting. “Doing anything tonight, loser?”

               “Not that I know of,” I respond. “Was probably going to watch a couple Game of Thrones episodes while I work through the scripts Daniel sent me. How come?”

               “Burgers at that new bar downtown?” he offers. “My treat.”

               “Count me in,” I grin. “What time?”

               “Nine,” he states.

               “See you then,” I hang up and lean back into the couch cushions. Getting out of the house would be good for me.

               I roll up at the bar a little late that night, but knowing Jeremy, he won’t mind one bit. I stroll in with my usual jacket, striped shirt, and ripped jeans. I give a sly smile to a girl who winks at me as I enter and then slide into a booth across from Jeremy. “Look who finally showed up,” he raises his eyebrows. “And already reeling in the ladies also.”

               “Whatever,” I shake my head, laughing. “Anyways, what have you been up to these days?”

               “Well I got back from a festival last week, recovering from the trip. Saw some pretty cool shows, it was a great line up. How about you? I heard you’re still working on that film thing,” he says, snapping at the waiter to fetch us some drinks.

               “Yeah,” I sigh. “The usual.”

               “How about you take to the road with me? Only a couple of tour dates,” he offers. “You can be a roadie or someshit, get a little breath of fresh air. Come on, Ryan. You need a bit of excitement in your life again.”

               “I’m getting there,” I reassure. He’d flip if I ever told him about what was going on with Brendon. “I just need some time.”      

               “Whatever,” he rolls his eyes. “Anyways, that chick’s been staring at you since you entered. Mind if I wave her over?”

               “Not at all,” I chuckle. “In fact, I don’t think I’d mind taking home a date tonight.”

               “Really?” Jeremy wonders. “And you say you need some time.” He scoffs and I give him a playful slug on the shoulder, taking a sip of my drink.

               “Hey beautiful,” I call out, waving over the cherry haired girl with the bright green eyes. “Mind keeping us company?”

               “Not at all,” she blushes, grabbing her clutch and hopping off the bar stool, strutting towards us in her stilettos and short skirt. She’s not really my type, but I’ve got to hand it to her, she’s hot.

               “She’s a looker,” Jeremy murmurs as she slides into the booth beside me, planting a kiss on my cheek. She’s too easy. I’m not complaining though.

               “What are you boys up to?” she wonders, picking up my drink and taking a sip herself. Cocky.

               “Grabbing some burgers, having some guy talk,” Jeremy shrugs. “How about you? What’s a lady like you doing all alone?”

               “Waiting for someone like him to come along,” she winks, wrapping her arm around my shoulder. Super desperate. I can tell. Me and Brendon used to meet girls like this on the road all the time. Overconfident and overexposed, willing to do anything and everything for their five seconds of pleasure, then off to the next eye candy boy toy.

               “Well you’re in luck,” I smirk. I know how to play the game.

               “How about you get this pretty little lady a drink, hmm?” Jeremy waves over the waiter. “Margarita suit you fine?”

               “Tequila,” she corrects with a smile. “Something strong.”

               I’m about to lean in for a kiss when I feel something in my pocket buzz, and I turn rigid. “One second,” I apologize, fishing for my phone. When I pull it out, Brendon’s contact pops up on the screen and it’s like nothing else matters. “This is important.” I say the words faster than I can comprehend and before I know it, I’m shoving the girl out from the booth and racing towards the exit, picking up the call and out the door, then standing by the umbrella tables outside, barely able to catch my breath.

               “Ryan?” his voice laughs on the other end of the line. “You alright, buddy?”

               “Yeah, just caught me at a bad time,” I reply. “But it’s good, it’s good.”

               “Uh, I can call you back if you want,” he suggests but I shake my head.

               “No, no, no it’s good. I can talk,” I quickly reassure. He laughs again. God, I could get drunk off of that sound, the thought of his smile, the memory of his laughter. I miss him so much already. I close my eyes. I’m thinking absolute nonsense. I have to get my head on straight. “So, what’s up?”

               “Sorry I couldn’t call back, I’ve been busy with tour and everything,” he explains. “But if you want to start emailing back and forth some ideas, I’m totally down. I’ve been thinking, these two characters we’ve created, the simplicity and chaos, maybe we could create a song based upon that concept. An entirety of slow and graceful and classic towards intensity met with hurriedness and adrenaline, you know? Almost like a dance between the two, an exchange of some sort?” He pauses. “I don’t know, it’s stupid, forget it.”

               “No-” I quickly inject. “I love it. I think that’s great. It would make a perfect introduction to the album, setting the stage if you will.”

               “You think?”

               “Of course!”

               Before I know it we’re talking on the phone for fifteen minutes, rambling on and on about this song, how we’re going to totally blow them away, how this is the coolest thing we’ve done since A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out, how this is going to absolutely knock the socks off the critics when there’s someone shaking my shoulders. “Get off the fucking phone, Ry!” I blink and realize Jeremy’s shouting at me.

               “I g-got to go,” I apologize. “Sorry.” I instantly hang up and slip my phone in my pocket and Jeremy’s still shaking my shoulders.

               “What the hell?” he stares at me. “What was that?”

               “I had a business call,” I argue, shoving him off of me.

               “You had one hell of a date tonight, that’s what you had,” he spits. “I could only keep her for so long. She walked out on me, I mean, you. She walked out on you.”

               “I couldn’t care less,” I narrow my eyes.

               “I could!” he argues. “She was smoking hot, dude! If you didn’t want her you could’ve at least told me!” He grumbles. “God, since when did that douchebag director of yours become so important anyways?”

               “Get lost,” I shake my head, storming off.

               “Fine!” Jeremy shouts at me. “I’m going to enjoy my burger and drinks and hot chicks alone at this bar tonight! Have fun with your stupid Game of Thrones episodes and stinky dogs!”

               “Go fuck yourself,” I flip him off as I walk away.

               “Go to hell, Ross,” he hollers back.

               I smirk. All my friends are assholes. I kind of like it that way. It makes me fit right in.

               The rest of my night is spent emailing back and forth with Brendon, and I couldn’t have wanted it to go any other way. I made a cup of coffee and ignore my missed calls from Jeremy, and instead begin to come up with new ideas. Although, most of our emails aren’t about lyrics. It’s all catching up. Brendon tell me stories about tour, the new cities and crazy fans, ranting about Kenny throwing popcorn in his face and Zach being a dickhead. I tell him about my experience at the bar and Jeremy, as well as some films I’m working on and an update on my dogs, plus some old stories about volunteering at an animal shelter. It feels like we might be good again, like we’re friends again, that this could work. It’s about six in the morning when I think he falls asleep on me, and I laugh, waiting on him for a couple minutes before falling asleep on my own. I close my computer and finish up the rest of my coffee, then head to my bed and watch as Dottie curls up at my feet. I can’t remember the last time I got a night of sleep that good.

               I spend the following weeks in a daze up to my show. I’m sending strings of emails back and forth, filling up notebooks with revisions and edits, excited more than ever for this project. I promise myself that from now on, I was putting my best foot forward, and I was going to do everything in my power to make this album rise to the top. I didn’t even give a shit that my name wouldn’t be on it, that I had already vowed to take zero credit, or that I would even get any profit. I just wanted to be able to make music with my best friend again. That’s all I could ever ask for. Before I know it, I’m half drunk and on stage, playing a show with Zee Zerizer in Los Angeles, looking into a crowd of smiling teenagers and a sea of phone flashlights. I know that somewhere, in some city in America, he’s doing the same thing right now, and that only makes me smile more.

               After the show I go out for drinks with the gang, get even more drunk, and proceed to pass out in a hotel room bathtub half naked, but I couldn’t care less. The hangover the next morning is miserable, but judging from the twitter feed, it was a night that nobody would forget. I take a cab back home and then spend the rest of the day sleeping, too lazy to open up my laptop and too tired to get anything to eat. I ignore the buzzing of my phone and even the later knocking on my door. Nobody can interrupt this, the serene calm happiness that blankets over me, the sweetness of knowing that everything is going to be okay.

               I’m eating lunch on the couch the next evening when I’m scrolling through my Instagram and a certain name catches my eye. It’s Brendon, livestreaming. I remember back in 2014 when he would Periscope almost every week, making margaritas with Sarah in the kitchen or going skateboarding throughout the city, talking to fans and answering their questions. It was good to see his face again, nice to know how he was doing. As much animosity and grudges I was holding against him at the time, I still wanted to know that he was okay. Now, I was relaxing on my sofa and pulling up his feed, rolling my eyes at the sight of him dancing in his studio to some stupid Drake song. He had always been a character. He takes a drink of some beer, ends up rolling a joint, and talks about some wild tour stories he’s already shared with me. He seems happy, relaxed, one of his own dogs sitting on his lap, the glow of the studio light framing his face. I want to see him again. I need to.

               It’s been about a month since we saw each other last, since the phone call of the night of the burger bar bail, and throughout the course of the next couple emails, we decide to meet each other again. This time, halfway, in a city right between mine and his, in a small hotel room near the outskirts of downtown, where we hope and pray that fingers crossed, nobody will see or find us. It’s a three day weekend, just me and him, and we’re going to hopefully start putting the words to music. He’s sent me a couple different samples he likes, as well as audio recordings of him playing around with the lyrics, but we both know that until we actually sit on a couch and piece it all together, we won’t know for sure if it clicks or not.

               “There he is!” he gives a goofy smile as I enter the hotel room, and I can’t help but let one surface on my face as well.

               “Good to see you,” I reply, surprised when he gets up from the couch and envelops me in an embrace. It feels so nice, I almost don’t want it to end when he takes a step back and retreats to the couch.

               “I brought all sorts of stuff,” he gestures to the table where a variety of weed is displayed along with several drinks. “I figure we take it easy and take our time. We have several days, so there’s no need to rush into things. We work when we want to.”

               “Yup,” I pick up a joint and light it, breathing in the smoke before exhaling. “God, that’s good.”

               “It’s been a while,” he agrees. “You and me, that is.”

               “What do you mean?” I ease into the couch, raising an eyebrow. “Smoking or writing music?”

               “All of it,” he shrugs, picking up a cigar and lighting the end, taking a puff. “Talking, hanging out, smoking, making music…” He’s thinking of something else but he doesn’t say it. He doesn’t have to. I already know. “Just being together.” He takes a moment to close his eyes and breathe in the atmosphere, then sigh. “It’s nice.”

               “Almost like how it used to be,” I give a soft laugh and he nods slowly. I can tell he’s reminiscing like I am.

               “Almost,” he whispers.

               We fill the room with smoke and laughter, guitar chords and the humming of melodies, stitching together the body of a song on his laptop screen, playing it over and over again through headphones and earbuds, searching for the perfect sound. Before I know it, we’re dozed off on the sofa again, except this time, somehow, our limbs are tangled together in a soft embrace. My head’s resting on his chest and his arms are wrapped loosely around my hips, and I don’t even remember when we decided to lay down, but I’m too tired and too stoned to care. We’re safe here, we’re okay here, we’re together here. I give a sleepy smile at the sound of his snores, nuzzling my head closer to him. It’s been such a long time since I’ve been this close, his body pressed up against mine.

               In the early morning when I flutter my eyelids open, I’m still half asleep. A mess of notebook pages and empty chip bags scatter the table along with two dead laptops and the lingering smell of marijuana. I’m on the couch, the room is dark and still, a body is pressed up close to my own, and his face is only but centimeters away from mine. I don’t know how we got here, but we did. His warm breath blows onto my face through his parted lips, eyes closed, soft exhales comforting, quiet snores amusing. I almost think I want to kiss him. He looks so sweet, so handsome, so perfect like this, calm and still and sleeping. It feels like decades since I’ve seen him like this, and now that I actually think about it, it honestly has been. I miss the way his mouth feels on mine. It’s been so long I can barely control myself. So I don’t. Before I know what I’m doing, I’m inching closer to his face, our lips barely touching, my heart racing. What the fuck is happening is what I am asking myself but it’s too late. I know I’m not supposed to be doing this but I kiss him anyways. It’s simple and sweet and soft and wonderful and when I pull away, his eyes flutter open and I can barely breathe. I’ve fucked up for good this time. Shit.

               “Ryan?” his hoarse voice calls out my name, staring at me as he slowly pulls himself out from his sleep, giving a funny sort a smile.

               “Y-yeah?” I stammer out, scared and nervous and afraid he might shove me off this couch and yell at me to leave like I had done to him the day he offered the possibility of this moment even happening to me.

               “Did you just kiss me awake?” he tilts his head to the side, staring at me now, lazy smile still plastered on his lips. “Because correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty damn sure you did.”

               “Maybe…” my voice fades out quietly and I try to pry my eyes away from his but I can’t.

               “Almost like how it used to be,” he murmurs. “Huh?”

               “Almost,” I mumble back, making us both grin.

               “Come here,” he cups my cheeks with his hands and kisses me, with such fervor and passion. My mind is spinning and I feel the higher than I ever was last night. I’ve missed him so much I’ve almost forgotten what this feels like, to kiss someone you truly love. I don’t want it to end, but he pulls away, reminding me that there’s this thing called breathing, and I can’t help but release a winded chuckle from between my lips. “What?”

               “Nothing,” I shake my head, still laughing. “I um, I’ve missed you. You know?”

               “I know,” he gives a small smile, staring into my eyes. “Believe me. I know.”

               “This is overdue,” I agree, looking up at him, goddamn goofy grin stuck on my face.

               That entire day we decide to snack and work, grabbing room service and locking ourselves in for hours, really going at it. We’re almost finished with two whole songs. By the way Brendon’s talking, it might even get fully recorded, edited, produced and released in a handful of months. I’m ecstatic and can barely wait. All he has to do is get home to the studio and physically record and play the music, but besides that, we have it all written down and placed perfectly. We also have plenty of fragments of other songs and even more ideas for the album. When we work though, it’s obvious there’s been a change. He rests his head on my shoulder or in my lap. I wrap my arms around his waist or end up holding his hand. We share smiles and kisses on cheeks and foreheads. It’s different, us.

               Tonight we play our favorite songs over the speakers and drink a shit ton of alcohol. There’s nobody to stop us. We dance around like fools and stuff our face with junk food and order almost every dessert on the room service menu. Surprisingly, we don’t get a single complaint. We over excessively lip sync the entirety of Queen’s classic Don’t Stop Me Now and then proceed to have a rather sloppy make out session to What Do You Want From Me, his tongue slipping in my mouth as the guitar riffs flood the room. The rest of the night is fuzzy, but all I remember is the taste of him on my lips. Clothes are being shed, words are being exchanged, and we’re gravitating towards the bedroom, Pink Floyd still playing in the background. He’s pushing me into the mattress and running his hands all over my body and the rest is forgotten in the bass lines of Nirvana’s Heart-Shaped Box and the faint lyrics of the second verse of an Arctic Monkeys hit single.

                I wake up to his lips and his body and him beside me, in this hotel room bed, all mine. It smells like beer, sex, weed, and rock and roll. I don’t mind one bit. I pull his body close to mine and press my lips to his neck, relishing the taste of his skin. I don’t ever want to forget what he tastes like ever again. My small frame aches as I curl up closer to him, but the knowingness that what I’ve craved for all these years has finally been fulfilled makes every dull pain in the joints of my bones and tender bruises on my skin worth it all. It reminds me of times when I would wake up in the middle of the night from bad dreams and flashbacks, him there to remind me that everything would be okay. I had a rough life before I took to moving out of my home. Especially when my dad had died, that’s when I needed Brendon the most, and he was there for me. But having my heart broken, leaving him behind, abandoning the music dream, keeping to myself, that’s probably the second time I needed him the most honestly. I was glad to have him back now, even if it was only for one night.

               We both curse instantly when the freezing cold shower water hits us both, jolting us out of our haze of a hangover. Showering together was something we had grown accustomed to after our many years on the road, especially after fucking in the tour bus bunkers in the middle of the night and being forced to wake up super early for interviews. The boys never really cared, would occasionally make a faggot joke or point out a hickey, but flipping them off and investing in a hefty collection of scarves during the Pretty. Odd. era of the band did the trick. God, as much of a literal pain in the ass as it was, I did miss touring and playing huge festivals, getting barely any sleep and signing kids’ shit, that whole ordeal. Especially with Brendon by my side. It felt like being on top of the world.

               Both of us down cups of coffee and get back to work, must mostly share occasional kisses while plucking out rhythms on our acoustic guitars. It’s a lazy Sunday, a sit around and do nothing kind of day, and there’s no one I would rather spend it with than him. I flip through the channels on the television and we settle for an 80’s classic before curling up together and making commentary back and forth. We make note of some of our favorite quotes and write them down, an old thing we used to do back in high school in order to come up with witty lyrics or song titles. It’s something I’ve done mentally but haven’t had a chance to do out loud since I left the band. It makes me smile. We’re on commercial break when all of a sudden, Brendon turns off the television. “I want to make a sex song,” he declares matter-of-factly, making my eyebrows raise.

               “I thought you already did,” I retort. “Miss Jackson?”

               “No, something nitty gritty, something to fuck to,” he shakes his head.

               “The Good, The Bad, and The Dirty? Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off? Casual Affair? House of Memories?” I begin listing off the ones on the top of my head.

               “What? Are those all the songs you jack off to when you’re busy thinking about me?” he smirks.

               “Oh shut up,” I laugh.

               “I was thinking something with an old school vibe,” he says. “Like in those movies, you watch the couple turn up the radio and make out, then take it to the back seat. Classic 80’s shit, right? I want to create that moment in a song, the whole backseat lucky night after a trip to the diner and the roller dome. Catch my drift?”

               “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off meets Breakfast Club meets Dirty Dancing and Footloose,” I turn to look at him and we both break out into stupid grins. “Fuck yeah.”

               “Imagine all the references,” Brendon’s face lights up. “That’s a goldmine right there.”

               “Think of all the samples we could choose from, that would make such a cool introduction.”

               “It’s like the song that would replace Journey’s Don’t Stop Believing in an alternate universe. Except sexier and even more iconic.”

               “That’s the perfect description for it.”

               “It doesn’t even exist yet.”

               “Yet,” I remind. “Yet.”

               He kisses me fiercely before we take to flipping our laptops open and searching for the perfect quotes to intermingle into the lyrics of this upcoming song. This is going to be by far his most memorable album yet. I know it.

               We relish the rest of the time we have together, seeing as we’re slowly approaching the end of our three day weekend hotel room stay. Before I know it, we’re packing up our things and cleaning up the hotel room, promising each other that we’re going to keep up the emails and phone calls and whenever we get a free chance, come back to this city and do it all over again. He even invites me to come over to the studio and says that if we’re particularly sneaky, I might even be able to record some bass tracks for the new album. It’s probably illegal, he says, the whole not crediting me for all the work I’m putting in, but I tell him I couldn’t care less. Just imagine if the press caught wind of this. It would blow up and I would never get a chance to go outside and grab coffee in peace ever again. Much less check Twitter or Instagram.

               The ride back home is glorious, one of my favorite CD’s blaring with the windows down, sun shining on my face and hair blown back, a cigar poking out my lips. I don’t think I’ve had that good of a time since Z’s Prom, and even then, that was nothing compared to this. I secretly wonder if we’ve reached an unspoken arrangement that we’re back to normal, back to how it used to be, back to being lovers rather than enemies. Maybe I’m making this all up in my head. I’m too wrecked too care. I’ve fallen too far down already. Fuck trying to postpone or avoid disappointment. I’ve stopped trying to hold myself back at this point.

               I would’ve thought returning to my apartment would be lonely or boring, but it wasn’t at all. I was glad to see Elwood and Dottie again, and sift through my mailbox and voicemails, sit on the sofa and take midday naps and edit script scenes. It was comforting almost. That week, Brendon and I call almost every day. Usually in the afternoon all the way up into the late hours of the night. We’re not really working at this point rather than reminiscing old times and pouring out forbidden confessions, expressing our once secret thoughts and yearning to see each other once again. Most of the time I fall asleep listening to his voice, or he does mine. I would have thought it to be something that only happened in stupid romantic novels or bits of over glorified love poems. It’s worth every single unprecedented charge to my phone bill that month.

               I end up actually going out for burgers at that dumb bar with Jeremy the next week and then have a lengthy conversation about whether it’s better to invest in headlining festivals or starting up tour dates for over the summer. He’s been playing small shows and been debating about taking the whole thing to another level. I always encourage him, tell him I’m here if he needs me for anything. The burgers actually aren’t half that bad and the only chicks in here tonight are already talking up some other guys. Lucky for me, because if I pulled another ditch on a date, Jeremy might smack me over the head this time.

                I’ve been avoiding Daniel on purpose and instead investing all my time in Brendon and his project. He’s sent me demos of the songs he’s recorded so far, and I’m super stoked. They sound even better than I had expected, and he even added a couple little twists of his own on the tracks, which I love. That night on his livestream he tells the fans that he’s been working on a little something for them and that it’s going to be a special surprise. I find myself smiling at the screen like a fool, probably like the other thirteen thousand fans watching, and so I decide to click off right after his talking dies down and he takes to sipping a beer and headbanging to whatever nonsense he’s playing on his radio with five o’s website.

               “You should come over when you get some free days to my place,” he insists over the phone that night. “Nobody’s home but me.”

               “It’s a couple hours of a drive but yeah, I’ll consider,” I joke.

               “I miss you,” he croons. “I don’t have anyone to cuddle me to sleep anymore.”

               “Uh huh,” I roll my eyes. “Need another hotel weekend?”

               “More like week,” he insists. “Come on Ry, it’ll be fun.”

               “You just want to fuck me,” I tease.

               “Maybe,” he admits. “But I also want to do so much more than just that.”

               “Like what?” I prod.

               “How about you come on over to find out,” he challenges.

               “Guess like I’ll just have to,” I sigh sarcastically. “Otherwise the anticipation and unknowingness would eat me up alive.”

               “I’m about to eat you up alive the next time I see you,” he replies. “It feels like fucking forever.”

               “All in due time,” I remind. “I’m going to see if I can take the next week off and head over. I don’t think it should be a problem. I’ve been slacking lately anyways, I don’t even think Daniel’s going to notice.”

               “He’s too far up his own ass to notice,” he snorts. “Come on, you’ll be fine.”

               “I do miss you,” I slowly nod my head, curling up on the couch with Elwood in my lap as I readjust the phone to my ear. “I’ll leave as soon as I can.”

               “Alright,” he sounds content and I relax. “Don’t rush, take your time. It’s not like I’m dying without you or anything.”

               “Must’ve been dying for a quite a long time then. Last I checked you went a couple years doing just fine without me,” I unintentionally insult.

               “Shut up and kiss me you idiot,” he laughs. Then he suddenly stops, silence on the other end of the line. “Oh wait, that’s right, you’re too fucking far away to do so.”

               “And who’s fault is that?” I retort.

               “The one who said he wasn’t moving to Los Angeles to be with me,” he argues.

               “You literally came bursting into a coffee shop with a desperate proposal and a couple beers, how was I supposed to know we were magically going to go back to how it was?”

               “Take a leap of faith, Ry. Maybe you’ll actually go somewhere.”

               “Uh huh.”

               “Like my bedroom if you’re lucky enough.”

               “Go to sleep, Bren. You’re probably drunk.”

               “Drunk on your love.”

               “Goodnight dumbass.”

               “Sweet dreams loser.”

               He hangs up and leaves me to fill up my empty apartment with delayed laughter, my heart aching to see him once again. He’s not wrong, it has been a while. I turn on the television and watch an old sitcom before dozing off. I dream of old times, being on a stage, flower decorated microphone stands and tambourine in hand, strumming on acoustic guitar strings and peeking through shaggy haircuts, scrawling down lyrics about the sun and the moon being in love. He hated the idea of a Beatlesque vibe, hippie aura, folk styled music. I loved and craved it. I still think he’s an idiot for refusing to add the songs to the current setlist. Personally, one of my favorite albums I’ve ever created. Him, not so much. He was always more of a heavy bass, electric guitar, party playlist kind of guy.

               I leave Elwood with one of my friends and pack Dottie in the backseat the next morning. I grab some snacks and an iced tea from a gas station, fill up my tank, and snatch an e-cigarette. Road trips will always be something held close in my heart. I turn the radio up and roll the windows down, then head towards the highway just past sunrise, leaving Brendon a voicemail that I’m on my way. “Ready or not, here I come” is what I had told him with a soft chuckle. The ride there is fairly nice, light rain for part of it, but it’s actually not bad at all. He has a nice place, a little hard to find, but that’s alright. After all, he already was forced to move out of his dream house due to those goddamn awful over obsessive fans. I knock on the door and when he opens it up, he pulls me in and gives me a huge hug and a kiss on the forehead.

               “Hey you,” I blush.

               “Hey yourself,” he grins. “Took you long enough to come over.”

               “It was overnight,” I narrow my eyes. He tousles my hair and laughs before catching my lips in a kiss, then taking me by the hand to his kitchen, where he’s prepared some salads and sandwiches as well as mixed some drinks for us.

               Lunch is nice. We throw playful insults back and forth. But we know deep down, we deserve it. Nothing could hurt more than the years that had separated us before. It’s a love-hate relationship, what we share. It always has been. Dottie gets along well with Bogart and Penny Lane, which is good, because I don’t know what I would’ve done if she didn’t. She’s probably the only person I love more than Brendon, which is ironic, but honestly, the saying is true. A dog is a man’s best friend, more than any human ever will be. We end up shifting to the couch and laying on top of each other, him playing Grand Theft Auto and me resting my head in his lap. He asks if I want a turn and I decline. I’m not even staring at the television. Instead I’m staring upwards at his face, the change of expressions, the way he gets excited or intense or surprised or frustrated. I hate everything about him because it’s everything that makes me love him even more. It’s a paradox. It’s inevitable.

               It’s not even past noon when we end up having sex. Then having more sex. And even more sex. It’s almost like we can’t get enough. I joke that we have to make up for all the years I’ve missed out on him, and he rolls his eyes before attacking my neck with his mouth. He’s leaving marks everywhere and I’m warning him to stop, but he’s reckless and careless and he’s not even listening. He tells me I’m not leaving anytime soon so there’s no reason to worry, making me the one to roll my eyes this time. He’s so goddamn irresistible. That night we order take out and grab tubs of ice cream and eat in the bedroom after a warm shower and an agreement that we’re turning in for the night. It’s so nice to just chill, not having to do anything or even say anything, simply being in the presence of the other. It’s one of the most comforting things I could ever experience.

               The next morning, I wake up in a daze trying to figure out where I am, and as soon as I realize it, the biggest, stupidest, goofiest smile surfaces onto my face. I curl up closer to the warm body that’s wrapped in my arms, amused at the usual soft snores that he emotes, running my fingers through his hair. He’s definitely sleepy, and I find it almost surprising that I’ve been waking up before him in the past. I’ve always been the one to sleep in while he’s the early morning bird. I think it’s the fact that I subconsciously already know that I want to watch him sleep, and I laugh to myself. It’s stupid things like this that I thoroughly enjoy about being in love. It’s these sort of things that help inspire me, encourage me, make me want to create again, make music again, follow my dreams again. A part of me wonders if why I stopped caring was because I had lost everything in my life that had made me have hope, which was me being in love. Specifically, with him.

               His eyelids flutter awake and he groans, and I nudge him slightly. “Come on,” I whine. “Wake up, sleepy pants. Let’s go get coffee.”

               “Five more minutes,” he grumbles, and I relent.

               It’s oddly satisfying to see him this calm, this quiet, this peaceful. I’m used to his boisterous behavior and overbearing happy-go-lucky attitude, wild stage antics and overexcitement, not the soft sleepy boy that I see in my arms. I give him a kiss on the forehead and tell myself I would let him sleep forever if it meant my arms weren’t going to fall asleep and I didn’t have to take a piss. I let him sleep for ten more minutes before finally kicking him out of his own bed. I need my caffeine and I need to really fucking pee. Dottie follows me at my heels, and another dog, which surprises me at first, but then I realize is the sweet little Bogart. A little voice in me whispers the temptation of the idea of doing this every single morning, every single day, being able to live here, be with him, love him forever. It terrifies me and encapsulates me at the exact same time. I refuse to think about it. It’s too dangerous. Fuck what I said about trying to avoid disappointment. I’m doing it again, this one last time. For something like this, it’s an instant free pass. Anyone else would do the same. Thoughts such as these are too good to be true.

               That morning we dance around the kitchen and make homemade waffles, playing his favorite Frank Sinatra album on a vinyl, and sharing laughter and kisses and throwing batter at each other playfully. We’re making such a mess but we couldn’t give a single shit. The dogs are howling happily and barking and jumping around, the sweet smell of fresh breakfast in the air, and freshly poured orange juice in two tall glasses. We sit on the sofa and eat, keeping to ourselves, but staying together just the same. He rests his legs over mine and leans back, drizzling syrup over the golden squares and giving me a goofy smile. So much for working on music. We’re too busy falling in love all over again.

               “I want to go out and do something,” he pouts after playing a couple hours of Outlast on the sofa, tossing his controller to the side. I’ve been replying to emails beside him.

               “Then go,” I shrug.

               “No,” he shakes his head as if I don’t understand. “With you.”

               “Very funny,” I roll my eyes. “You know we can’t be seen together, much less go out together. Where would we even go anyways?”

               “To a music store,” he suggests. “Or maybe to grab some coffee.”

               “We have plenty of music here and we can brew coffee if we need it,” I narrow my eyes. “We don’t have to go out.”

               “But think about a nice car ride, getting some fresh air, maybe even walking the dogs,” he insists.

               “You know as well as I do that no matter how much we might want to, we can’t,” I sigh. “Let it go, Bren.”

               “How about we ask Pete for those giant llama costumes? Then we can go wherever we want, nobody has to see our faces, you know?” he smiles.

               “You’re batshit crazy,” I laugh.

               “As if you aren’t,” he gives me a kiss on the lips and then pulls away, staring at me with puppy dog eyes. “Come on Ry, it’ll be fun. Even if people do see us, I don’t give a shit anymore, alright?”

               “I do,” I argue. “So just drop it, okay? I’m not going to go out in public with you.”

               He pulls back even more, hurt expression on his face. He looks almost offended. “Why are you so ashamed to be with me?” he asks. “Why don’t you want your name on anything? Why do you want to keep us a secret? Why are you always so scared of everything?” He looks like he might cry.

               “Have you forgotten everything that happened or are you stupid?” I say the words faster than I can comprehend. I instantly regret saying them as soon as they leave my mouth. Fuck.

               “So what?” he tightens his jaw. “All of a sudden you want to keep bringing up the past? Are you ever going to let it go? I thought we were over this.”

               “We were,” I get up off the couch. “Then you wanted to start recreating mistakes.”

               “Mistakes?” he grabs my wrist as I begin to walk away, stopping me. I turn back and shrug him off of me, facing him who’s still sitting down. He looks up at me, even more hurt than before. “W-we were a mistake?”

               “Shit Brendon, are you blind?” I run my hand through my hair in disbelief and frustration. “Do you know how much press and paparazzi and fucking interviews and fanfiction we had to go through? Do you remember all the comments and signs and harassment? Do you really want to repeat all of that over again?”

               “Do you think I care?” he retorts. “You’re worth it, Ry. You’re worth every single bit of it, all of it, I couldn’t care about the fans or the press coverage or any of that.”

               “This is your life now, Brendon. You chose this. Everything you do, all eyes are on you, waiting for a moment to ridicule you, your entire reputation is on the line every single time you step outside that door. And you want to throw it all away for me?” I shake my head. “I’m not going to let you do that and I’m not going to take in any part of it either.”

               He takes a deep breath and looks away, stays quiet. He does for the rest of the night. I don’t know if he wants me out of his house, but I give him time to settle down and breathe. He’s not the type to get angry or hold grudges for more than a couple hours, especially with me, so I think we’ll be good. Instead I sit on the couch and browse through the channels until I find a hockey game, and then pop some popcorn in the microwave and sit on the sofa with Dottie as I watch it. I think he’s taking a shower or a nap. It’s probably what’s best for him. He decides to join me towards the end of the game, resting his head on my shoulder, still silent. I don’t say anything, but keep my eyes fixed on the screen. I don’t know which of us is to apologize, so neither of us do. Until the game ends that is.

               “We have a whole week,” he states after I pick up the remote and shut the television off. “What do you plan on doing at my house for a whole week if we’re never going out?”

               “Relaxing, working, sleeping, eating-”

               “Then what?”

               “Then I go home back to my old routine and wait around for your emails and phone calls.”

               “And then what?”

               “I don’t know,” I think hard. “Uh you’ll probably get around to releasing the album and I’ll be playing a handful of shows and we’ll still be calling and stuff.”

               “And then what after that?”

               “Hell, I don’t know!” I finally sigh, leaning back. “What do you want me to say?”

               “That’s the thing,” he points out. “What are we going to do? Constantly hide ourselves from the world? Pretend like this isn’t going on? Sure, I’ll release this album. But what about the next one? What about all our calls and emails and visits? What about days like these? What about when I go on tour and I’ll never have a chance to be alone for months on end?”

               It’s my turn to be quiet now. I don’t know what to say.

               “What happens after this, Ry?” he looks at me, desperate. “I need to know that this isn’t just another phase, this isn’t just some daydream to attempt to recreate what once had been, this isn’t a temporary craving, this is for real.”

               “W-were you actually serious?” I stammer. “When you first asked me to move out to LA with you?”

               “Of course I was,” he responds. “I thought maybe we could…” His voice fades out and he looks down, as if preparing to say the next words, rehearsed lines in front of a bathroom mirror, replayed in his mind on a loop. “I thought maybe we could be together. For real.”

               “You want me to live with you?” I whisper, wary.

               “I want us to be free,” he insists. “I want us to be able to love each other freely, not care about whatever the people say, be able to wake up next to your handsome face every morning. Imagine it, Ryan. You and me and the dogs, back to making music together, smoking and drinking, having a grand old time. You can still play shows, you can do your own thing, hell, you can even still tag along with that douchebag director of yours and beg to act in his short films. But please, no matter what you do, please don’t leave me. Alright?”

               “I thought you didn’t want me anymore,” I tell him. “I thought you wanted Sarah.”

               “Everyone’s left me,” he confesses. “Everyone, even Sarah. And now all I have is you. I’m not going to let that go again. Leaving you and watching you leave the band was one of the biggest regrets and mistakes of my life. Thinking that we couldn’t be together just because of what others would think or say is ridiculous. I’m never going to let anything or anyone stand in the way of me loving you. I promise.”

               “It’s only been a couple months,” I argue.

               “I know, I know,” he closes his eyes, nodding. “But I’m telling you, all those years you’ve been gone, you’re all I’ve ever thought about and you’re all I’ve ever wanted. Take a chance Ryan. Take your leap of faith. Just trust me on this one. I can’t possibly be the only person here missing what we had, cherishing and enjoying what we have, and being terrified it might all be gone. I don’t just want you for your lyrics or your company, I want you for you.”

               “I took that chance when I kissed you that morning,” I tell him. “When you were still sleeping and my mind was reeling and I decided that maybe I would throw it all away to have the chance to kiss your lips one last time.”

               “Yeah, you did,” he gives a small smile.

               “That terrified me,” I admit. “But I did it, and in that moment, I let go of everything. I lost everything.” I pause. “But in the same token, I gained everything I could ever need. And that was you.” I look at him. “You’re my everything.”

               We kiss again and this time I’m not holding back. I think of the possibility of this every day. There are no boundaries or protection or attempts at avoiding disappointment. There will be none. He has given me everything I could ever wish for. Homemade breakfasts and time with dogs and watching sports games and playing music, sharing cups of coffee and puffing out smoke from between our lips, late night sex and holding each other as we fall asleep, exchanged phone calls and messages. We end up having rough sex for hours before falling asleep on the couch exhausted and tired by early afternoon. Everything seems right for once. I couldn’t be happier.

               Although, as soon as we step out the door the next day, I’m terrified. I don’t think I’m quite ready. I’m already a deer in the headlights anytime I’m out on tour and kids are racing up to me asking for selfies and autographs and spitting out a seventy-five words a second presentation on how I’ve changed their lives forever. Not to mention the social media mentions and tags. So when we go out for coffee the next morning, his fingers interlaced with mine when we walk down the sidewalk holding hands, my heart is thumping so hard I think it might fall out of my chest. My eyes are flitting around, nervous, anticipating some mob of girls or throng of paparazzi to jump out at us any moment. It doesn’t happen though. Brendon must sense this, because he squeezes my hand, giving me a soft smile, and I force one out too. It’s hard though.

               I stammer out an order when we get to the counter, and the barista looks at us funny, like maybe she’s seen our faces together before somewhere, but she doesn’t say a word. Instead she nods and grabs our names before Brendon tugs me towards the end of the counter. We sip our drinks and sit down, Brendon going on and on about some new action film trailer that dropped, but I can’t seem to follow his words. My anxiety is holding me hostage. Ironically, I can’t help but feel a sense of panic when I’m around him. My mind is screaming the question “what if someone sees us” even though I already know everyone is probably looking. I think I hear a camera shutter and I flinch. My mind is playing tricks on me.

               “Hey, you alright?” Brendon tilts his head, frowning slightly.

               “I don’t know,” I admit, looking down. “I just, this is new…” I start fidgeting with my thumbs. “The whole us, in public, and stuff.”

               “It’s going to be okay,” he puts a hand on my arm reassuringly. “I’ll be right here beside you.”

               “Y-yeah…” my voice drifts off and sure enough, when I look up, there’s someone standing beside us.

               She’s a teenage girl with a pixie cut and rubber bracelets lining her arms, a black hoodie and ripped jeans, huge gauges, holding a bright purple phone case. “Hey I’m so sorry to interrupt but I saw you guys when I walked in and I’m a really big fan and I’ve been listening to your music for literally forever and I just-” she goes on and on and I start to feel faint, almost dizzy.

               “Of course!” Brendon’s voice jolts me out of my daydream and I blink back to reality. “Come on Ry, let’s pose for a picture.”

“Oh my god thank you so much you have no idea how much this means to me, holy shit,” she rambles on even more, opening up her camera app. The words don’t even process in my mind before he leans in with a cheery smile and a bright flash blinds my vision and the girl grins and waves goodbye before racing back to her table. I don’t know what to think.

“She was nice,” Brendon sighs. “See? Not so bad, right?”

“W-what did you tell her, again, exactly?” I stammer out.

“How we’re still friends and we’re hanging out,” he shrugs. “That’s okay, right?”

“Right,” I nod slowly. I take a sip of my drink but it only makes me feel twice as sick. My head is spinning.

“You don’t look so good,” he points out. “You need some fresh air?”

“Maybe,” I pale. “Uh sure.”

The idea of going outside makes me even more sick. That girl probably tweeted out that picture to everyone, put the address of the coffee shop on there too. It will make headlines of Alternative Press by tomorrow morning, I’d almost bet fifty bucks on it. As soon as we step out, I hold my breath, terrified a bunch of people are going to be snapping pictures and running up to us too.

My brain immediately recognizes that I’m not in my small town anymore. People are bustling on the streets, on the sidewalks, everywhere. I feel so claustrophobic and uncomfortable. Brendon squeezes my hand in reassurance, walking me down the sidewalk, our drinks in hand. I’m still stuck on that girl, that photo, the possibility of everything going south. What would my friends say? Wasn’t Brendon’s plan to make sure nobody knew about his divorce with Sarah? And what would happen if news articles started saying I’m part of the band again? I’m not, I’m only writing the lyrics, right? I start to feel as if I’m about to faint.

“You okay?” he sits down on the bench outside the café and my hands are still trembling. I’m afraid that if I try to sit down my legs are going to give out and I’ll end up tumbling down onto the sidewalk and skidding my face with the pavement.

“S-sorry I just…” I stammer out, him slowly helping me sit down. I haven’t had my anxiety this bad since I don’t know when. “I wasn’t r-ready for that I g-guess.”

“It’s alright,” he soothes me, rubbing small circles on my back and taking a sip of his coffee. “Small steps, little things. We can head home if you’d like to. If uh, if that would make you feel better.”

“I don’t think I can do this,” I confess, squeezing my eyes tight.

“It’s okay we can have more time,” he insists. “Maybe we can try going out again tomorrow.”

“No, I mean that. That. The going out thing, the being public thing,” I explain. “I thought you didn’t want them to know about your personal life, your romantic life, the divorce.”

“I just told you yesterday, I’m so in love with you Ryan. I don’t give a shit anymore. I’m tired of hiding. I want them to know about us,” he looks hurt. “I thought you wanted that too. I thought that we agreed.” He looks off into the street and sighs. “You’re all I have, you know.”

“It’s just such a big city,” I whisper. “There’s so many people. It’s overwhelming.”

“I know,” he sighs. “It’s alright though, we can do this.”

“Maybe you can. But I can’t,” I admit. I get up from the bench and begin to walk away and he grabs my hand, concerned.

“Ry, don’t say that,” he begs.

“It’s true,” I come to a breaking point, tossing my drink to the ground, frustrated. It feels like Cape Town all over again. “I was so stupid to think we would ever even work out.”

“Just give it time-”

“Oh I’ve given it plenty of time,” I seethe. “A couple years, actually.”

A camera flash blinds us both and we freeze. I’m a goddammit idiot forever thinking going outside for fresh air would be a good idea. Brendon’s head whips around to stare at a handful of paparazzi growing closer. “Let’s go,” he grabs my hand but I jerk it away, still angry.

“I can walk on my own,” I grumble, walking past him and the paparazzi, ignoring the questions they’re raining down on me, paying no attention to Brendon following behind.

Of course I had to make a scene, getting up from the bench and throwing my drink and refusing to hold his hand. The paparazzi decides to lose us after a couple blocks and Brendon has stopped trying to talk to me from behind. When I get to his house, I realize I can’t open the door and stand there like a dumbass waiting for him. Okay, so maybe I didn’t think this entire thing through. I’m so caught up in the moment the only thing I can think about is distancing myself. Taking Dottie and driving home, ignoring his calls and emails, hoping to forget about him. It would all blow up then blow over and it would be done.

“You could’ve just told me,” he says when he walks up to me on the porch. “We didn’t have to do this in public.”

“What?” I can’t even meet his eyes, instead staring at my shoes.

“Break up,” he answers and my stomach does a flip. Yeah I knew we were arguing and yeah my current plans were extreme but I didn’t actually process the idea of splitting up so soon.

“Oh,” I become silent. Fuck. I really didn’t think this through.

We both stand there, avoiding eye contact, not really sure what to do with ourselves. He clears his throat awkwardly and reaches into his pocket, fumbling for the keys. The door opens and as soon as I step in I feel like I’m about to puke. I walk into his house and made a beeline to the bathroom. This entire day has been a fucking train wreck. “Hey Ryan-” he calls out for me but I’ve already locked the door and slouched down, holding my head in my hands. Suddenly I can’t breathe. I feel like I’m hearing his voice from underwater. My vision is fuzzy. I feel like I’m having a panic attack. My entire body is shaking and I don’t know what to do anymore. I can feel him knocking on the door behind me but it feels as if it’s in slow motion.

I slowly start to resurface, gasping for air and feeling my heartbeat begin to settle. My thought process becomes molasses. Thoughts about the picture and paparazzi and going out in public begin to drift off to the corners of my mind. I stagger up and wash my face in the sink, looking up at the bloodshot eyes and pale lips that stare back at me. I make my way to the door and jostle the knob before unlocking it and staggering out to the couch. It’s quiet. I curl up with a blanket and watch as Dottie slowly approaches me and then hops up to join me, nuzzling her head underneath my arm. I let out a heavy sigh. I wonder where Brendon is or when he’s going to come out to talk to me. A part of me doesn’t want to know.

I end up falling asleep on the couch. I wake up in the middle of the night, and Dottie’s not beside me anymore. Instead, it’s a boy with messy black hair and parted lips and soft features. He’s in his underwear and an oversized sweater and he’s clinging onto me, with his head on my shoulder. It’s him. I close my eyes and hold him tight, giving him a kiss on the forehead. I love him, I really do. I don’t want to give up on us. Not yet.

But somehow, I feel like I might have to.

When I wake up in the morning, I go out to the kitchen and Brendon’s there, staring at his phone with a blank expression on his face. I already know. “It’s uh, it’s up. Isn’t it?” I clear my throat. He’s already smoking a joint.

“Yeah,” he silently hands his phone to me and my stomach drops.

There’s pictures of us on AP’s newest online article, of fucking course, just like I called it. A video up on TMZ. Even a Twitter hashtag with that dumb ship name Ryden or whatever. It makes me absolutely sick. “Are you kidding me?” my voice goes hoarse.

“We both knew it was going to happen,” Brendon gives a slight shrug. “It doesn’t bother me, Ry. But um, I know that you, you might not handle it as well.”

“No shit,” I scroll through another article and I can’t believe what I’m seeing. No amount of mental preparation could ever make me ready for this. I wish I never left the house that morning. I wish I never went to visit Brendon. I wish I would’ve just stayed at home in my little boring, pathetic, stupid life and just ignored him at the coffee shop the day he interrupted my newspaper reading.

“Well what do you want to do?” he stares at me, blowing out smoke from between his lips, dark eyes pondering what I’m about to say.

“I want to go home,” I simply tell him.

He looks twice as broken at my response. “Okay.”

We don’t say much as I pack up my things and get Dottie situated in my car. In fact, we don’t talk at all. We just exchange goodbyes with a nod and before I know it, I’m back on the road again, heading home. I don’t know if this is the end. There’s still so much we haven’t decided upon. Him using the lyrics in his new album, how he’s going to go about producing it, things like that. I don’t know if he’s going to call me or email me, and I don’t know if I have the guts to reach out to him.

I go straight to my bed when I get through the door, Dottie following at my heels, and check my phone. I already know I’m not going to respond to anyone who’s called or texted. It’s all about the press coverage anyways, I already know. Daniel might just drop me. I don’t really care at this point. Even Helena reached out for me. “Fuck my ex,” I mutter. “Probably is just glad to know I’m single again.”

That’s when I realize about a week later that throughout all the notifications on my phone, mostly bullshit sympathy and people dying to get some inside information on the drama, Z has texted me. All of a sudden I feel bad for even saying what I had said about Helena, or any of my exes for that matter. Even though we broke up, Berg has been my best friend throughout all this chaos. She doesn’t deserve my hate. “Hey,” I pick up right away even though I promised I was going to distance myself from everyone and everything. So much for that.

“Hey, how are you doing?” her voice is soft, concerned, careful.

“You heard. Didn’t you?” I stare off at a wall.

“It’s been over a week, Ryan. Everyone heard,” she replies flatly. “Look, if you need someone to talk to-”

“Come over,” I insist.

“What?” she’s confused.

“Come over,” I repeat. “Tonight.”

“Okay,” she swallows hard. “Talk to you then.”

When she comes to my place, I tell her everything. We drink glasses of wine and I pour out the entire story, all that had happened with me and Brendon from when we first met to when I walked out his door. She sympathizes with me verbally, but after a few glasses of wine, physically. She’s putting her hand on my shoulder and then on my knee and making these eyes, these sad, longing, nostalgic kind of eyes, and I can tell she’s missing what we had too. And that’s my next biggest mistake. Because once I kiss her, I can’t just stop there.

We’re drunk and we’re hurt and we couldn’t give a shit. By the end of the night we’re in my bedroom and we’ve had really shitty pity sex. The bottle of wine is long gone and she’s going on about her latest ex as well. We’re both broken and fucked up and lost. She’s my best friend for a reason. But this, it feels wrong. It feels like an act of impulse, an act of not knowing what to do, an act I’m going to regret. I think about Brendon and I’m already wrapped up in guilt. Not even two weeks separated and I’m already sleeping with someone else, my ex and best friend much less, already confessed our entire relationship and spilled secrets over a couple glasses of wine. Fuck my life.

“Why do you care?” she asks, curling up next to me underneath the sheets.

“What do you mean? Like why do I care about you?” I tilt my head to the side, confused. We’re both slowly drifting off to sleep.

“No. Him. Brendon,” she clarifies. “Why do you care if the media finds out? If people begin to start rumors? If the paparazzi snap a couple photos? If you really love him that wouldn’t bother you.”

“But it does,” I argue.

“Exactly,” she points out. “Why?”

“I don’t… I don’t really know,” I admit. I did really love him.

“You can’t hide forever,” she insists. “And maybe you didn’t quite get it when he explained it to you the first time, so let me.” She caresses my face and gives a weak smile. “When you find someone, that special someone, you don’t let anything get in your way. Whether it’s other people or publicity or whatever might try to pull you apart, you need to be stronger than that.”

“Did you think we weren’t strong enough?” I look at her, curious and somber.

“No Ry,” she shakes her head slightly, smile coming out even more damaged. “I think we just weren’t meant to be.”

“Yeah,” my voice fades out, looking away. I would be lying if I said I didn’t miss us.

“But you and him,” she insists. “I think that you found each other again for a reason.”

“A mistake,” I pout.

“No,” she reassures and then pauses. “But um, us hooking up tonight, uh, that was a mistake.” She laughs and then recovers. Her tone turns more serious. “Look Ry, you can’t go against your instincts. When you were apart you missed each other so much. And then you were reunited and you flourished. Like you said, you felt on top of the world, and I’m sure he did to. Making music again, loving each other, just being together… it’s what you’re meant to do.”

Z’s words stick with me for a while after that. Brendon doesn’t call and so I don’t either. My inbox stays void of his name. I drink coffee alone. I don’t check the news or the internet. I ignore everyone around me, even Z, who tries to call several times and even leaves a couple voicemails. I don’t bother listening to them. I already let her in too much, I can’t let her know even more. I need space. I need time to think. Dottie must know something’s up, and Elwood too, because they’ve been giving me extra love and affection this week.

About a month passes and eventually I do have to talk to Daniel, because he’s my employer, and I absolutely dread what’s going to come out of his mouth. It’s probably the fifteenth call this week when I pick up and I can already hear the sarcasm dripping from his voice. “About done fooling around with your emo boy toy?” he taunts.

“Cut it out,” I scoff.

“No really,” he insists. “Are you done or should I consider yourself extracted from the project? Because I don’t need that kind of bad publicity around my work.”

“I’m still on for the project,” I argue. “I need cash, I need work.”

“Well I don’t want you seeing him anymore. I don’t care if you’re off the press or the papers or photos and shit, absolutely off. No more going off and seeing him or arguing or any of that. You’re my worker and you abide by my rules. If you want to argue, consider yourself fired,” he states. “And hey, pick up your goddamn phone, will you? I’m sick of it going to voice message.”

“Fine,” I spit. “And by the way, I dumped his sorry ass a while ago. Don’t worry about it.”

“Good to hear. See you next shoot,” and with that he hangs up. God, he’s such an asshole.

That’s when, of course, I get the fucking notification. He’s livestreaming on Instagram. I quickly ignore the notification and shut off my phone, trying to push him out of my mind. Half of me wants to go running back to him, but another promises that I’m done having my heart broken and playing these types of games. Perhaps I’m just not a relationship type of person and I’m meant to be alone. Maybe Z was just talking nonsense to try and make me feel better. I should’ve just ignored his call that night at the bar with Jeremy, taken home that cherry haired girl for the night, stuck to flings and not caring about all that romance shit. The things I write about in my songs are meant only to be lyrics, not reality. They were simply dreams, fragments of poetry, wishes put into words. I needed to face the truth.

The next couple of weeks are dry. I’m really hurting, and pushing myself away from others doesn’t help. Even after I reach out to Jeremy and try to hang out for the night, go to see a movie and grab some drinks, I still feel empty and dull. We only make small talk. I start calling Z, and when she asks why I haven’t talked to Brendon, I can’t really give her a pinpoint answer other than I’m lazy and afraid of confrontation. She’s patient and understanding, and talks me through rough nights. I start meeting Daniel for some projects, help with the shooting and cinematography, whatever other bullshit he’s too lazy to do himself. I’m there, I’m interacting with people, and I’m doing things, back to my old life. But it doesn’t feel the same. Not at all.

“Did you hear?” Jeremy’s the one who brings it up, when we’re a couple beers in, playing pool at a bar.

“Did I hear what?” I narrow my eyes, unamused.

“They’re coming to town,” he replies, addressing the ball before hitting a stripe across the table.

“Who? Fucking Santa Claus?” I scoff. He’s kicking my ass at this game.

“No, your ex,” he corrects.

“Z or Helena?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Him, Ry. Brendon,” he states. I blink at him.

“Like, this city? Here?” I tilt my head, unsure.

“He put it on the list of tour dates. He’s coming next month. Playing that little venue down by the liquor shop a couple blocks across from your place. Tickets are going quick so I’d score some if you plan on going,” he shrugs. “I don’t know, in case you wanted to see how he was doing or something. I think it’s odd he’d pick here out of all places. Probably his first time playing in a place like this.”

“He’s never done a gig here,” I agree. “Weird.”

“Probably to see you,” Jeremy prods, and although I can tell he’s joking, it still makes my heart stop. “Probably wants you to come out and see the show.”

“Right,” I roll my eyes and take a lousy shot. What if it was his intention though?

“I mean, why else?” he asks. “It just wouldn’t make sense.”

I go home that night and search up his stupid tour on my computer. Apparently he’s doing a string of dates before dropping his next album. I scroll through his Twitter and that’s when my heart stops. All of his tweets this entire past month, while we’ve been apart, are quotes. Not just any quotes, song lyrics, all written by me. Fragments of the things I have given him, written him, emailed and spoken over the phone. And he’s signed them all from the sun. My heart aches.

Before I know it, I’m buying a ticket. I don’t dare tell Jeremy. When Z mentions that he’s visiting my city I don’t say much to her either. She claims this is my chance, my moment, my opportunity at redemption, but I just shake it off. Even if I am going, I don’t know how to gain his apology, to make things right. Yeah, I do miss him and I’m anxious to see what he’s doing with the things I have written him, the song lyrics on the next album, what’s to come. However, I’m indifferent towards the idea of reuniting us just the same.

When I can’t sleep, I find myself reopening my computer and going to my email. “I miss the moon.” Right before I’m about to send, I falter, saving it to my drafts instead. I drown myself in alcohol and hide within the clouds of cigarette smoke. Every night I debate whether or not I should click send. I feel like the entire world has its eyes on me, waiting for my next move, wondering if I’ll take the chance. He had always encouraged me to take the leap of faith. Perhaps I just have an inevitably bad case of pistanthrophobia.

Sure, Sarah was part of it, but it wasn’t really why I had left the band. This was something different. This was why we had broken up. This was why we weren’t talking now. I was always too scared, too afraid, too uncertain. I was never brave enough to trust him, to accept myself, to let others see me for who I was. I just wanted someone to love, but he wanted someone to show off, or at least that’s what I had thought. But no. He needed someone to love, someone to love openly and freely and with pride. He didn’t want to keep hidden what we shared. It was what had happened before and what had happened now, and both times I had shied away, afraid and scared and nervous and confused.

Ticket in hand, oversized hooded jacket hiding my face, shifting eyes, I stand outside the venue along with a string of hipster emo teenage girls and goth punk boys. Arms crossed over chest parents and bored older siblings stand beside them, clearly only there for supervision and transportation. I get in just fine, sticking towards the nosebleed section, but staring at him from afar as he sings the songs and performs. I can tell he’s searching for me. His eyes scan the crowd, he seems distracted, and he even stumbles on some of the words here and there. He’s doing backflips and funny impersonations, cussing and making speeches, dancing and taking off his shirt like a fool. I miss him. My heart aches as I watch him sit at the piano and belt out a ballad. As he finishes up the show, I have to hold back tears. I wish I was up there with him.

People start to file out, and I’m surveying the area for a while, trying to find a way to sneak backstage. There’s security everywhere, so I doubt I’ll get to the pit, much less to where I need to be. I’m almost tempted to shoot him a text. I’m lingering by a merch table for a good half an hour when a teenage boy comes up to me, donned in messy fringed hair and dark eyeliner. “Uh hey,” he gives a small smile. “I know this is uh, a weird question, but would you be Ryan Ross by any chance?”

“Um…” I stare back at him, his wide eyes and eager expression making me anxious.

“No sorry, it’s okay,” he laughs nervously. “You just looked like him, I don’t know. Sorry for bothering you. Have a great night.”

I watch as his expression fades, embarrassment turning his cheeks bright red, disappointment starting to arise. There’s no use in hiding. I should stop. Brendon’s right. There’s nothing to be afraid of.

“Uh wait!” I call for him as soon as he turns his back towards me. He flips around, raising an eyebrow. “Um, yeah. I am actually. Ryan.” I swallow awkwardly. “Sorry, I was just surprised.”

“Oh,” he lights up instantly. “Awesome. I’m a huge fan and I’m glad to see you playing music again. I went to the Z Berg Prom a while back and had a great time. I’m glad to see you came to the concert.”

“Wow, thanks. And uh, yeah. Me too,” I give a small nod.

“Well hope to see you at another one!” he gives a wave and then walks away, leaving me puzzled. He didn’t ask for an autograph or a picture. He simply just asked me a question, gave me a compliment, made small talk, then left. It was almost comforting. I let out a small sigh of relief and then pull back my hood, running my hand through my hair. I can do this.

I get strange stares and a couple whispers and points as I make my way through to the door of the venue. I know where the tour bus will be, maybe I can sneak back there and wait for Brendon to appear. Maybe if I told the security I was one of his friends or relatives they would escort me to see him. I can see the flashes of cameras and hear the sounds of shutters as I walk outside, but I don’t mind. In fact, I give a small wave and a smile as I walk past the groups of people. I was done lingering in the shadows. I was ready to be open and be proud of who I was.

Sure enough, he’s outside the venue towards the back, a barricade separating him from the throng of fans, going through and signing stuff, taking pictures, and even giving hugs. I race towards the crowd as fast as my feet can take me, not giving a single shit about how strange I may look. I need to get to him and I need to make my move. I’m squeezing through the crowd, shoving people out of my way, ruthless and desperate. As soon as I make it to the barricade, I shout his name as loud as I can, waving my arms at the black haired, brown eyed, overexcited hyperactive broken-hearted boy standing just several feet away. He does a double take, staring right at me, awestruck. “Ryan?” his jaw drops.

He drops the Sharpie marker and the poster he’s holding midway through giving an autograph and races towards me, and before I can even process what I’m doing, I’m capturing his face in my hands and pressing his lips on mine. We’re kissing. In front of thousands of fans. With a metal barricade between us. Outside, in public, absolutely exposed. And I couldn’t care less. We kiss and kiss, tongues slipping into each other’s mouths and fingers tugging on locks of hair, passion replacing unspoken words. We’re drowned in camera flashes and videotaping, screaming teens and people pointing, absolute mayhem and chaos unleashed around us. But here, in my arms, interlaced in our embrace, shared between our lips, it’s peaceful. It’s tranquility and serenity and comfort and quiet. We construct our own world, compose our own melodies, write our own stories. We do not care who decides to enter, who sings along, or who wants to read. I am open doors, I am full volume, I am an open book. From this moment on, I am nothing but me, authentically and genuinely me. And part of being me is loving him.

“Holy fuck,” he catches his breath when we pull away and we both burst out into laughter like fools.

“I love you,” I blurt out and he grins.

“I love you too,” he replies, capturing me in another kiss.

Security doesn’t know what to think. Fans are squealing and going wild. I feel like time is in slow motion as we make out the second time. Before I know it, he and the fans around me are carrying me over the barricade and placing me into his arms, and everyone’s laughing and smiling and having a grand old time. There is no shame, no guilt, no regret here. I am completely and fully free.

“I took the leap of faith,” I tell him happily. “I trust you.”

“You don’t care about the cameras? The paparazzi? The rumors? The press coverage?” he stares at me, still confused and puzzled. “Ry, you don’t have to do this.”

“I don’t care about any of that,” I reassure, tears surfacing in my eyes, giving a laugh. “I care about you. Alright?”

“Fuck,” he closes his eyes and blushes. “This is too good to be true.”

“Well you better believe it,” I chuckle. “Cause you’re stuck with me now.”

“Oh yeah?” he raises an eyebrow, amused. “I like the sound of that.”

“Despite what I may say or do, I could never leave you Bren,” I confess. “No matter how many times I hide or run away, I’ll always come back to you. Somehow, someway.”

“Whether Seattle or Cape Town or LA or even here, in a little run down city like this, I will be there and I will find you,” Brendon promises. “I’ll be here for you. I will always love you.”

               “Our love might be confusing and broken and different but that’s okay,” I reassure. “I want it and need it just the same.”

               “Reinvent love,” Brendon whispers, placing a kiss to my forehead. “It’s okay. We’ll reinvent love. Together.”

               “Together,” I repeat, kissing him back. “We must reinvent love.”

[goingknowherewastaken]

This is a writer shaming post.

Maybe “shaming post” isn’t the most accurate description for this post.

“Tip/Heads-Up Post On How Writers Can Get More Readers” is a more accurate description...with the twist that it is written in a salty and Done^TM manner thanks to the amount of bullshit that’s happened in the past year.

Basically, I am fucking done with it. Done with the pathetic bullshit that has been going on for the past how many fucking months - hell, this goes beyond months! Fucking years this shit has been happening in the fanfiction community and I am done with seeing this shit continue to happen. 

Fucking. Done.

Anyways first and foremost before I get into this, I am not forcing anyone do any of these. Then again maybe I should be because these things are all things that have been repeated by all of a lot if not all of us writers and many writers have not bothered to improve on different points that I am about to make. So maybe consider these and how badly you want to improve your writing and note count, yeah? And dear god please stop with the bitching and moaning.

*sips tea* So, let’s get started, shall we?

♦♦ No one is obligated to read your work because SURPRISE everyone has their own preferences. 

What does that mean????? It means that not everyone likes everything so they may skip it if they don’t like what their reading. If what you put for the fic is a turn off then they won’t bother reading it or if halfway through they realize they don’t like it then they will leave it. 

So maybe the reason you aren’t getting notes is because it’s simply something that some people aren’t into. And don’t you dare get mad at the readers for that nor should you be trying to force them to read your stuff.

► Follow up point! There might also just be a small fandom for whatever it is you just wrote for!! Just keep writing!!! You never know, people might become curious and join the fandom for your content :D

♦♦ You gotta know your audience (for Reader Inserts).

Who are you writing the fic for? Women? Men? WOC? Trans men? Everyone?

Everyone has preferences for their fics, but the preferences get more intricate when you look at various demographics. 

Women of Color are not going to finish a reader insert if they see details (from terms to gifs) that would make the reader a white woman. Men are not going to read a fic for a female reader. 

It’s fine to tailor a fic to a specific demographic. Great, actually! But you need to be mindful and respectful of it. If you say the fic is going to be a gender neutral fic then you gotta make sure that it is gender neutral. Reader Inserts should always be race neutral unless you are tailoring it to a minority. Don’t try to get high and mighty about the “what about white people????” shit. Just don’t.

Speaking of which...

♦♦ Step away from what you know.

A phrase that many cling to often gets brought up in these moments: Write what you know. 

A dangerous phrase.

“I don’t know how to write for X because I’m not X.” It’s the usual statement said when people are asked to write for something that they are unfamiliar with.

Now, if you’re a new writer - I mean brand, spankin’ new - and are still figuring out the writing world - you get a pass to say this, but the longer you’re writing...

No. N - fucking - o. 

Sticking to what you know and not exploring new themes and views stunts your growth. You do not improve. You do not grow as a writer. You do not grow as a person.

Challenges and learning new things help us grow and become better...and get more readers.

♦♦ Just because you can write it doesn’t mean you should.

Oooooh boy. 

Everyone raise your hand if you’ve ever had a bunch of people come at you telling you that what you wrote is bad. By bad I don’t mean that they’re saying that it was badly written, but that what you wrote was insulting and/or wrong and you should never write that again.

If you raised your hand then I sure as hell hope that you heard those people out because if you didn’t and you just went into a pissy “waaaah these people are being mean and telling me to stop this and I don’t understand why and I don’t want to stop” mode then you need to pull your head out of your ass.

Sometimes, we do get readers who just want to nitpick everything and it’s easy to dismiss them. I had a person once tell me that I needed to stop using large spaces between paragraphs because they didn’t like large spaces. You’re damn right I ignored them because it was a stupid thing to pick at. (The spaces were due to the writing program I was using fyi.)

Other times, though, if many people are bringing it up, then it is something to be listened to. 

► Example - Cisswapping. I said Cisswapping not Genderbending. Both deal with changing the gender of a character for a work. Now there are instances of genderbending that are acceptable - like if the character can canonically shift their gender at will and/or identify as genderfluid; there can never be enough fics written about trans characters or readers.

But Cisswapping - just changing the character’s gender...now that is a massive no-no. Like, saying that James T. Kirk (Star Trek)(male) is going to now be Jamie T. Kirk (female) - not making the character trans or genderfluid, but saying that from birth Kirk is actually female in your work - that is shitty. How do I better explain how bad this is? Hmmmm...you guys know how shitty it is when a POC character is whitewashed? 

It’s that shitty and insulting. 

Cisswapping characters erases and disregards so many people and their stories and struggles. See, fandom ships usually M||M and the majority of the time the people that are disregarded are people who are gay and/or trans. These are people who have gravitated to fanfiction to see themselves and those like them reflected in works because popular culture is still trying to catch up to them. We can now see more gay and trans characters and celebs in our movies and TV screens and such than we could years ago, but fanfiction will always be a sure place to find that representation. 

So to suddenly find that Jane Doe decided that she wanted this popular M||M ship to be M||F ship... You bet your ass people are gonna be pissed. It takes strength and bravery to transition...but you just said that that means nothing compared to having an M||F ship. 

If you are that desperate to have a character in an M||F ship, just make an OC. 

Just leave the idea of Cisswap behind. 

(PS - thank you @insane-sociopath ♥)

►► Follow-Up Point - Do your research before going and writing your fic. There are plenty of sources online - not to mention people to talk to - that will help you out.

► Example - And rpf ships because those involve real people whose personal lives you are disregarding for your “fantasy” and no matter how many times you cry “but I respect them!!!” the dozens upon dozens of fics and fanart you post (both sfw and nsfw) about the rpf ship says otherwise. And the hyper-analyzing of photos and stuff to say that they’re in love…it’s on the creepy side of obsessive.

Not to mention you guys tag the celebs in the ship in your posts... Like, you guys do realize that the internet is not a vacuum right? Celebs and those who know them personally can see your shit and the process is made all that easier when you tag the celebs so it shows up in the celeb’s tag. Platonic and romantic relationships between celebs have been damaged after finding out about the rpf ship you guys have been creaming your pants over.

If the rpf ship in question are both single it’s just a tad bit less weird (still weird though) and if they are a legit couple in real life it’s definitely less weird to ship them (writing nsfw stuff for them is disturbing as fuck though). If one or both are in a committed relationship with someone who is not the other half of your rpf ship then uh-uh no way did you not read the start of this example?????

Reader inserts involving celebs can be looped into this as well if you think about it. There’s usually more acceptance for reader x celeb fics, but it doesn’t mean that they are accepted by all nor that you shouldn’t be treading lightly.

To wrap up this point, you might have scared off readers because they are tired of seeing you writing something that you shouldn’t be writing. This isn’t a “well you just said that people can have preferences and don’t have to like everything” thing. This is a “you’re probably being a tactless dick” thing.

*note - many do get a lot of notes on celeb content, this section was more addressing the hate that gets sent 

♦♦ People rarely have time to read your work right the minute it’s posted.

Did you know that mankind created this thing called Time and that the Earth is divided into timezones? No? Well, you’re education failed you. 

See, when you post a fic online, the following people will see it - those who you tagged in it, those looking in the tags you tagged it with, those who have selected the option to be notified every time you post something, and those who are simply scrolling through their dash. The latter point is what we are going into right here, right now.

Posting it once and assuming that everyone else will do your dirty work on spreading the news that the fic is up for reading only allows for a certain number of people to see it. It is highly encouraged to reblog your own shit. A lot. Like, ten times a day or even days on end. Hell, you should still be reblogging it long after you posted it. When you reblog your work you are putting it back into people’s dashes and giving it a better chance of being seen by other people. Depending on when you post could mean if an entire country and it’s residents (aka - followers and readers) is enjoying their free time, sleeping, attending classes, or working. 

So maybe the reason you’re getting no notes on it is because barely anyone has seen it due to it being posted at a bad time for them. 

Also, even during free time people are busy; they could have also seen it and are waiting until a later date to read it. Or they just aren’t in the mood for whatever theme your fic is. Regardless, don’t fret or be like “well I guess no one wants to read this now” or shit like that. Give them time. Patience. 

♦♦ How is your fic written? 

You don’t become a fantastic writer overnight. It takes time and effort and practice. Sooooo much practice. Some people who have been around for a while will only read fics with good grammar. A thing which is actually rather rude considering those writers with “bad grammar” are usually people who are in the early stages of their writing career or they are writing in a language that is unfamiliar to them. And I give you writers in those two categories a damn huge KUDOS. Do not stop writing because a reader is rude and is like “blah your writing sucks!” 

Writing takes practice and with every fic written and read we all get better and better. 

►► Some extra tips for us all to look out for:

+ Research! Research! Research!

+ Massive blocks of text scare people off. Try breaking them up into smaller paragraphs when you can.

+ Take a look at your tenses. This is something I myself am working on improving in my own writing.

+ Find yourself some beta readers! They are a huge help when it comes down to figuring out your fic!

+ If it’s a long work, please use the read more option. Hitting a long post on tumblr mobile without a read more is one of the worst things and it puts many readers off. 

+ Use a mix of said and adverbs; don’t be afraid of either. Adverbs can help set the scene more, but too many or using the wrong ones just makes the writing tacky; said gets boring after a while and only brings forth so much to the table. 

+ Make a masterlist - preferably a mobile friendly version!! You can do this by making a text post and linking your works and then embedding that link in your tumblr bio!

+ Read! Read! Read! Reading a wide variety of fics can help improve your own!

+ Don’t steal anyone else’s fics!!!! This is just really obvious people.

♦♦ Did you do anything at all to introduce your fic to people?

This is a huge point. See, most people don’t bother reading a work if they don’t know what it’s about. I don’t. If I can’t immediately see the ship or characters involved (not everyone likes every character or ship), warnings, a summary, or even the fandom (there’s so many Steves guys...you gotta include the last name of a Steve if you’re not gonna put their fandom) then I don’t even bother reading it. Books and movies and TV shows introduce us to these things; why can’t you?

And warnings.

♦♦ Did you post any warnings about your fic?

There are two types of people in this world. Those who see no warnings and don’t bother reading it because they don’t know what’s in store for them and others that will see no warnings and will then assume that the fic is safe. 

Big surprise when they’re caught off guard by something serious and they refuse to finish the fic. If people know that you are a chronic non-warner of sensitive content then they will not be returning to read any of your work. SPOILER - NOT WARNING PEOPLE ABOUT SERIOUS AND/OR SENSITIVE CONTENT NOT ONLY EARNS YOU NO NOTE ON THAT FIC BY PEOPLE BUT IT ALSO MAKES YOU A FUCKING JACKASS IN THEIR EYES

Warnings save a writer’s ass.

I cannot stress this enough - include warnings for your fic!!! Ao3 is built on warnings (the tags are warnings people) and people seem to get readers fine there. What’s your issue with putting warnings on tumblr fics? And they help summarize a fic (summaries also can act as warnings fyi)!!!!

Some people will argue that warnings = spoilers. They don’t want to give a heads up about sensitive content in lieu of not letting anyone know a single detail of what happens. Do I need to point out what’s fucked up with this statement? You are putting spoiling your fic above the mental and emotional health of your readers? (I swear to god if you try to argue that a trigger is only something that sets off self destructive behavior you need to check yourself. What about those that end up suffering panic attacks or emotional breaks? Or that writing doesn’t trigger anything? How does seeing other visual stimuli set off a trigger but not text? People can be triggered by any number of things; it all depends on the person. We can’t tag or warn for every trigger because there are so many, but the least you can do is warn about the mains ones (sexual assault, violence, abuse, self-harm, injury,...).) If you’re really gonna be anal about that then a trade off will be putting them in the tags and then telling people they can find the list of warnings there. But you gotta tell people where to find the list of warnings.

Not to mention that this stuff will dictate where someone reads your fic. Now, a lot of people read some really sexy or violent store bought books in public, but that is strictly text. I’ve seen a lot of fics with some nsfw gifs and moodboards slipped in. Most of us are already fearless when it comes to reading nsfw stuff in public, but the visual things can get people into a shit ton of trouble. And of course you have plenty of people who are mindful of what they read in public.

Or that they don’t have to use warnings because movies and tv and such don’t give warnings. Oh, yeah, you read that sentence right. There are people who have not been paying attention at all to movies and tv and such created over the past several decades. 

Or that ‘real life doesn’t have warnings’... I’m sorry have you checked the labels on medicines and other products? Or have you seen road signs? We have warnings everywhere people!!! It’s about fucking time that written works got better with it. 

If you don’t have anything serious to warn about then don’t put any warnings, but if you do then dear god you should probably do some warning.

♦♦ Make sure to tag!!!! 

On tumblr there are two different types of tags - the @ and the #.

The @ tag - Tagging people means that those people will be notified that you posted a fic (or they should be assuming tumblr is working properly)! If you don’t know who to tag, pose a question to tumblr asking if anyone is interested. A lot of people also are open to and encourage you to tag them if you have something that you think they may be interested in. And regardless of if you do tag people or not, people will often times approach you through comments, replies, asks, and DMs with requests to be tagged in future works. 

The # tag - using tags on your fics is so fucking important. These tags are how people find your stuff. Tag wisely. 

► Example - Let’s say you wrote a Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers fic; expected tags should be - bucky barnes, steve rogers, captain america, the winter soldier, marvel, stucky, bucky barnes/steve rogers, bucky barnes x steve rogers, captain america x the winter soldier, avengers,... 

Honestly, I could add more tags to that. 

Another example - A Bucky Barnes reader insert fic; expected tags should be - bucky barnes, marvel, reader insert, bucky barnes x reader, bucky barnes/reader,  the winter soldier, bucky x reader,...

You get the idea? 

Tag your shit, but don’t over tag it. Stick to the necessary tags and don’t skimp on those, but don’t tag the unnecessary tags.

What are unnecessary tags? These tags are tags that have nothing to do with the fic and/or are not the main focus. Bucky Barnes x Reader fics should not be showing up in the Sam Wilson tag if Sam is not a main focus in the fic. Spirk fics should not be in the McKirk tag if McKirk is not the main focus of the fic. 

Many people will not read your work on purpose if you pull this shit because they’re pissed that your cluttering the tag with unrelated work for not reason.

But tumblr used to say that only the first five tags will be counted towards where a post shows up in searches, but I’ve sort of found this to be false? I’ve found many posts show up in searches where the tag I searched is actually far past 5 tags in. Basically, all of the tags are valid.

So tag responsibly people!!!!

And I think that wraps it all up.

I was going to do a section dragging readers, but I think that will be for another time because this is a little on the long side. Because sometimes us writers can follow all of the above and still have no notes. 

Anyways, once again, I am not forcing anyone to do any of these; it’s all up to you what you want to do in regards to your writing. I and a whole bunch of other people are just exhausted with the bitching and moaning people are doing in regards to not getting readers when there are several easy actions that could be taken to change that.

[larryshorcrux]

Fake It Til You Make It

JILY CHALLENGE | @ginevrashorcrux vs @lilypcttr  social media!AU + “After a misunderstanding with his fans, james begs lily to be his fake girlfriend until this all blows over. which includes posting cute instagrams together and doing all the couple challenges.”

(nothing like waiting till the last second! I’m so sorry this took forever but its up!)

                     ----------------------------------------------

James' fans were some of his favorite people in the world. But sometimes, he really wanted to punch them in the face. This is one of those times.

 It all started with one, stupid youtube video from one, stupid Sirius Black. At the time it seemed like a good idea. Do a 'boyfriend tag' video with your best friend, who is like a brother to you, as a joke.  And it was a good idea because both boy's view count and subscriber count went up by the hundreds.

 It wasn't a good idea, however, when everyone thought that it was true and thought Sirius Black and James Potter are actually dating.

 "Sirius, this is not funny! How am I ever going to get a hot girlfriend if everyone thinks we're shagging?" James asked his best friend. Sirius just kept laughing, infuriating James to the point that he stormed out of their shared flat.

 James needed to do something and he needed to do it fast. He started brainstorming ideas on his walk to the park when a buzzing from his pocket startled him from his thoughts. He took out his phone and saw it was a text from Lily Evans as well as a picture from her of a photoshopped James and Sirius in a very compromising position.

 From Lily Evans

why didn't u tell me u guys wer dating??? and why didn’t u tell me ur sextape leaked too?!?

 To Lily Evans

ha ha

 To Lily Evans

very funny. nothing is going on i swear. that vid was supposed 2 be a joke and its gotten way out of control

 From Lily Evans

well have fun tryin 2 fix this mess  good luck, ur going 2 need it :*

 James rolled his eyes as he sat down on a park bench. He scrolled through twitter only to be bombarded with tweets about his a Sirius' relationship. And, much to his annoyance, a tweet from Sirius Black himself confirming it.

 @padfootproductions:we r sorry that we hid this so long. we just cant hide our dying love for one another, it was really taking a toll on our relationship :////// ly baby @jamespotter_official

 @jamespotter_official:@padfootproductions fuck off m8

 James needed to do something fast. Sirius' tweet only added fuel to the fire. As he was thinking of ways to fix this problem (and to kill Sirius for creating this whole problem), a man and woman jogged past him, giggling and shooting lovesick glances at one another.

 'That's it,' James thought. 'I just need a fake girlfriend! And I know exactly who can help.'

 "I will absolutley not help you, James," said a very mad Lily Evans. "Why not?" James pouted. He needed this. There's only so many photoshopped pictures of himself and Sirius and only so many fanfictions he can read before going insane. It needed to be stopped.

 "Because, I will not be dragged into this mess that has nothing to do with me," She said. As an after thought, she added, "Also, it's kind of a funny situation to witness."

 James groaned and smacked his head on the table. "Lily, please! I'll do anything. I just need you to be my fake girlfriend for like three months, pretend we've been dating for five already, take some cute pictures, film some cute videos, then we can 'break up' and we can go our separate ways. Please, I'm begging you."

 "What's in it for me?" Lily asked. "You get to say you're dating me," James said cockily. Lily reached over the table and smacked him in the head. "Ow," he muttered, rubbing the back of his head. "Fine, I'll bring you coffee for a month, on me."

 "I want you to edit my videos," Lily smiled. "What?! You post three times a week! I'll never have time to edit my own!" James exclaimed.

 Lily gathered her things and stood up. "Good luck, James." The man groaned and quickly stood up. "I'll edit your videos for a month."

 "Four months."

 "Two months."

 "Fine, but I'm still expecting that coffee, too." Lily sat back down and James smiled in relief. "You're a saint, Lily Evans, did you know that?"

 "I try," she smirked.

"This better work, Potter," Lily grumbled as she hit 'post' on Instagram. "It will, I promise!"

 Within seconds there were hundreds of comments under her picture, all along the lines of "OMG I CANT BREATH" or "I SHIP IT HJBDUJ".

"I can't believe it, they're actually buying this," the redhead murmured in astonishment. "Quick take a snapchat with me," James told her.

  "Lady love, James? Really?" Lily asked, not looking at all amused. "What? I have to make it believable," James said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Fine, whatever," Lily said rolling her eyes.

In the weeks that followed James and Lily's 'relationship' being made public, all thoughts of James and Sirius actually dating seemed to die down, thankfully. The young 'couple' would make it a point to take really cute pictures or to hold hands anytime they were out in public together.

Also in the weeks that followed, James and Lily seemed to get too close for two people who were just friends. Suddenly, Lily missed when she was not with James and suddenly, James found he was longing to hold Lily's hand when he couldn't. There was tension between them, and both knew it was obvious. Remus, Sirius, and Peter would never admit it, but they have been placing bets on when the two would finally realize that they were more than just friends. Unbeknownst to them, James and Lily were also placing bets in their own heads as to which of the two would crack first.

"You know," James mused one day. "We haven't filmed a video together yet in our three months of dating."

"James, we are not actually dating. Must I keep reminding you?" "You're just so beautiful, my Lily flower. I can't resist your charm," James smirked. Lily rolled her eyes, but James swore he saw a hint of a blush blooming on her cheeks.

"Fine," Lily said, going to gather her camera from her bag. "You tweet asking people to send us questions," she called over her shoulder as she set up her equipment.

@jamespotter_official: Shooting a q&a with the one and only @evanslily send us some questions !!! Use #jilyquestiontime

 Within seconds, James' feed was bombarded with questions. Lily sat back down and began the intro to her video.

"Hello, beautiful people! Today I am joined with my lovely boyfriend, Mr. James Potter," Lily said, adding a little gesture towards James at the end. James smiled and waved at the camera, waiting for Lily to continue. "We asked you guys to tweet us some questions so let's dive straight in!" Lily leaned in closer to James to have a look at his phone screen. Not knowing what came over him, he placed a hand on her thigh. She jumped a little bit, not expecting that at all, and asked what he was doing. "Just playing it up for the cameras," he shrugged. Lily covered her face with her hair and looked back at his phone screen, not liking what his touch was doing to her body.

 "So we have a question from @youtube_lovin_1234. It asks, 'When did you two meet?' Ah that had to be vidcon. I want to say 2015?" James asked, looking for Lily for confirmation. "2016," Lily corrected. "Close enough," James said.

 "This one," Lily continued. "Is from @padfoots_paws. Interesting name. It reads, 'who is stronger? (asking this as an excuse to see James' biceps. #sorrynotsorry)."

 "Well, if you insist," James smirked, flexing his bicep and smiling into the camera. Wanting to get him back for the hand on the thigh incident, Lily reached out a hand and began feeling James' muscles. "Don't we all want to make excuses just to see James' biceps?" Lily asked. She turned back to James so she could look for more questions and noticed he was blushing. THE James Potter was blushing because of her. She smirked and let him choose another question.

 "This next question comes from @little_lindsey. 'Who is the better kisser? Prove it.'"

Both youtubers looked at each other and gulped. "James, we don't have to-" Lily started. "No we really don't," James interrupted.

"But maybe we should-"

"I mean we haven't kissed at all for the viewers-"

"You're right I think we should-"

The two quickly became flustered and looked away from each other. "Ok, let's go back to acting really flirty and I'll edit all of this out," James suggested. Lily nodded and faced the camera. Suddenly, James and Lily were acting cool and confident, as if that whole exchange never happened.

"James likes to think he is, but I am clearly better," Lily said very matter-of-factly. James rolled his eyes and responded with, "Keep telling yourself that, love."

"Well, let's let the viewers decide. Let us know in the comments who you think is better," Lily said.

James and Lily found themselves face to face, more nervous than ever. Both have wanted to do this for the past three months and now they finally had the chance. So why is it so hard?

"Ok, here we go for the totally fake kiss," James gulped.

"That means absolutely nothing," Lily confirmed.

Not knowing what came over him, James put one hand on Lily's face and the other in her hair, wasting no time in kissing her. Lily gasped a little, but placed her hands on his chest, kissing back with just as much vigor. Deciding to take control of the situation, Lily licked James' lips, begging for the permission she already knew she had

When their tongues met, Lily couldn't help but fist James' hair, causing the latter to let out a loud moan. This seemed to snap the two back to reality. They quickly pulled away, trying to fix their disheveled appearances.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," Lily confessed. James only nodded, eyes wide. "I think this video can be finished later," he said, grabbing Lily's hand and leading her to his room. 

That day, their relationship actually became official. Actually, it became official about 5 times that night.

[lilacsfallentoheaven]

Snipets of Myself

12/27/18, 4:36 am

Today I recalled something. A tale.

There was a boy I used to like, long before you, named Declan. He liked me, for a long while, but then things would eventually find themselves changing. But, nonetheless, he liked me a lot, and this is how that all changed.

You know the expression “Don’t stick your dick in crazy”? Well, Declan was the opposite believer of such an anecdote. And he was intent on doing exactly that.

I met Declan when I moved schools in year four. We started at that school on the same day - though I had arrived 15 minutes later - and we sat across from each other, as the teacher thought maybe we could bond together with our shared arrival. That’s how I considered it at the time, now I see that my teacher had set the two of us aside together as a quarantine, as if we were to be examined as though we would infect the other children with our other-schooled germs. It was funny, actually, because we took a liking to each other from the start, though it was a platonic appreciation of each other. I remember he told the story about putting roaches in his sister’s bed to the class, and I was the only one who had laughed at such a vial thing. And at that, he smiled.

I have a few fleeting memories of our time, seated at a table-group of four together. I asked the girl beside him, who had been my friend at the time, to borrow a red correcting pen, and he was quick to offer it. He gave one to me instantly. He gave me his, furthermore, and took out another one for himself. I had been his priority at that moment. I remember him drawing in his book, and being so surprised when I knew who his favorite superhero, Aquaman, was, far before it was mainstream knowledge. He was his hero, and I was the nerd who knew him. And at that, he smiled.

There was a time when I pretended to be afraid of knives for the purpose of allowing him to use it on pancake day, so he could feel proud and brave in front of our group. He was so proud of himself and he showed off to everyone how superior and better he was, or at the very least felt. I knew it would make him happy, even though it was childish. it was year four, we were ten, that stuff is important to people, and I knew that. He did too, I think, because he was always the confident, smart one, even if I saw him frown sometimes when he was on his own. And at that, he smiled.

But then the next year came along, and with that came Lilac. We started hanging out, and we would roleplay that we were traveling all around the world with our crushes. She chose a boy she was pining for, and I chose Declan. I didn’t have a crush on him, but he was my favorite boy in our grade. When we grew out of make-believe, or at least grew it in separate directions, we began to play games and started talking about boys, and only then did I begin liking him more than a platonic sense. It had been very well known, apparently - by everyone except me - that he had liked me for some time. It explained what had happened when we went to camp and his friends made me sit next to him during archery, and how when someone took my canoe his friends were insistent that he took one with me. Maybe it was a kayak. I can’t tell the difference. It didn’t matter, though, because Declan and I were friends. And we were both happy with that, because we didn’t want to ruin our friendship by confronting the other with obvious feelings. And, as everything proceeded, things weren’t weird for a while. The four of us - Lilac, her brother Luciel, Declan, and I - would all hang out together. Luciel was two years older than us (we were around 12), and though he was too young to drive he would take the car out late at night and pick us up, first Declan than Ime. We would hang out in the early mornings, past midnight when the owls gleam at the stars and the sky is clear of the bright clouds that block other galaxies from looking into our globe. At first, when we were younger, we would talk whilst watching movies and playing silly games. But you’re reading about how everything changed, and as such you, my love, already know the basic outline of the next part.

We created a game - the intensity game, I called it. The game was simple enough in theory, but we never expected it to go as far or for as long as it did; Whoever could do the most horrifically outrageous, daring feat, and accomplish it, would be the winner. We played this game over several months, despite the fact that we intended for it to be about a week or so before we all gave up and forgot about it. It ended up changing our lives.

It started out small. A cigarette for Lilac, something heavier for Luciel, my infamous priest story. It wasn’t all individual things, though, because if we couldn’t match it or top it than we would lose points. We had a board where we would keep track, which was left underneath the chair in the back seat of the car Luciel would take. The very same car that Luciel and Lilac would crash in, eight months after we had started the game. Their last place where Lilac had ever been conscious. And I had put them there.

Regardless, we got intense. Late nights became early mornings, and we were spending a lot of time together without anyone else ever knowing.

So it was weird for me, one day, to walk away from the group for one moment to use the restroom (an empty bottle we would bring on the hill cliff) and come back to weird silence. Three glares, not directed at me but at each other. Lilac’s eyes focused upon the ground as if she had been damning Satan below her to a second eternity of himself. The other two shot each other confused glances when I had returned, and they spoke into each other’s eyes in what I had originally assumed was male-speak for something. Lilac, sweet sweet Lilac, looked up at me for just a moment before returning a softer gaze unto the dirt. I was stupid to ask any questions, because I should have left it alone.

Lilac was bisexual, and she had received a text from a girl who was crushing on her, She insisted she didn’t like the girl but confirmed to me she was, in fact, bisexual. When they had told me, I just looked at everyone and sat down on the rocky dirt. “Alright, cool. Glad you got it off your chest. I’ll keep your secret and kick their asses if they don’t.” We resumed life as it had been, but the effects would eventually wear. 

I was always around everyone, and that’s my justification as to why this happened. That, and if a bunch of early teenagers hang out late together at night in secluded areas, sharing secrets and pee bottles alike, people are bound to leave with pounding hearts that break when they hit the sharp knives of the rib cage.

On one particular day, it had all began with my insistence on feeling cold. 

Roughly, our night had proceeded:

“Luce, did you bring a blanket?” I had asked, my exact words. He smiled back to me and confirmed he had. I noted that was great, cool, something like that, and stood up. All the three had stood up and insisted they get it for me, and they gave each other pointed looks as if accusing each other, and each in a heartbeat insisted on getting it for me. I told them all that I would get it, though I ended up telling Luciel to get it because he had the car keys. Lilac sat down and pulled me with her. Declan insisted on going with Luciel to get more snacks, and I thought little of it so I waved my thoughts away from it and toward the stars that Lilac insisted I look upon. I was looking up at them, but my neck hurt so I instead chose to lay on her shoulder, then more comfortably on her lap. She smiled down at me and played with my hair, but exhaled and peered back toward the endless sky of wishes in dense lights.

The boys came back with displeased looks on their faces, evident in disagreement with each other. I told them to lighten the fuck up and that they could dick each other down later when I wasn’t there, then I closed my eyes because I felt tired. I had waited a while asI listened to them talk about me in whispers, as if I could only hear if they spoke louder than the crickets. They argued, too, and it was awfully unpleasing to listen to. It felt like a moment in a terrible fanfiction, which goes with my theory that I live inside the book of a sickly twisted author. I must have been based upon the writer, except been placed in one of those “everyone loves the main character” self-inserts you find on Wattpad at 4 in the morning before questioning what the actual hell you are doing with your time halfway through and go to sleep. Heaven knows I would have preferred to sleep through it.

At one point, the point I really remember, Luciel had insisted that he had a right to ask me out because I was old enough to be in the grade just below him, but Declan countered that by declaring he shouldn’t date someone younger than him and that he himself had known me the longer than Luciel, and if anyone would date me it should be him. Lilac insisted she had spent the most time with me and likewise knew me through and through. The boys retorted by both saying I was a lesbian. Lilac returned with a joke I will never forget, about the two of them not being disappointed in seeing two girls make out. It rendered both of them silent for a moment, and I almost laughed. I turned a little, in my faux sleep to muffle my smile, and accidentally turned more into Lilac’s lap. Luciel made a crude joke, something about having me between legs, which would have earned him a slap from Lilac should I not have been there, she assured him. Luciel mentioned to check if I was awake yet, and with the certainty I wasn’t they proceeded with a plan.

These jokes had sparked an idea. A new game. A game of me. Who could claim me, they wondered. We would play truth or dare tonight to prove I wasn’t a lesbian, and that Lilac and I had no chemistry together. I knew, from this, that I owned each of them in that moment, for as long as this game would go on. Even though I would not win the intensity game in their eyes, I was the true winner because I had the nerve to screw over each one of their hearts and twist them into divides.

I pretended to wake up with the general “How long was I out? Must be late” spiel, and they pitched the game to me. Declan seemed hesitant but was swayed easily. Lilac more so.

I wrapped the blanket around me and we fixed the rules to match our intensity game. Everyone had to match the dare done. We played a few rounds, and Lilac was dared to kiss me. She looked nervous as it was pitched to her, but I stared her in the eyes and almost let it happen.

We stared at each other. I could see the pure guilt in her irises be tainted by the fear that I knew; that I knew she liked me, that I knew of the game, that I knew because I could hear everything. I almost took pity on her, but when I moved away and insisted it wasn’t fair upon me because I couldn’t match the dare. Luciel hovered over me; he could see right through what he thought was the real bullshit: I had never been kissed and didn’t want my first one to be with Lilac, a girl.

If I look further back, my first kiss wasn’t my choice, but a quick peck on the lips by a prick of a boy named Calvin when I was 6. I was scared because I had thought that that meant I had to marry him, but I was quickly assured otherwise. After that, Luciel didn’t know that Declan and I had almost shared a kiss, but I had my first kiss with another boy, one whose name I will never want to mention. The one who shared a name with an angel. 

And that, he knew, was himself. Because moments later, he did something to alter the course of our dynamic. His eyes peered down at me, and he leaned down to take dominance over the situation. I leaned on the back of my heels, staring up at him as he drew my face to his with a finger below my chin. I will not share the hypnotizing words he spoke to me, because those thirteen words cursed me for a long time. We were locked together by those words. He threw the blanket off me and pushed me back onto it, pressing his lips to mine. I don’t know if I wanted to get away, but even if I had wanted to push him away, wanted to get up and tell them all how fucked up this was for them to make me their object of prize to satisfy themselves without considering what I would’ve wanted - I don’t think I would have been able to. I know that underneath his kiss to me, my first kiss, I didn’t want more than that. I felt for the first time the odd heat that had flushed submissively to my face, an odd desire which I learned was arousal. On that blanket I was his. No one else’s. When he pulled away, he held a pleased smirk on his lips which played in tugs, and he lingered for a moment above me, before he sat up. Even as he had left, the air of him stayed behind. It felt like him, everywhere, and I couldn’t sit up.

It took a while for the air to fade, but it happened. The spell was lifted, my hypnosis gone. He had, I theorize, actually doe something to me to make me submit to him. He insisted I just wanted him, when I had asked later about it. Do you remember when I mentioned I had a friend who was in the habit of practicing hypnosis? I found out much, much later, after he had killed himself following Lilac’s death, that this magically enrapturing kiss had not been my first with him. He had made me forget it. 

But I went to bed that night thinking of him, after quickly insisting that we all go home because I was tired and it was 2 in the morning. When I stared at the ceiling I could feel him pressed against me, above me, a finger below my chin and the other hand below my breast, tracing down to my waist and his lips led mine into his spell. Do you remember when we first started dating and I would hold your hand away from my breasts every time you played with them? This was why. He was why. At first I hated the feeling above me, but it faded and I felt happier. When I closed my eyes and it was you above me, however, I smiled, and I felt loved as a human and not a prize. Now you can do whatever you want to my breasts.

But this isn’t about you, my breasts, or Luciel. Declan made sure it wasn’t about Luciel.

The next day, Declan was talking to me through all our lessons. You know how people pretend that they’re sad or upset to gain the attention of a particular person? Yeah, it was a situation like that. He told me he was feeling depressed. Naturally, I wanted to help him.

In doing so, he made sure I ignored both of the Reid’s at all his costs. Even when I was texting Lilac, he took my attention. When I was sitting with my normal friends, the ones who knew nothing of the situation, of my friendships with these people, the ones I would spend my school time with and talk to for Skype when I needed normalcy in my life, he took my attention away from him. 

You see, the four of us didn’t sit together. Luciel and Lilac went to a different school, and Declan was a popular guy who would play sports and do social things. The four of us were a separate relationship, an external entity. It was weird for everyone else to see Declan and I talking to each other actively and not just because we were forced to sit next to each other due to alphabetical ordering in our classes. It was weird for them to see such a popular guy talking to the known strange girl who had gotten into a fight and broke some guy’s wrist, which had actually been for him.

When I pointed out that he shouldn’t be talking to me, he suddenly became aware of himself and waved goodbye to me. There was nothing left to be done, I had decided, and went to the library with my school laptop to talk to Savanah, one of my other friends.

Even when everyone had called me odd, even when I had created an outcast of myself, he still managed to find a way to like me, but soon after he had realized all of this the illusion of hidden love and beauty fell apart.

Lilac would now bring Jim, her boyfriend, to our meet-ups, and so our intensity games were put on hold. You already know how they end, with Lilac hanging off the bridge I swam under when I had tried to kill myself one knight, where Luciel had saved me. Declan, through active awareness of social hierarchy, decided our game was immoral, and he dropped out long before any of that. He dropped out of our lives.

Time grew, and I still had a thing for Declan, but Luciel and I had grown closer than anyone else. We started dating, and everything else proceeded as it did. Even then, I still looked back to Declan on occasion, even though we could hardly be considered friends anymore with his newfound social awareness and spite for us all represented in filled time. I had always, even when I crushed on him, thought that he and Rachael Sullivan would get married. I wonder if that will happen. Last time I checked, they were at the very least rather good friends.

But you see, my sweetheart, there’s a hidden story that given reasons to the things we do. The snipets of myself, the ones that make up many aspects of my life, hide within these words, within the hell that binds itself to my story.

[baguettelord]

“How I Write” meme thingy

Ooooooh thankyou @barbex for tagging me :3

Is there a snack you like to eat while writing?

Honestly...not really. I’m a savoury sort of person, so chips and biscuits is my deal, but I always get salt or flavourings or even greasy crap over my fingers and it gets in the keyboard and on the mousepad and just ugh...no. Can’t really do that. I do sometimes take breaks to indulge in bad eating habits, though. I do, however, drink a LOT. Usually hot black tea with a crapton of sugar, but depending on the weather I could drink other stuff too.

What time of day do you usually write?

I am TERRIBLE with procrastinating, so I usually start out late morning or just after lunch time and then....get distracted by literally anything for hours on end. I seem to be most productive VERY late at night through to the early hours of the morning where most of the household is asleep, I have free reign of the living area and kitchen and there is no background noise, save from the occasional car outside.

Where do you write?

Back in the day I would be stationed at a computer desk with a tower, but my room is cramped and FREEZING in winter or a literal oven in summer. So more recently I’ve migrated to the kitchen table, which is nestled in a weird little alcove in my house. I also tend to be struck by INTENSE creativity when I should NOT be, like at work or during really bad events like funerals.

How often do you write a new thing?

This is...a problem of mine. I literally had the idea for the fic I’m doing currently in JANUARY. I haven’t even finished the first chapter. :/ I do get ideas fairly regularly but I force myself to shelve them if I’m already working on something important to me. Sadly, this usually ends with a lot of lost ideas. :[

Do you listen to music while you write?

I used to do it a LOT when I started out, in like the first 3 or 4 years? I was more focussed back then. Music inspires me so much, but If I try to write with it in, its usually incredibly distracting. I can occasionally get away with it if I’m playing it very quietly (and practically ignoring it) or if I’m playing something that isn’t super catchy (like nightwish or instrumental music) I get the most out of music by listening to one or two songs just before I start writing and letting my daydreaming run wild with ideas.

Paper or laptop?

I have used computers to write since...maybe 2005-2006? Back in the day my computer(s) were not very reliable so I took to a strange habit of printing out what I’d typed up and writing it into an exercise book. Buut since I finished school, using pens for any length of time hurts my hands (and my handwriting has degenerated) so I just use a laptop now. Its so much better - the editing alone is a HUGE reason to use a laptop, but aside from that, my fingers can move a lot faster on a keyboard than with a pen.

Do you have a special pre-writing ritual?

Ehm, its not so much a ritual as it is a series of procrastinations I usually feel the need to partake in? Get home, make food and watch one or two youtube vids (MiniLadd ftw), check facebook, check the news, do some buzzfeed quizzes, jump on tumblr and fuck around for way too long, perhaps listen to some music, get interrupted 1000 times by my mother for various irritating reasons...and then stare at a word doc with a blank mind for at least 20 minutes before forcing words to exist.

What do you do to get into the writing?

A couple of things will bring me inspiration and get the ideas flowing. Music is one - I might listen to a few songs (and occasionally sing as well) whilst indulging in pre-writing procrastination like tumblr and let myself daydream a little. (Also, doing this in the shower is fucking amazing because there’s no distractions) Also, fanart. Seriously. Most of what I write is fanfiction and I find that if I read too much fanfiction when I’m working on something, my work tends to absorb some of other people’s style or wording or ideas. I don’t really like that happening, but I struggle to avoid it. Fanart helps bring fresh ideas into my mind without doing that too much because I can see certain characters in certain depictions and my brain will tell me a story of how they arrived at that situation, or be inspired for other characters entirely. Art always seems to do this really well for me because it gives you a snapshot of a moment in time and you usually have to fill in the blanks yourself. Also, if I’m a little rusty on my topic of writing, I will play the game its related to, or binge watch the series, and never be afraid to look things up. I always seem to work better when its fresh in my mind, especially where canon character behaviour is concerned.

Do you have a reward system for word counts?

No. The value of my work is not relative to its length. I reward myself on completion, regardless of the size of the work. For me, its quality over quantity. That aside, I also struggle a LOT with meeting targets, so setting word count goals puts a lot of stress on me, makes it less enjoyable to write and if I don’t meet the word count...that would be a failure to me. When I set out to write a story, its about creativity and ideas and bringing together elements of a world, characters, places, events to create something beautiful, to touch the reader, to inspire, to make them feel joy, pain, fear, to take them to a world I see in my mind and share with them. It has never been about structure, about time, about numbers, about RULES.

Is there anything else about your writing process your readers don’t know?

Well, I guess there’s a few things. My English has gone to absolute shite since I left school, and sometimes my words get jumbled coming out of my head. I do my best to proofread, but there’s always something I miss. Don’t ever be afraid to point things out to me that don’t make sense (but also try to keep in mind that I write in Australian English so some spellings are different)

I don’t get around to posting much, and I know this is a problem. This is because a lot of the time my process is very slow. I try hard, but my working environment is full of disruptions and distractions. My home life is...difficult and my mental health can often be a block to productivity. There also isn’t an alternative environment for writing because I have physical and psychological needs to meet.

When I DO finish something and actually post it, YOU, the reader, are what keeps me going. Your views, your kudos, your favourites, reblogs, COMMENTS. If you want more of something? TELL ME. I will write it. Legit. Drop me an ask. I will find a way to incorporate it into a story I’m already writing, or I’ll write a standalone or SOMETHING. You want more dextro-amino romance? Done. You want demons possessing animals? Done. You want an all-women Stargate team? DONE. You might think you’re a viewer, looking at a picture that’s already been done, but no - you have a hand in this too. If not the current work, then a future work!

Tagging: Uhhm @nairje @r-shepard @vorchagirl (you’ve probably already been tagged 1000 years ago but w/e) @idrelle-miocovani (I know you’re on hiatus, but have a thing) (I HAVE NO IDEA WHO TO TAG SO IF YOU WANT TO DO IT, JUST DO IT)

[deasn]

Avengers fanfiction part 3

Avengers fanfiction part 3 Let me repeat it: this is the first fanfiction I ever wrote in English, which is not my first language - please forgive the mistakes :) And let me know what you think about it!

This is part 3, part 2 is here :) part 4 is here :) 

“He called me Nat,” Natasha greeted the Avengers when they entered the kitchen, the morning after. Tony held a finger until he poured himself a cup of coffee; Thor got his poptarts, Clint and Steve their cereals. Bruce took his tea, while the others looked at her with confused expressions. “And when talking about Clint he was saying something starting with “un”, like he was going to call him “uncle Clint”. It’s not a coincidence, guys,” she continued at that point. “We thought they knew us from the news, but what if it was something more? I mean,” she turned to face Tony, “Rey basically has your IQ and Alex looks like your supersoldier version.” Almost everyone had a puzzled look on their face, but Tony was nodding, moving his fingers restlessly as he always did. “You think they are either my kids, or the result of the cradle I created… Which would mean, you know, still Starks.” Natasha smiled. “So you are smart. Not just cocky.” “Ouch,” he replied with a grin, “that hurt.” “Wait,” Steve stopped them. “Are you saying that… They’re not just kids, but your kids?” “Sounds legit. Rey looked really shocked when they said that Tony’s body was found,” Bucky reasoned, eating his bacon with a shrug. “Maybe she found it - him - herself.” They all spent a moment thinking about what that meant. “If this is true,” Bruce said, a knowing look on his face, “then why are you not freaking out, Tony?” Tony laughed, taking a sip of coffee while still giggling. “They’re not my kids.” Clint frowned, glancing at his friends, who seemed to have his same thought. “Mh, yes they are?” “From another universe,” Tony shrugged. “It’s not like I ever wanted them. I never signed up for this.” “They are still your heirs, Man of Iron. You have responsibilit-” Thor remarked, but he was interrupted by Tony himself, who slammed a hand on the table. “They are not my kids, heir or however you want to call them! In case you missed it, I never built a crib o-or a cradle for damn babies, I never wanted children, and if there’s something sure it’s that I will never be their father,” he exclaimed, standing up and moving his hands left and right with every word. Bruce murmured under his breath something that sounded like “here’s the freak out”, but Tony didn’t even noticed, still blabbering. “I’ve always been careful with condoms and chicks and all that shit, and now what, screw everything because of two underfed, super scared kids? No way, no fucking way! They’re not my kids, you hear me? I’m not their father, their father is dead! As long as I’m concerned, they’re orphans.” A stunned silence filled the room and it was just because of the lack of talking that the Avengers were capable of hearing a door slamming in the distance. Friday’s voice jerked them on their places. “Sir, I believe our guests heard you.” Tony paled and sat down with an huff, his face suddently years older. “Well, shit.”

Later, when the scientists retreated to the labs, the others Avengers found Alex and Rey in the gym; they were both dressed with the sport stuff that were always in the locker room, for when they had agents visiting and someone wanted to spar. The siblings were fighting each other, in a complex sequence of kicks, punches, gymnastic moves and headlocks that made Steve really proud - they sure knew how to defend themselves. There was something, anyway, that made him frown. The kids looked wrecked and every move was filled with anger and a lot of pain. “Tony’s words really hurt them,” Natasha whispered after a few moments. Bucky, who was fixing his hair at her side, nodded. “Hey, kiddos!” Clint shouted instead, making Rey turn immediately. Alex used her distraction to pin her on the ground, in an action that hurt a lot, judging by the girl’s expression. “Never distract,” Alex scolded her. “Just a second and you’re dead, Rey.” She nodded, panting hard, and he let her go, standing up and helping her to do the same. “Again,” he exclaimed. “I don’t really think they want to talk,” Steve mumbled. He decided to step forward anyway, stretching his muscles the better he could; the others imitated him soon after. After more than an hour of training, Rey ended up winning four times and Alex six - it was mostly a matter of height and weight, more than a real difference in fighting abilities. “I think I’ve something to do with their style,” Natasha mumbled after a while. “Same,” Bucky smiled. “We probably trained them.” “Sounds logic,” Steve admitted in a whisper. “If they were my kids, I’d wanted you to teach them how to defend themselves.” Clint snorted, stopping and glancing from the ground, where he was doing push-ups. “Thinking about children now?” It was loud enough for Alex and Rey to hear it; they both shot Steve a look and he felt his cheeks burn. “Shut up!” he hissed, making Clint giggle. Then, because he couldn’t deny it, he bit his lips. “I- yeah, okay? Yes. I’ve been thinking about children, but just ‘cause… I don’t know, maybe not right away? I have time. But yeah, a couple of kids wouldn’t be bad,” he muttered. He glanced at Alex and Rey, and saw them leaving. “Tony doesn’t understand his luck,” he sighed. Thank God, no one laughed. “We should see how he’s doing. He looked pretty upset,” Natasha said a couple of minutes after. In the labs, Jane and Bruce were having a silent conversation with only their eyebrows - Darcy, chewing something in a corner, found it extremely funny. “I can basically hear you thinking,” Tony exlaimed after a little bit. “And I’d like you all to shut up.” “You’ve been kind of an asshole,” Jane muttered. “I never wanted kids, Foster. And you’re in my lab, remember.” Bruce snorted and ate a cookie - in every place of the Tower there was food, hidden either by Tony or by Darcy; the first one wanted to piss Pepper off, who tried so hard to keep everything in order, while Darcy just wanted to make sure “her scientists” ate something, once or twice per day. “Okay, let’s make things clear: you wanted me to work in the Tower and yes, you’re technically my boss, but we made them come here. They never asked for it. So stop being an asshole, okay? They may not be your kids in this world, but they sure as hell are in the other one.” She took a long breath and nodded to herself. “And I have to tell you, Tony. You didn’t have them after a reckless night with some girl. You wanted them, okay? Yo-” “You don’t know if I-” “Of course we know! You created a cradle, Tony! A cradle! Just because you wanted so badly to have kids! It must mean something!” “What! It doesn’t make sense!” “It does if you had a partner who really wanted kids, but couldn’t,” Steve exclaimed, entering the lab with a tired smile. Tony lowered his head. “You really think…” he mumbled. Steve nodded. He realized in a few months after their first meeting that Tony liked both women and men, and after the way his relationship with Pepper ended Steve thought his next important story was bound to be with a man. Pepper never wanted to hurt him, everyone knew it. But Tony needed constantly work and patience, and sarcasm and understanding. He needed someone who could feel that he almost died and that he saved New York and that yes, he didn’t act as the member of a team, but that it doesn’t mean it didn’t break him. Understand and feel what PTSD means. It would have made sense, anyway, to find a mechanical way to have a child with a man. “I’m not telling you that you have to be a father now. I’m just saying that your… Other you… Loved them. And maybe you could love them too.” People started leaving the room and Steve looked at them for a second, surprised. Why did they feel the need to let them talk alone? “I’m… I’m…” Tony muttered, hiding his face in the hands. “I could never be a good father, Steve. I never really had one a-and-” “It’s okay,” Steve smiled and patted him on the back. After a second of hesitation, he moved forward and hugged him. “It’s okay,” he repeated. “I’ll help you.” And Tony, just like that, relaxed. “Sir,” Friday interrupped them after a few minutes. “Our guests just asked me what metro line could take them as far as possible from here and what will the weather be in the next few days.” Tony and Steve both freezed and frowned - then they looked at each other and started running. “Friday, where are they?” Tony shouted. “They are getting in the elevator on the common floor right now, sir.” “Block it, Friday!” Steve ordered just when Tony exclaimed “stop the elevator!”. It was good to know that they agreed on keeping the kids in the Avengers Tower. They ran as fast as they could - and almost bumped in Thor, who was talking rather intensly with Bruce and Jane. “Why isn’t the elevator working?” Alex snapped in that moment. Rey, big blue eyes open in shock, looked at Tony in pain. “Listen,” he hesitated, “I know. I’m a mess… And what I said? It’s bullshit! An-” “It’s not! It’s not bullshit, you’re right, we are no one, for you - for any of you. You saved our lives, bringing us here,” Alex tooked a shaky breath, “and we owe you. The least we can do is disappear, so that you won’t have to see us again.” He walked to the window, Rey by his side as always, and he opened the big glass door from which New York shined in all its beauty. Steve stepped forward and so did the others, hands up in a we-mean-no-harm way. No one wanted to see them jump. “Com’on, kiddo,” Tony muttered. “There’s no need to…” Rey was crying, eyes locked first with Tony and then with Steve, and the latter exhaled in shock a breath he didn’t know he was holding. How could I have been so blind?!, he tought, shocked - and he was probably right being so. He coughed, looked down and looked back at Alex and Rey in a second. “You’re not just Tony’s kids. Are you?” he asked, forcing himself to breathe. “Steve,” Nat smiled after a second of hesitation, “he’s built like you. And she’s a smaller and more… Female version of you,” she said. “You both have fifty percent of the Super Serum, haven’t you?” Bruce asked Alex and Rey. Oh God, Steve thought. Not just one, but two.
Siblings. Two. Kids. Two! “Cap, breathe,” Tony ordered, touching his arm, and it looked like the world had been turned upside down. Tony was now the calm one, and Steve was freaking out. “You’re not just kids,” he repeated. “You’re my kids. Mine. I’m your…” “Pops?” Alex supplied. “Yeah.” “And Tony is your…” “Dad.” Steve nodded, still shocked. “That’s why he created the cri-cradle.” Alex looked at his sister, and in a second Steve thought about how badly, the day before, he had wished to have a kid just like her. He was old and yet so young, and Alex and Rey came as a surprise - they came destroyed, from a world full of war and desperation. A world that left them with scars and nightmares. “But, as I said, you don’t have to do anything. None of you have,” Alex murmured and he took another step toward the open door. “Don’t!” was the last thing the Avengers were able to scream before Alex jumped, taking Rey with him.

Tony followed just a second after.

[emisanemu]

Someone you loved.

I’m going under, and this time, I fear there’s no one to save me,. This all or nothing really got a way of driving me crazy. 

The rusty fan creaked from the ceiling creating a melody that just screamed that the building was old and had not been cleaned anytime recently. The musky smell that reached Dean’s nose only confirmed that, it was a disgusting smell that he could not stand almost as much as he couldn't stand the feeling rising within his gut. A certain feeling of anguish, uncertainty, emptiness but all too familiar to him.  A painful feeling, but there is no one to blame for it but himself, his fears, his wavering acceptance of who he is, well, of who he wants to be. He wants to blame, but how can he blame basic needs, needs for routine, for something to hold onto. Needs he could not fulfill. 

I need somebody to heal, somebody to know Somebody to have. somebody to hold It's easy to say, but it's never the same.

His hands gripped the sheets tightly, frustration coursing through his veins burning within him like a fire. His mind raced and replayed every moment, every word said and unsaid, everytime he could have but never did. His knuckles turned white as his grip on the cheap bedding grew tighter and he couldn't stop the breathy yell that left his mouth. His anger filled voice echoed back at him stinging his ears making him wish he could be anywhere else feeling in the least bit better than he did in that moment. His head ached but certainly not as much as his heart did, and for that there was no magic cure, at least not one he could yet comprehend as much as he could comprehend the need for it to go away. He wanted security, quiet eyes that could watch, that could heal, but what is the point to wanting if each thought would be left in vain. 

I guess I kinda liked the way you numbed all the pain.

He screamed again and again this time his fists coming down to hit the hard mattress only amplifying his point and stressing just how many things he was feeling, all feeling because of him.  Dean could feel everything, all five stages of grief running away with him at a rapid pace that he could not even begin to keep up with. He was lost, trapped within the guilt and the loss that would not leave him. His throat ached with each and every gruff scream that left his mouth, no words, just incoherent bursts of emotion. Words would be too simple to express what he was feeling, too impersonal, disconnected from the harsh reality he was facing. A lifetime of facing his demons alone, of being alone, being the one and only reason that he was alone. 

Now the day bleeds into nightfall and you're not here to get me through it all.

Two in the morning, voice shaking and eyes watering with tears is when he realized. There will be no hero, no knight in shining armour to burst through the door and save him. Nothing to make the desperation go away. Each passing moment only crushed him more bringing him closer and closer to an endless madness which at this point seemed impossible not to happen. Dean was gone, empty minded and stuck with a bleeding heart, a destroyed soul, nothing even worth saving if there were a reason to. 

I  let my guard down and then you pulled the rug. 

Dean was angry, no longer with himself, and no longer with the stabbing pain in the pit of his stomach. He was furious, with his love, with his self doubt, with his family, and most of all he hated Castiel. At that moment Dean was hurt and there was nothing in him to forgive, to let go of his dark hatreds, and there was no one telling him that he had to. “How could you!”  The words fell from his mouth, stern and bitter. “How could you just move on, no second thoughts, you’re so selfish, ya’ know Cas!” The words disappeared into the air the very minute they were spoken, no answer from the phantoms not there to listen. “You’re so selfish, so damn selfish Cas. Let me think you cared, yeah joke’s on me, right buddy!”  Dean chuckled grimly, amused by the prospect of finding any realness in his screwed up reality. 

I was getting kind of used to being someone you loved.

The dirty, rough mattress lay on the floor surrounded by pieces of smashed glass from an ugly decorative lamp that at one point was shaped like a ship, surrounded by painted blue waves which let it float. Only a memory in the smashed glass. Dean’s memories exist as anything but broken glass, every single piece fits together even more so than a puzzle, every scene replays itself , the world's worst never-ending story. He holds his head in his hands pacing the room muttering obscenities underneath his breath and cursing Castiel with each one, cursing the way that he feels. Dean was breaking. He yelled loudly, his voice booming and hoarse from his earlier outbursts. His heavy booted foot kicked out quick and strong making a vicious impact with a small bedside table sending it crashing to the ground. A small decorative ashtray is the next to fall victim as Dean grips it in a tight fist before launching it into the wall, small pieces of shattered glass explode into the room. A few pieces of the broken faux crystal glass embed themselves into the skin of Dean’s arms and face leaving him unfazed and heaving with rage. His mind is clouded and eyes unfocused and blurry with tears. “Are you fucking happy Cas, I was stupid, you just got to prove me wrong thinking maybe just maybe you could be something different. You can’t just create things for the purpose of destroying them you angel piece of shit!”  

I'm going under, and this time, I fear there's no one to turn to. This all or nothing way of lovin got me sleeping without you. 

Dean glares at the ugly white corded motel phone with disdain. He picks it up roughly yanking it from the dresser before smashing it against the cheap fake oak wood. Over and over until blood drips from his fingers staining the sky blue carpet beneath his feet. He lets out an exasperated yell of frustration, the meer action straining his throat sending him into a fit of  choking coughs, to caught up in his grievances to control himself any longer. Large plastic pieces of what was once the phone join the broken glass and blood on the carpet. This is all lost to Dean as he becomes more and more lost to himself with each passing moment of him realizing just how alone he is. 

Now, I need somebody to know, somebody to hear. Somebody to have, just to know how it feels.

Dean’s arms are wrapped around himself as he paces through broken glass and plastic pieces, all of the destruction creating ignored crunching noises beneath his heavy boots. His mind is screaming, Cas, Cas, Cas. Like a predictable mantra, an unspoken prayer, just barely brimming on the cusp of begging. His hands clench his dirty black and red plaid shirt searching for some kind of comfort, a comfort unable to be found. Weakness overcomes him as his knees start to wobble beneath him, heavy tired breaths fall from his mouth. One thought sticks with him and leaves him wondering how one can manage to fall so hard. 

It's easy to say, but it's never the same I guess I kinda like the way you help me escape

Dean Winchester allowed himself to cry. Heaving and cursing the stinging warm tears falling from his eyes. Every breath he takes is rigid and uneven, shaky and uncontrollable. “I love you Cas, damn it, I just, I love you.”  Those are the only words that leave his mouth before he passes out on the dirty mattress which still lies on the floor. Tired and broken, those are the words that can be used to describe Dean Winchester at this moment. Tired, broken, and unaware. Blissfully unaware of the ears that his words have reached. Ears of an angel. 

@castiel--for--king I finally was able to find this fanfiction to post it.